Page 18 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Nine

Raylen

Laura's House

Go to bed. It’s late.

I fight a grin and type out a quick response.

Make me.

My phone chimes again, but I place it face down on the arm of the couch, praying the scratchy fabric doesn’t scuff the screen.

Since everyone’s been so far up my ass about this whole “disappearance date” thing, I decided to crash at Laura’s for a few days.

Jack, naturally, took that as an open invitation to tag along.

They think I’ll break down. They think I’ll snap, or spiral, or end up sobbing in a bathtub somewhere. But I won’t. Lance doesn't have that power over me anymore. I made damn sure of that.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Laura says casually, like she didn’t just drop a grenade into the quiet living room. Her voice nearly gets drowned out by Jack’s scream as a jump scare rattles the horror movie playing on the screen.

“Who?” I ask, pretending not to understand.

“Mystery man. He’s the one blowing up your phone, right?”

I roll my eyes and pull the blanket tighter around me, tucking my feet against the couch cushions just to piss her off.

Her place is a far cry from mine—sleek, monochrome, painfully tidy.

Like she lives in a display unit instead of an actual home, still, this couch has seen more of me than she probably likes to admit.

“Nope. No. And fuck no,” Jack blurts, springing up like he’s been electrocuted. “I’m going to bed. You two can flirt with the devil without me.”

“It’s just a movie!” I argue, but he’s already backing toward the stairs, cradling his knee from where it smacked the coffee table.

“It’s Satan on a screen. The dude had horns. That’s my limit,” Jack huffs, pausing at the foot of the pitch-black stairwell. He stares up into the void, then turns back to us with pleading eyes.

“We’re not twelve anymore,” Laura sighs, not even looking at him. “There’s no such thing as monsters, Jack. And I highly doubt Satan is climbing out of the TV to drag your pretty little soul to hell.”

I snort, but the words hit differently. There are monsters. Real ones. The kind that crawl out from under your bed when the world’s asleep. Some have claws and teeth, but others are beautiful and dangerous—mine lured me into a closet and ripped out my soul with the kiss that started it all.

“I’m too hot for hell,” Jack mutters, flipping his hair back like he’s in a shampoo commercial.

I kick the edge of the table, and he jumps so hard I swear he almost hits the ceiling.

“Not funny!” he yelps. “I don’t know why I hang out with you psychos. ”

“You love us!” I call after him, but he flicks the light switch off with the dramatics of someone being exorcised and sprints up the stairs like something’s chasing him.

The house falls quiet.

I exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the cushion. Just when the silence starts to settle, Laura speaks again—softly this time.

“It’s not Lance, is it? If it is, you can tell me. We can call the cops. Whatever you need.”

The question punches the air out of me.

“I’m not asking about whoever’s blowing up your phone tonight,” I say flatly, still not looking at her. “So maybe let mine go, too.”

Is that a challenge? You know I love games, sunshine.

My heart jumps as I read the text, my bottom lip caught between my teeth—but the fluttering heat in my stomach dies as a loud thud comes from upstairs.

“I’m okay!” Jack yells.

“So it is Moe,” Laura says, like this is a goddamn police interrogation.

Can’t play when you’re halfway across the world.

I sigh and shoot back the text.

“Why are you so worried about it?” I mutter aloud .

She’s killing my mood and any attempt I make at forgetting the things that haunt me.

“Look, he seems sweet,” Laura says carefully. “But he’s got secrets.”

That gets my attention. My eyes narrow as I shift to face her fully.

“How would you know?” I say a little more bitterly than intended.

I don’t like the idea of someone I know, knowing him better than me.

I found him… or he found me. We found each other.

Oh God no, that’s too corny. Either way, I’m the one whose name he’s moaning when he is home so I have a right to be jealous.

Or do I? I mean there’s no set rules to it.

For fucks sakes, now my mind won't stop the spiral it's found and all I wanted tonight was to tease the man who makes me see stars since he can’t do anything about it. Did I feel guilty about how our first time went? Maybe a little considering he was so sweet and gentle at first that it was borderline swoon worthy. He held onto me like a lifeline and yet I couldn’t stop my walls from blocking his way in.

Or at least I thought I couldn't, now with every passing day and short message or phone call I get, I feel myself growing closer to him.

I want to know more about how the fucked up world kicked him down just for him to smile in its face.

