Page 87 of Play Pretend

“Do you want it?” I got to my feet, but she stopped me with a hand on my forearm.

“I’m okay,” she murmured, her eyes flicking between mine. “Areyouokay?”

I licked my lips as I sat back down. “Fine.” I grabbed a few pancakes before pouring syrup over them. “Thanks for breakfast. This looks incredible.”

“Ronan.” Her voice was soft, almost coaxing. I adjusted my grip on my fork. It took all I had to turn my gaze to her.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Patience dripped from her voice as she stared at me. Silence stretched between us, but she just stared, waiting.

I knew she wanted to know what the fuck was wrong with me, what I’d just done, and why. I took a deep breath, and it rattled through my chest.

“I have OCD,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I looked back at the pancakes, watching as the syrup soaked fully into the spongy surface. “I’ve had it for as long as I can remember, but it got worse after Trin. After what happened.”

Her brows furrowed slightly. “Is that why you…the horn?” she asked, her tone careful as she pointed at the front window.

“You noticed that?”

Her lips tipped up in a small smile. “It’s kind of hard to miss it,” she said gently. “What else do you do?”

No one had ever asked me that before—not with genuine curiosity, not with the kind of softness that didn’t feel like judgment. I felt my heart crawl up my throat.

“I—I have rituals,” I admitted, the words tumbling out like they’d been trapped inside too long. “It’s a numbers thing. Seven. I have to do things seven times—tap my fingers, lock andunlock doors, honk my horn. I check the stove even when I know it’s off, and I have to make sure the microwave is unplugged.”

I paused, trying to organize the chaos in my head into something that made sense. “But it’s more than that. It’s like…I’m always waiting for something bad to happen. I’m always afraid that the people I love are going to get hurt—or worse. That it’ll be my fault if I don’t do something to stop it. The…the rituals help me feel in control. They help meprotecteveryone. I know that sounds insane but?—"

Her hand slid across the table and rested on top of mine, cutting me off. “That sounds exhausting,” she murmured. “I had no idea.”

I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Most people don’t.”

My eyes met hers again, and the sincerity in them nearly gutted me. She wasn’t pitying me. She wasn’t even trying to fix me. She was just…there. Steady and unflinching, not judging me or giving me unwanted advice. It felt like she wasn’t afraid of the mess I was, and that just made my heart bleed a little bit more for her.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” she finally asked. “I don’t want to mess up your…rituals?” She stumbled slightly over the word. “Will you have a bad day if you don’t do them?”

“My anxiety will get worse,” I mumbled. She understood, but it was still embarrassing. It made me feel broken, like less of a man.

“Do you talk to anyone? A therapist or…anyone?”

It was a logical question, and one my mother kept bugging me about. I couldn’t help my humorless laugh that escaped me. “I used to. Years ago.”

“And you stopped going?”

I took a deep breath. “It was hard to relive what happened every week. Sometimes it felt like I was doing better, then Thursday would come, and I’d rip that wound wide open again. Inever got anywhere, so I quit going.” I shrugged casually, but the sting of failure still burned in my chest.

Whoquittherapy? Whofailedat it?

“I used to go, too,” she admitted.

It caught me off guard and my brows rose. “Really?”

Her lips curled into a bittersweet smile. “It was after I left Daniel. My therapist is actually why I ended up moving here. She said I should go on a trip—she didn’t mean a cross-country road trip, but that’s what I did.” She laughed breathily as she trailed her fingertips over the back of my hand. “I drove up the coast for weeks, stopping in cute little towns. But my goal was Maine. I’d always wanted to visit, and when I got here…” Her eyes had a faraway look to them as she smiled. “I felt like I was finally home, like I could finally breathe. The week I was here, I found this place. It felt like it was fate, you know? Like it was meant to be. Then I went back to Ohio, packed only what I needed, and never looked back.”

“I can’t imagine doing something like that,” I said. “You’re incredible. That’s—that’s amazing.” A little chuckle escaped me. “I didn’t know that’s how you ended up here.”

She waved me off, but a smile still played on her lips. “It was reckless, honestly. But I think it worked out.” Her smile slowly fell, and her hand on mine tightened slightly. “Do you think you’ll ever go back? To therapy, I mean.”

I swallowed thickly. “My mom keeps bugging me about it.”

---