Page 35 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Seventeen

Raylen

Some Shitty apartment

“This place is absolutely horrendous,” I mutter, arms folded as I stare into the flat Jack’s currently pretending to fall in love with.

I haven’t stepped more than two feet inside, mostly because I’m convinced the ceiling is going to cave in the moment someone exhales too hard, and also because I’m pretty sure I just saw a roach sprint across the floor like it had somewhere better to be.

“You’re in your cranky mood again, Ray!” Jack yells from the bathroom, spinning like an idiot because that’s all the space allows for.

“Seriously, if you’re this desperate to get out of Laura’s, you can come stay with me for a bit,” I say, exasperated. My gaze drifts along the hallway, eyeing the spiral stairwell as an escape route, already counting how many steps I’d need to bolt out of here.

“What, and give you a reason to avoid Moe even more?” he calls out, voice echoing off the tile. “Not a chance.”

He’s not wrong, but still—I was being nice. Mostly…

Although the second Moe came over, Jack would absolutely become a walking nightmare, moaning through the walls, pounding on the door mid-hookup just to mimic the bed creaking like we were in a damn haunted house. I can already hear it in my head, and yeah, maybe it’s not the best idea after all.

“It was only an offer,” I mumble, fingers twisting my phone inside my hoodie pocket, already regretting today’s entire outing.

The apartment smells like someone tried to cover up a crime scene with bleach and expired coffee grounds, and Jack’s treating it like a fixer-upper special on HGTV.

I wrinkle my nose, wondering if this place is even legally inhabitable.

“I’m just saying,” he continues as he climbs up onto the kitchen counter and opens a dusty cabinet like he’s inspecting a wine cellar, “you and Moe seem to be doing okay. I figured since you never go to his place, yours would be the eventual nesting ground.” He shrugs, dragging his finger across the wood and not even reacting to the layer of grime he collects.

“This’ll be the snack cabinet.” He whispers.

I slip into the hall to avoid him seeing my face, because the worst part is that he’s not entirely wrong.

I’ve been building walls, staying guarded, waiting for something to go wrong—clinging to control like it’s going to keep me from unraveling.

And even though Moe doesn’t scare me the way Lance did, even though he’s never done anything to warrant the fear…

there’s still that voice, soft and convincing, whispering that I’m not safe unless I stay the one with the upper hand.

“I’ll be outside if you need me!” I call up, raising my voice slightly as I reach the stairs. “And if you rent this place, I’m telling Laura you’re moving into a crime scene. She’ll make you sage it before she ever steps inside.”

“Snitch!” he calls back.

The sun is trying its best to warm the street below, breaking through thin clouds; the smell of fresh rain still clings to the pavement. It should be calming, but instead, it only makes my skin itch. I can’t tell if I want to text Moe, call him, or delete his number altogether.

I lean back against the worn brick complex, staring at the storm rolling out from this morning.

He ignored me for two days. No explanation, no apology—just a vague “busy with work” excuse like his friends hadn’t broken into my apartment and turned it into a war zone.

And still, I find myself hoping he’ll call first, like that would somehow make this easier.

All I need to do is pull out my phone, dial his number, and ask him about his day.

That’d be inconspicuous, right? Moe wouldn’t be able to gauge that I’m just testing what it feels like to do everything I’ve been wanting since the start of this.

It’s like dipping a toe in the water to test the temperature.

“Oh, thank god,” I huff as my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. If he weren’t the one to call me first, I probably would have been stuck letting my clothes get contaminated by the side of the brick apartment while battling myself until Jack came out.

A younger couple walking by shoots me a curious glance, which I return by looking up at the sky and saying, “The weather is so much better than it was this morning.”

What is going on with me?

They turn around, and I lean my head back against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut in embarrassment. I place my hand over my ear, forcing a calm tone as I say, “I was just about to call you!”

Did my voice just go up a pitch? God, if you’re there, please make this stop now. Thank you.

“Oh, really? That’s great to hear, sweetheart!” my mom's voice chirps through the line, and my stomach drops as I pull the phone away to check the screen. Yep. Not Moe. Just my mother, ruining the one moment when I might have made a good decision.

I take a deep breath and force a smile into my voice. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”

“Well, I’ve got a surprise too!” she says, practically bouncing. I glance across the street at a small, run-down café. It looks like it hasn’t seen a renovation since the nineties, but the mismatched tables under the faded umbrellas give it a weird kind of charm.

“Is it a pony? You know I’ve always wanted a pony.

” I hum, trying to joke. The laugh my mom lets out makes my shoulders sag and my features soften.

It’s real and genuine, just like when my father would push me on the swing with extra force whenever my mother walked by, just to hear her squeal from the almost impact.

