Chapter 6 So Bumpy
So Bumpy
Beck
Present
Gracie is quiet on the drive home, her head turned toward the window. Unease stirs in my chest, fear that she’s changed her mind, that she already regrets choosing me. But her hand stays on my knee the entire drive. Steady. Reassuring.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“Gracie,” I say softly. She turns toward me.
“What’s going on? What’re you thinking?” The question hurts to ask. I’m usually good at reading her, one glance is enough, but now she’s opaque. I can’t tell if she’s guarding her thoughts or if I’m just too raw to see clearly.
Her eyes drop to her lap, and my stomach sinks with them. I brace myself.
“I’m scared,” she admits.
My first instinct is to lash out, to protect my heart before she can break it, but I force myself to breathe. To listen.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I am too.” I swallow, the next words scraping out of me. “Can you tell me what scares you the most?”
I stop at a red light and glance over. She looks pensive, lost in thought. I wait, even as her silence stretches out and becomes unbearable.
Finally, she blurts out, “I’m scared we could lose everything.
That I’ll screw it up like I always do.” She exhales hard, the words tumbling faster now.
“I’m not good at relationships. I never have been.
I make bad choices. I stay too long when I shouldn’t, I leave when I should stay, and I hurt people I don’t mean to hurt.
” She shakes her head. “Look at Brandon. I picked him. That was on me.”
She swallows and keeps going, like she’s afraid that if she stops she won’t finish. “We didn’t grow up seeing how this is supposed to work. We never knew our dads. We never saw what a healthy family looked like. What if we try and get it wrong? What if it ruins us?”
Her voice cracks. “What if it ruins our moms too? They’ve had each other forever. If this falls apart, they’ll feel like they have to choose sides. I can’t live with that.”
She finally pauses, her breath shaking. “I’ve spent my whole life telling myself there was a reason we never crossed that line. That maybe it was because I wasn’t good enough. Or safe enough. Or worth the risk.”
I don’t interrupt her. I let the silence settle, let her breathing slow. Then I reach for her hand, gentle but sure.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Let’s take this one at a time.”
She looks at me, eyes wide and wet.
“You think you’re bad at relationships,” I say.
“But what I see is someone who loves deeply and stays longer than she should because she believes people can be better. That they can change. That’s not failure.
That’s loyalty.” I squeeze her fingers. “Brandon wasn’t proof you’re bad at love.
He was proof you gave your heart to the wrong person. There’s a difference.”
Her breath hitches.
“You think you make mistakes,” I continue. “You do. So do I. Everyone does.” A small smile tugs at my mouth. “But you learn. You course-correct. You don’t stop caring.”
She swallows, nodding faintly.
“You’re afraid we don’t know how to do this because we never saw it growing up.
” I glance back at the road, then at her.
“That part’s true. We didn’t have good examples of romantic love.
” I pause. “But we had something else. We watched our moms choose each other as best friends every day. We learned how to show up. How to forgive. How to stay.”
Her hand tightens in mine.
“And the idea that this could ruin them, our moms?” I shake my head. “Gracie, nothing about us could tear them apart. If anything, they’ve been waiting for this longer than we have.” I huff a soft laugh.
Her mouth trembles.
“That last one,” I say gently. “The thought that maybe you aren’t good enough. That you aren’t worth the risk.”
I turn fully toward her. “That’s the lie that kept us apart.”
Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable and searching.
“It’s not all on you, though,” I add quietly. “This is my fault too.”
She stills.
“I stayed away because I was scared,” I admit. “Afraid that if I tried to be more than friends, if it didn’t work, I’d lose not just the woman I—” I stop myself. For a second, I almost choose the safer word.
I don’t.
“The woman I love,” I say quietly. “But I also worried I’d lose my best friend.”
The truth settles heavily between us.
“I’m not scared of that anymore,” I tell her. “I’m more scared of what happens if we don’t take the leap.”
I give her a small smile.
“And if we mess up?” she asks.
I squeeze her hand.
“We fix it. Together.”
Gracie
Present
I’ve been to Beck’s place lots of times before. Studied here. Watched movies here. Once, when he was sick, I came over and did all his laundry.
But tonight feels different. There’s an awkwardness between us as we walk up the stairs to his third-floor apartment. A silence that feels overly loud. Like we’ve forgotten how to talk to each other.
With each step, a million versions of Beck flash through my mind. Beck with the gap between his teeth. Beck wearing glasses for the first time. Beck shooting the basketball as the crowd cheered. Beck walking. Beck running. Beck driving.
