Chapter 23
Jude
“Where is she?”I snarl, slamming my palms down on the front desk at the motel.
Jack helped whisk Frankie away while I had to return to the adoption event. I know she needed time to cool down, we both did, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to bring her home to wait there. As soon as the clock hit four, I shot out of the tent like a bat out of hell and raced the half mile down the road. The only thing slowing me down was the desperate impulse to count before I got out of my van.
“She’s in her room,” Jack says, his voice quiet and gentle.
“Don’t.” I point a finger at his chest. “She’s here because of you.”
“And?”
“What do you mean and?”
“Tell me how that’s a problem.”
“It’s a problem because she isn’t with me.”
“She didn’t want to be with you.”
I suck in a greedy inhale and let my shoulders fall. “Did she say anything else?”
Jack shrugs. “Whitney had to tell her so many times that she didn’t need to be ashamed. I mean, fuck. Can you imagine letting her blame herself after the way we all started out in this life?”
Anger sparks beneath my skin. I lick my lips, my own shame welling to the surface. I actually can imagine, because I let myself feel it every fucking day. Every time I need to count. Every time a compulsion holds me prisoner. I know exactly how she feels when the demons of her past manage to sneak by her defenses.
But I don’t tell him any of that.
I run a hand over my disheveled hair. “Is Whitney still here?”
“She left. Bree took all the kids home while you were busy with Frankie’s family. Whitney headed over there, and she’s going to stay the night while I stay here.”
“You good with that? You should be home with your family.”
“I am with my family.” The look he levels me with is so intense, I break our connection after only seconds. “Corjan will keep an eye over them.”
“Yeah,” I grunt.
“What do you think this joker has up his sleeve next?”
“Fuck if I know, but I doubt he’s gone. He thought weaponizing her mom against her would break her, and I’m not eager to find out what lengths he’s willing to go to. He looked too fucking arrogant to go away quietly.”
“I’m here for you, brother. Frankie too. I don’t know what’s going on with the two of you, but she’s one of us now. We’ll help look out for her.”
“Good luck. She’ll fight us every step of the way.”
“I sort of had that impression already.” Jack grins.
“Fuck, stop smiling.” I rub a tired palm over my face. The scratch of stubble is audible against my hand.
“You should go home and get some rest.”
“I’m going to get some rest, but I’m not doing it at home.”
“Jude…” Jack warns.
I flash him a grin of my own. “You got a spare pillow?”
“How much of a dick does it make me if I say no?”
“A massive one.”
“The things I do for you,” he grumbles and stalks into the room behind the desk, only to return a moment later with a pillow. “Does my big brother need a blankie too?”
“Fuck off. And thank you.”
“Anytime. I mean it, I’ll be here all night, so if you decide to leave, I’ve got an eye on things.”
“I won’t be leaving, but I appreciate it all the same. Which room?”
“She’s in 6.”
I depart for the stairs leading to the second floor. The entire way, I count. Unlike the furious rush when I got here, they roll by on a leisurely scroll.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Room 6.
Across the hall is a bare patch of wall between rooms 5 and 7. I drop the pillow on the floor beside my boot and quietly sink back against the wall.
I train my stare on the wooden door in front of me. Around the keyhole, the wood sports gouges. I should let Jack know. We can spend some time fixing them up this summer. The neutral paint around the floorboard is peeling, revealing a toxic-looking orange that probably dates back to the late seventies.
I dig out my phone and scroll to her name. Living together, we’ve hardly needed to use our phones for contact. The text message thread is small. But reading words she typed out to me with her own thumbs somehow makes me feel closer to her.
Doubt lingers as I exit the thread and open the web browser. Frankie asked for space, and I’m doing my best to give it to her. Physically, I can only go so far without feeling like I need to crawl out of my skin. Mentally? I do what I can not to disturb her.
I type OCD into the search bar and hit enter. Results populate instantly, a myriad of options. I tap the bubble on the top of the list that says treatments.
Cocking my knees, I rest my wrists against them and read.
Self-care
Therapy
Medications
Exposure and Response Prevention
For hours, I scroll and read and tap, absorbing as much as I can about my affliction. At first, my skin prickles with anxiety, and the urge, no, my compulsion to count remains at the surface. The longer I read, the more distracted I become, and eventually, the compulsion fades into the background.
In my notes, I build a list. Websites I find helpful, treatment options, questions to ask a doctor. Anything I find useful in tackling this problem I’ve ignored for so long goes into the folder. I search until the world grows dark outside the window, and the phone falls from my hand, landing near the pillow forgotten beside my hip.