“You had a pony. You hated the thing.” She giggles. I don’t think I’ve drawn out that sound from her in a while, and that thought makes me feel guiltier than I expected. It’s not their fault for what I went through, but it’s also not my fault for how I healed. I think they understand that.

“Because it wasn’t a pony. It was Satan in horse form,” I huff. “I couldn’t even pet the damn thing without losing a finger.”

I reach for the café door just as a guy with a towel wrapped around the handle opens it for me. I nod gratefully and step inside.

“What’s the surprise?” I ask.

“Dinner,” she says, too casually.

“I know it's last minute, but I don’t know your schedule too well,” my mother starts. I stand at a comical distance away from the counter, looking over the items on the menu. I can already sense it coming. She's about to bribe me into doing something, which means I'm about to hear…

“Is that my little Ray? Give me the phone, Tess!” My father booms from the background.

“Oh my God, Joe—wait!”

“Rayray! You’re coming tonight, right? You have to come. Gary’s going to start talking about his nonfiction books again, and I need a buffer.”

My mother's and father's voices mingle, but I'm still able to make out the words. The sun beams through the window, warming my back. It feels as if there’s nothing wrong in the world at this moment, like everything is how it's supposed to be.

“So it’s not just a dinner? It’s another party?” I tease, and my father laughs—a sound so deep and warm that my shoulders square with pride.

“It’s more of a gathering! You can bring that boy you were—”

“Bring the man, Rayray!” My father cuts off my mother again, and I swear that just by the sound of her growl, I can already see her dainty fingers curling into her palms and her foot stomping.

I roll my eyes and move toward the counter, already sensing that this is a trap.

“I don’t know—” I start, but I fall silent as the line goes quiet. I have to pull the phone from my ear to check and see if they’re still on the other side. Once I take note that they are, I let out a heavy sigh.

“Please.” It’s one word from my father, but it adds such a weight to my shoulders that I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach anything as heavy as coffee right now.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll, uh…” I rub my hand over my face in frustration. “I’ll see if he can make it.”

The second I hang up, I call Moe before I can second-guess my decision and he answers on the first ring, his breathing ragged.

“Sunshine?”

Oh, hello. I grin, twisting the handle of the café door again, but it’s already being pulled open from the other side.

“Is everything okay?” Moe asks, his tone more stern than confused, surely due to my random call.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I know how to work a phone too–” My steps come to an abrupt halt as the door swings the rest of the way open and I'm suddenly face to face with someone I promised myself I’d never see again.

“You missed me,” Moe teases, but I can’t focus on the drawl in his voice as my gaze slowly drags up worn blue jeans and a gray t-shirt to deep brown eyes that are narrowed. I can’t move. I’m frozen in place, even though my mind is begging me to stumble back or at least push through the man.

He watches me the way he used to, as if I’m something he already owns. I scan the café—three staff members and two patrons. No one seems to notice him standing there, or me frozen in the doorway as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Did I lose you?” Moe's voice breaks through my thoughts. Slowly, I keep my body as far from Lance as possible and slip through the door, never once letting my eyes stray from his.

“I, uh—” I swallow hard, my heart racing so fast that I swear I can hear it in my ears, overpowering the clinking sounds in the background of Moe’s line.

As soon as I step out onto the pavement, Lance calmly enters the café without once looking back in my direction.

I’ve never been shot with a taser, but I can imagine this is how it feels—so painful that you can't even think of moving, making your body wish it could curl in on itself.

Steadying my breathing, I quickly turn on my heel and rush back toward the apartments.

“My parents,” I say, clearing my throat and hoping Moe can’t hear the lump forming in it.

“They’re having a get-together tonight. Come with me.” I don’t mean for it to sound like a demand, but I need this conversation to go by as quickly as possible.

Jack steps out of the apartment, juggling his keys between his hands with a bright smile that quickly fades as soon as he sees the look on my face.

“Text me a time, and I’ll pick you up!” Moe says, just as enthusiastically as I had expected. I move to hang up as he adds, “Don’t worry, I’ll wear something pretty for you.”

How can a day that begins so perfectly turn so wrong in such a short amount of time? It feels as if my whole body goes numb the moment Jack's hands curl into my shoulders, his mouth moving, but I can't hear the words coming out.

I glance over my shoulder at the café once more; Lance is sitting right under one of the cute umbrellas, wearing a smug grin as he brings a cup to his mouth.The only problem is that it isn't Lance, it’s just a man that looks like him.

Jack follows my stare and frowns. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

I wish I could laugh. Or cry. Or say something clever. But all I do is let him guide me toward the car, legs heavy, mind spinning.

I thought I’d buried him for good.

Turns out, you can bury a body, but the memory doesn’t stay dead.