I’ve seen him every way possible…except the way I’m about to see him now.
That thought makes my hands shake, my nerves tremble.
He opens the door and then steps back, letting me go in first.
Regular Gracie would roll her eyes. Make some dry, sarcastic comment about how nice it is to know chivalry isn’t dead after all.
But I’m not regular Gracie. Not right now.
I’m a new, different me, and this Gracie has no idea how to act.
We take off our coats and set them on the small kitchen table by the door. I have a second to appreciate that Beck doesn’t have any roommates. No one to witness how we clear our throats and stare at our feet, like we’re suddenly strangers.
“Um, you can…make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the living room as he walks to the kitchen. “Want a drink?” he calls over his shoulder.
I glance toward the living room like he suggested but don’t go that direction. Instead, I follow him into the kitchen. The entire time I’m thinking about how if I misread this situation, if I step forward and he steps back, there’s no pretending after. No going back to how things were.
“Maybe a water,” I tell him.
He gets me a glass and one for himself. The water is cool and soothing as it slides down my throat. I hadn’t realized how thirsty all those beers made me, but I don’t feel drunk.
I feel awake. Alive.
Every nerve humming.
Beck watches me out of the corner of his eye, like I’m too bright to stare at directly.
I wait.
For him to move. For him to close the distance.
He doesn’t. He just stands there, tense and uncertain, hands flexing at his sides.
I think back to prom and almost smile.
Some things never change.
Guess it’s up to me.
I lift my finger to my mouth, chewing lightly on the tip while I think. Beck’s gaze snaps to the movement and stays there.
“Oliver?”
“Yes, Gracie?”
“Have you been working out?”
I take a step closer. His eyes widen, just a fraction. Apprehension. Desire. Both at once.
He swallows. “Uh. Yeah. A little more than usual.”
“I thought so.”
I reach out, tracing one slow fingertip from his shoulder down to his elbow, over the cuff of his sleeve, and onto bare skin.
He shivers. Goosebumps rise instantly.
I school my face into calm as I circle him slowly, like I’m studying something priceless, a statue or a piece of art.
Beck freezes. Holds still. His breathing is shallow, careful, like he’s afraid to disturb the moment.
I trail my finger from the back of his neck down his spine.
“I don’t remember you being so—”
“Muscular?” he supplies helpfully.
“—bumpy,” I finish.
Behind him now, I step close, my chest brushing his back as I rise onto my toes and whisper in his ear, “You’re much bumpier than you used to be.”
Beck remains still. “Uh, I’ve had more free time than usual lately,” he says, trying to keep his voice even.
“Oh?”
I run my fingers up his neck and into his hair, letting my nails scrape. His head drops forward, a breath leaving him in a quiet sound that makes my mouth curl.
“And why is that?” I murmur.
“Well,” drawing it out, “this certain woman hasn’t been around to pester—”
I pinch him.
“Ow! Uh—I mean, distract me with her beauty,” he corrects, a smile in his voice now.
I hum softly, glad he’s playing along. “That’s better.”
“So,” he finishes, “I had more time to exercise.”
“You mean to make yourself more attractive than you already are?”
His head lifts. “You think I’m attractive?”
The disbelief in his voice makes me angry with myself. That I didn’t tell him this sooner.
He tries to turn, but I tut softly and massage his scalp, holding him in place.
He exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for years. I dig in deeper, rubbing slow circles into his scalp and the skin of his neck. Beck moans, low and helpless. His shoulders loosen, dropping as tension drains away. “That feels really nice, Gracie Ann.”
Good.
The awkwardness is leaving us, just as I hoped, as we settle into our usual patterns. Teasing. Comfort. Communication.
I wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek against his back. “I think you’re very attractive, Beck. I always have.”
“Really?” There’s wonder in his voice. Pure, unadulterated wonder.
This time, when he turns to face me, I don’t stop him.
“Yes, really.” I tilt my head to look up at him. His hair shines in the kitchen light, his eyes warm and kind and a little awestruck, and honestly, he’s beautiful in the way something is when you’ve looked at it a million times, but every time you find something new worth admiring.
“When we were young, you were my best friend and that was enough,” I say. “I don’t know when it changed. Maybe it wasn’t one moment. Maybe it was a thousand small ones. But somewhere along the way, it became this.”
I take his hand.
“Me wanting you. Needing you. Hoping you’d choose me.”
The words hang between us. Fragile. Irreversible.