Page 25 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Twelve

Raylen

Fae's Diner

Have I been ignoring Moe for a week? Yes.

Yes, I have. Do I feel guilty as hell every time a message lights up my phone with some sweet update about his day or a missed call I dodge with a half-assed “ Sorry, I’m tired” ?

Absolutely. But I can’t stop. Not when I’ve realized he’s getting too close to pieces of me I’ve spent years trying to bury.

Not when his hands have touched me without hurting.

Not when he’s seen the cracks and didn’t try to seal them—just kissed the broken parts like they mattered.

That night, he held me in my bed—no pressure, no pushing.

Just curled around me, fully clothed, his arms tight and warm as his mouth pressed to mine over and over again.

Between kisses, he whispered questions—soft ones about things I liked, things I hated, and things I didn’t even know anyone would care to ask.

His body was tense against mine, hips grinding just enough for me to feel how badly he wanted more, and yet…

he never took. He just held me. Kissed me until the tears stopped.

Until I fell asleep so deep I didn’t even feel him leave.

When I woke up, there were three messages waiting.

All sweet. All gentle. All Moe. “Good morning.” “Hope you slept well.” “I miss you already.” And that’s the problem.

It’s too good to be true. I can’t let myself fall into something that will only crack me open wider. I need to be smarter than that.

“Hot plate!” Jack’s yell cuts through my spiral, yanking me back to the diner. I drag myself away from the bar, slouching toward the kitchen window just in time to grab a plate that, despite his warning, isn’t remotely hot.

It should’ve been chocolate chip pancakes mocking me from the plate.

But I’ve been avoiding him so hard it’s like he doesn’t even notice.

You’d think he’d have come storming through my door by now, demanding an explanation, cracking some joke to get under my skin.

But nothing. It’s like he knows I need space, and he’s actually giving it. Or… maybe he’s just busy, like always.

I take the plate over to Harley—same order, same time, same table.

A creature of habit. Strawberries, grapes, French toast, and lavender tea.

Predictable. Safe. I used to find comfort in the routine, too.

But Moe? He’s the exact opposite. Every time I think I’ve figured him out, he flips the script.

Keeps me guessing. He’s always ten steps ahead and somehow still standing right next to me.

“Thanks, doll,” Harley grins, slipping two dollars onto the table like clockwork. I give him a tired smile and tuck the bills into my apron. My head’s too foggy today. Everything’s off-balance. I shouldn’t be like this—this isn’t what casual feels like. Casual doesn’t make you ache.

“I need a smoke break,” I mutter, sliding through the kitchen door.

“You don’t even smoke, remember?” Jack calls after me, voice dripping with smug amusement. “Or are you suddenly into it now that it smells like your boy toy?”

God, he’s insufferable.

“Shut up.” I don’t even look back. I shove the back door open and step into the drizzle.

The air is thick with that pre-storm tension, the kind that coats your skin before a single drop hits.

I close my eyes and tilt my head to the sky, letting the mist settle across my face.

It feels cleansing in a way my brain won’t allow.

And I hate to admit it, but with all this Moe chaos twisting inside me, I haven’t had the usual panic attacks every time I hear a man’s voice behind me or see a shadow that looks too much like Lance’s. Maybe that’s what Moe does. Maybe he distracts me from the monsters still breathing down my neck.

I raise my arms slightly, letting the rain trace over my palms like it could scrub away every touch that’s ever left a scar.

The boys. The men. The bastards who thought my body was theirs to own.

They always took a piece. Always left me hollow.

Maybe you have to hurt to heal—but why does someone else always get to be the one doing the hurting?

I whisper into the mist, “Damn you.”

The door slams open behind me, crashing into the brick wall hard enough to jolt me out of my trance. I whip around.

“Break time’s over! We’re getting swarmed in here!” Jack’s panicked voice makes no sense. I’d only been out here a few minutes, and the diner was nearly empty when I left.

“What day is it?” I ask, storming past him.

“The twenty-eighth. Table two already got their drinks, but they’re picky about their food timing—”

I wasn’t actually asking for the date, I just needed to know the day. Normally I’m on top of these things—knowing what days I need to mentally prepare for that’ll be the most draining.

Ignoring Jack, I slow my steps to calmer ones as I approach the swinging door to the dining area. I can’t hear the chatter of a large crowd and it doesn’t feel warmer in here like it typically would if we were packed.

That ass hole. My focus drops to the plate, my hand braced firm against the barrier separating me from the monster lurking on the other side.

Fucking chocolate chip pancakes.

I don’t have to turn around to see the triumphant smirk accompanying Jack's little hum as he waltzes around the kitchen like he didn’t just purposely do this.

