Page 61 of Honest Boys Don’t Play

“You’re not.”

Maybe it should be scaring me, but if anything, I’m finding it entertaining, so I guess that’s good.

She eyes the clock on the microwave. “Another minute, Oliver.”

“Okay,” he says in a pouty voice.

“I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy making this move so quick, and I’m sorry I didn’t think about it sooner, but I figured with the baby you might prefer to get settled now. We’ve fixed up the apartment because of family visiting, but it’s solely yours for as long as you guys are with us so if you want to paint anything or do anything special to make it yours go for it.”

I wave away her concern. “I’m sure it’s great.”

At this point in my pregnancy I don’t think I have the energy to personalize it. But it’s not forever. Luke and I … I guess we’ll eventually get our own place, or separate places near each other.

I run my fingers through my hair in agitation.

I’m not sure why I can’t just accept us being together as a real couple. I’m aware he wants more, and it’s not that I don’t, but I just … I let my thoughts trail off.

Now’s not the time for me to dwell on such things.

CHAPTER 21

LUKE

“Are you okay?” Bertie asks softly from the couch when I step out of the bathroom from a second shower. I had finished my first shower, stepped out of the bathroom and immediately went back in to shower again. Something about opening the door and seeing the mess of everything Tanner helped me bring in made me feel dirty all over again.

The concern emanating from her has me feeling bad for not saying something before I disappeared back in the bathroom. Normally, the only time I feel unclean and shower twice is after practice or a game—I’ll shower in the locker room and again when I get home, but today it got the best of me, what with all the loading and unloading and then seeing the stuff and thinking about how I still need to put it where it goes once we figure that out.

“I’m okay,” I answer softly, my ears warming with embarrassment.

I know it isn’t something I need to be ashamed of, but sometimes it’s hard not to hate that I’m not like everyone else.

“I feel like something is wrong,” she pushes, biting her bottom lip nervously.

I haven’t told Bertie about my OCD. I’m not sure why I haven’t. I’m not ashamed, but it’s also not something I tend to talk about. I find that it’s one of those things that’s vastly misunderstood. The compulsions associated with OCD don’t always manifest in the ways people expect—often they’re not even physical manifestations, but instead thoughts that you can’t seem to let go of.

I sit down beside her on the couch and wish I could take the worry away from her eyes. I don’t like knowing I’ve unintentionally upset her.

“What’s going on?” she presses.

“There’s nothing wrong,” I rush to assure her, feeling guilty over the look of pure worry on her face.

“Are you sick?” she reaches out to press a hand to my forehead. “You’re not warm.”

I grasp her hand and wrap my fingers around hers. “I’m not sick and I’m okay, I promise. I should’ve told you this a long time ago and I’m not sure why I didn’t, but I have OCD.”

“OCD?” she repeats, surprise in her tone.

“Yeah.” I rub my thumb against her finger. “Like I said, I should’ve told you sooner, but it’s not something I really talk about. It’s just a part of my life.” I give a shrug. “It’s not a big deal, and I handle it better now than I used to, but sometimes it gets to be a bit much and I think all the change with the move got to me.”

“So that’s why you showered, came out and looked sick, and went back for another shower?”

“Yeah.”

“So, do you feel dirty and that’s why⁠—”

“Not exactly,” I cut her off. “For me a shower is less about needing to feel clean and more so about how the water helps drown out my racing thoughts. Music helps too. I will say that after practice or games I do shower twice and that is because I feel like I just can’t get clean enough.”

She strokes the edge of my jaw with gentle fingers. “Luke.” She doesn’t say my name in a pitying way, which I’m thankful for. There’s nothing shameful about OCD. Honestly, if it weren’t for my former coach I’d probably still be undiagnosed. With so much generalized assumptions about the condition it’s easy to go undiagnosed. “I wish you had told me sooner so I could help in whatever way you need. Even if it’s just to talk.” She rubs her lips together nervously. “Has the pregnancy been triggering for you?”