“I worked with him.” Laura says but I don’t think her words ease much of my inner turmoil. If anything it only intensifies. Maybe she does know him better than me.

“And you’re just now telling me this?” My phone chimes but I don’t take my glare away from Laura as she lets out a frustrated sigh and pushes her glasses up her nose.

“You know I can’t talk about what I do. He’s the same way. If he hasn’t told you, that should be a sign.”

She’s frustrated now, fishing a cigarette from the bowl on the table.

“What about the fact that you failed to mention knowing him this whole time?” I snap. “You’re lecturing me about secrets while keeping your own.”

Laura goes still, lighter poised in midair .

“You’re right,” she says. “I guess it’s because I do know him. Which means I can say he might not be what’s best for you.”

The anger simmers in my blood, but I shove it down. Barely.

“I’m only saying it because I love you,” she adds. “I’m not Jack. I’m not going to tiptoe around this. You’re the closest friend I’ve got, Ray. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

I swallow hard.

There’s nothing to say to that because beneath my frustration and jealousy, I know she means it. She just doesn’t know him like I do.

I finally glance down.

FaceTime me and I’ll show you differently.

Laura rises from the couch. “Sleep well, Ray. Stay as long as you want.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. She disappears upstairs, her words still ringing in my ears like a warning bell but I can’t hear the alarm over the hum in my chest.

I don’t have the right to demand answers from Moe. We agreed to something casual. We built our walls for a reason. Still, he’s given me more than I expected—with every glance, every word, every gentle unraveling.

I hover over the stupid picture he sent a few weeks ago—grey sweats, tight white tank top, smug, annoyingly hot. I hesitate. I don’t want to get caught giggling like a schoolgirl, but Jack sleeps like a rock, and Laura will probably avoid me for the rest of the night.

I shift on the couch, turning the TV volume up a few clicks, and smooth down my hair with my fingers. This is what I need—a distraction. One that looks like sin and makes me forget the weight of the world.

Without giving myself another moment to hesitate, I click the little green button and stare at myself on the screen. I’ve always hated this part when it comes to FaceTiming someone—where you just sit there awkwardly looking at yourself until a face replaces your own.

“One second, baby,” Moe murmurs as he answers—but all I see is black.

“I could’ve just called you regularly, you know,” I mutter, glancing at the TV. The movie’s long over; credits are rolling with a creepy-ass violin track in the background.

“I wanted to see your pretty face. Just let me…” There’s a click, a shuffle, and the rustle of plastic beneath weight. “There.”

His face flickers into view, dimly lit in hues of blue and white that trace the sharp lines of his jaw and the tired circles under his eyes.

My gaze flicks past him, scanning for details, but I lose all focus the second he props the phone up.

He’s leaned back on what looks like a small cot, nothing but thin white sheets beneath him, wearing a worn olive green hoodie and gray sweats that cling just a little too well. My mouth goes dry.

There’s no excuse for a man to look this good in something so simple.

“Does your job not provide five-star accommodations?” I tease under my breath.

His smirk pulls slow and cocky. “Sunshine, I’m living in luxury right now. High-speed internet, silk sheets, twenty-four-hour buffet…”

“Bullshit.” I snort, eyeing the paper-thin sheets behind him. They look like they’d trap cold instead of heat. “You’d freeze your arse off under those.”

He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Some places are nicer than others.”

I study him as I lean back into the couch, trying to get comfortable.

Vague. Avoidant. Typical. I pry anyway. “What even is your family’s business?”

“Oh, we're playing twenty questions again? I liked where that ended last time.” He wiggles his eyebrows, shifting back against the wall and draping his arms over his knees.

“We help the world,” he adds after a pause.

“Help the world,” I echo. “By taxing everything you sell? ”

He laughs, but it sounds different through the phone. Thinner. It makes me miss the weight of it in person.

“No,” he says, smile fading into something more contemplative. “It’s hard to explain. We manage… private affairs. Mostly about helping people do good. Does that make sense?”

“ Helping how? Like rehab programs? World hunger initiatives? ” I tease. “You’re not exactly feeding my imagination here, monster.”

He rubs a hand down his chest, hesitating like he’s trying to say the right thing.

“Is preventing mass chaos a good enough answer?”

It’s not but it’s just enough to quiet the storm Laura stirred in my head.

“Oh wow. Didn’t know the world would go insane without their Pringles or iPhones.”