They don’t get to win.

I square my shoulders and step out into the dining area, scanning the room. And there he is. Flame-red hair, broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scrolls through his phone. That half-smile tugging at his lips like he knows I’m coming.

My heart trips over itself. Goddamn him .

I march over, plate in hand, doing my best not to let my hands shake.

“What are you doing here?” I growl, placing my hand on my hip as I hold his pancakes captive like some psycho.

“I'm, well…” he looks at the plate then back to me with a boyish grin, “I'm trying to eat, just like I have the last ten years.”

I suck the back of my tongue creating a clicking noise. Great. Now I seem like the crazy one because of course he came for food but I know that's not the only reason. Will I make it worse by calling him out on it? His gaze drops to my mouth and his pupils dilate.

Oh yeah it'll definitely make it worse and I'm trying to slacken this damn string tied between us. Plopping the plate on the table I try to glare at his mug but it's already on a napkin making my irritable stare unnecessary.

“I'm sorry I haven't been around. Is that why you're not texting back or answering my calls?” His head tilts to catch my attention and I scoff with a roll of my neck to glance back at Jack not so subtly watching from the kitchen window. He dips back around and I scrunch my nose to refrain from screaming at him. There’s still customers here and I don’t really need to lose my job.

“I honestly thought the picture would get you to say something, but all I’ve had is radio silence.

So, are you going to tell me what I’ve done wrong?

” Moe's voice drops to a whisper and my cheeks heat. Since when have I ever blushed? Maybe it’s the fact that I indeed enjoyed the picture of him in some odd work out room with grey sweats low on his waist and his hand dipped under a tight white tee, teasing me with the one thing I’ve been desperate to see but he’s yet to allow.

“No.” It sounds pathetic coming off my tongue but it’s all I can get out so I tilt my chin further into the air. He looks too smug, twirling his stupid fork between his fingers as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and looks me over.

“I mean you haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve just been busy.” I push the words off my thick tongue like it’ll somehow make this situation any better.

“Noted. Next time I’ll make sure it’s a video of my dick so I’m sure to get a response. I bet you wouldn’t be too busy for that.”

I cough trying to cover up his statement and quickly look around.

“I’m a busy woman.” I huff in annoyance, “besides I’m not the only one who disappears.”

With that, I turn to leave. I don’t know why I sound like I’m jealous of his job—I’m not. I’ve delt with not knowing him and his disappearing act ever since the day I met him. It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now.

“Touché. What’re you doing for the new year?” His voice dropping to a low murmur has me pausing to hear him properly.

Shoving my hands into my apron, I don’t bother facing him, “busy.”

“What if I take you to a party? It’ll be fun?” He drawls the last sentence as if it’s supposed to entice me.

“I have plans with—“

Before the sentence is even out of my mouth Jack's head is out the kitchen window speaking way too enthusiastically for my liking, “Hey Ray! Laura called, she’ll be busy New Year’s and I forgot I made plans to get a tattoo.”

If looks could kill my narrowed stare would have Jack hanging limp out of the stupid opening.

“Sounds like you’re in then, sunshine. Maybe it can make up for missing Christmas with you.”

My teeth grind at the smile in Moe's voice, my shoulders tense and my fist clench around whatever I can find in the little pockets. I thought Moe hated Jack, so why is this whole dynamic suddenly changing? And just an fyi, I don’t even celebrate Christmas–he knows that but he had promised something along the lines of ‘he’d make me see the joy in little things’.

Whatever that means, but I didn’t give him the chance to.

“Do you remember the hill and how to get there?” Moe sings like he doesn't think I’ll punch him in the throat right here, right now.

My spine straightens as sudden heat envelopes my body and my breathing shallows.

His hand splays over my hip and tugs me back against him. This is too public and we’re too close.

“It’ll be fun. I’ll introduce you to some of my co-workers.” Moe's breath fans over my ear and I try to tug away but his grip only tightens, indenting into the plush skin.

“Friends do that right? Meet other's friends, sometimes even family.” His lips graze my ear and I shiver, successfully pulling from his hold. If I don’t, then I’ll be dragging him to the closest area and begging like someone I’m not.

“Fine.” I snap and his laugh follows me as I try to storm off.

“Bring a mask. We like to dress up.” He calls out and my nose scrunches from the statement. It’s not fucking Halloween, so why would…

“Trust me, sunshine. It’ll be fun.” Moe purrs as he slips back into his booth and pours an unhealthy amount of syrup over his pancakes.

It doesn’t sound fun. It sounds like something out of a horror movie or one of those books in my closet…