21. Luke
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?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to lie, because I don’t want her to feel guilty, but I hate not being truthful.
“Yes.”
She frowns and I hate that I’m the reason for that expression on her face. “Was it my sickness or the pregnancy in general or something else?”
This time I do feel embarrassed, because admitting it out loud, I know how ridiculous I’m probably going to sound to her.
“No, it’s…” This is the thing I hate the most about my OCD—how much of my rumination is rooted in things that I know logically, are extremely unlikely to happen, but it doesn’t stop my thoughts from spiraling even when I tell myself that.
“Hey,” she says gently, stroking my cheek. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want. It won’t hurt my feelings.”
“No.” I place my hand over hers. “You should know these things.”
“You know how I mentioned to you once that I was worried you’d go into labor and I’d have to deliver the baby?”
She gives a nod in response.
“Well, I ended up taking a class because I just couldn’t let go of the thought of it happening even if it’s extremely unlikely.”
“Are you still worrying about it? Even after the class?”
She has no idea how much it means to me for her to use that word—worrying, instead of obsessing.
“Yes,” I admit. “Though, not as much as I was.”
When I first found out she was pregnant it was damn near consuming.
“That’s good, but I wish you weren’t worrying about it at all.
” It surprises me when she climbs fully into my lap.
My hands automatically go to her hips, kneading her flesh like my fingers have a mind of their own.
“If there’s ever anything I can do to make you feel better, to assure you, to just listen or whatever it is you need, I want you to tell me.
” I duck my head and she grips my chin, forcing me to look at her. “I mean it, Luke.”
I wet my lips with my tongue, and her eyes follow the movement. “I’ll be better about sharing it with you.”
She lays her head on my shoulder. “What do you think about Tanner and Kayla?”
I stroke my fingers through her hair. It’s the softest I’ve ever felt. I can’t figure out if it’s something to do with her shampoo, or something else she puts on her hair, or just her.
“I like them,” I say after a long moment. “I wasn’t sure what to expect when we got here, but they both seem nice and their kids are cute. I know this situation can’t be ideal for you. Sure, it’s not like we’re living in their house, but we’re living on strangers’ property.”
She shrugs against me. “They won’t be strangers forever, and …
I know it probably sounds crazy, but it makes me feel better to know we’re so close to people who already have kids.
Like we have supervisors or something.” She shakes with a soft laugh.
“I feel so unprepared for him to come. We haven’t even talked about names. ”
My fingers still for a moment before I resume stroking her hair. “Do you want to talk about them now?”
She sits up slightly so she can look at me. “I haven’t even made a list.”
I shrug. “So? We can make one together.”
She bites her lip, seeming to think it over. “Okay.” She scurries off my lap and back to the other side of the striped blue and white couch to grab her phone off the end table.
She crosses her legs as she scrolls through on her phone. “Do you have a notebook?”
“In a box somewhere.”
“Right.” She laughs at herself. “Just use your notes app to keep track of the ones we like.”
Her tongue sticks out slightly as she consults a website she finds. “Adam?”
I shake my head. “It’s not awful, but it doesn’t feel right.”
“Adrien?” She arches a brow, waiting for my reply.
“No.”
“Brady?”
“Sounds like a frat boy name.”
“Luke,” she laughs. “Are you going to like anything?”
“Eventually. I hope. Naming our son is a huge deal, it has to be perfect.”
Her cheeks tinge the slightest shade of pink. “It is a big deal, isn’t it?”
“He’s only going to have the name for the rest of his life.”
“Carson?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
She looks like she wants to laugh at me, but she presses her lips into a hard line instead. “Deacon?”
“No.”
“Fine, you look.” She nods at my phone. “I can take notes.”
With a sigh, I do as she asks. I’m not purposely trying to be a pain, but I’m realizing that there might not be a lot of names I like. I bring up a website and start back at the A’s.
Forty minutes later we’ve only added a few names.
Billy.
Callahan.
Connor.
Henry.
Julian.
Noel.
Perry.
Rory.
It’s not a lot, but it’s a place to start.
We settle into bed for the night, and I curl against Bertie, wrapping my arms around her. I expect her to protest, but she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs my hand where it rests on her stomach and twines our fingers together.
I want this forever with her, but I still don’t think she’s there yet.
One day, though, she’ll know this is serious and that I’m not going anywhere.