Page 45 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Twenty-Three

Moe

On the road

She danced with him.

Not like a goofy, awkward sway—she actually fucking danced. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just her hand sliding into his like she’d been doing it all her life and let him guide her across that sticky bar floor like it meant nothing.

Like it wasn’t a knife twisting under my ribs with every step they took.

I had to damn near climb on a bar at the diner and throw out my hip just to get her to dance with me. I had to practically drag a laugh out of her, play the fool, and beg for one little sway. But tonight? One look from him, and she was all in.

My fingers tap impatiently against the steering wheel, each drumming beat sharper than the last as I try to ground myself. She’s humming beside me, content, like we didn’t just walk out of a fever dream where everything blurred and bent sideways.

“I had fun,” my fucking storm cloud chirps beside me, wiggling in her seat like nothing’s wrong. Like I didn’t watch another man slide his palm over the small of her back.

Like she didn’t let him.

I drag in a slow breath through my nose, let it burn through my lungs like a slow cigarette.

“The burgers were amazing,” I force out. Her dance dies mid-sway and she goes quiet, folding inward like she just stepped into a shadow she didn’t mean to.

Shit.

“Yeah,” she says after a long pause, drawing the word out like it weighs more than she knows how to carry.

It feels as if she’s seeing me as the monster from her past as she wearily side eyes me.

I mean I am a monster for her but I don't want to be the scary kind. I want to be the one she keeps in her bed, not the one she hides from beneath it.

I let go of the steering wheel and reach for her thigh, grounding myself there. My thumb moves in slow, apologetic circles. I don’t want this version of me to be what she remembers.

“I’m glad you had fun, baby,” I murmur, softer now, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders. If I want to be technical with myself, she did dance with me tonight. No bribery. No teasing. Just walked into my arms like she belonged there.

So at least something went right.

Still… the unease clings to me like smoke that won’t clear. The way King watched her. The way he looked at me. Like he knew every nerve to hit, every pressure point to exploit.

It didn’t feel like jealousy or territory. It felt like a test and I'm sure it was. But at least I proved to that motherfucker that I didn’t make straight A’s growing up by cheating. I learn . I adjust . Even in the worst goddamn conditions.

By the time we pull into the gravel driveway of the B&B, it’s nearly midnight.

The stars are sharper out here, pin-pricks of silver against a canvas of ink, and the silence wraps around us—thick, still, and almost too heavy.

Neither of us says much as we head inside and her fingers find mine without a thought, threading together like they belong there.

My jaw unclenches just a little as I guide her down the narrow hallway to our room and shut the door behind us .

Raylen kicks off her shoes with a soft groan and stretches, arms overhead, shirt lifting just enough to show a sliver of skin that has my already-tired self tensing.

“That bed looks sinful,” she sighs with a sleepy grin.

I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching her like I’m afraid if I blink, she’ll vanish.

She smiles at me over her shoulder, that lazy, half-lidded thing that drives a spike straight into my chest.

“You can hog the pillows tomorrow. I don’t know how long our meeting will last or where we might end up going, so it might be a night or two of you alone with nothing but the sinful bed.”

She turns to face me fully, catching whatever emotion I didn’t mean to let slip.

“Alone?”

I try to play it off, lips twitching. “I promise everything will be okay. You’re in one of the safest places.”

She crosses the room and slides between my legs, standing close enough for her warmth to sink into me. Her palms skim up my chest, slow and deliberate.

“Can you talk to me without making me feel like you’re constantly sneaking away to see some woman that happens to be your wife and three kids?”

God, she’s perfect. I want to laugh, want to make some cocky retort, but all I can manage is a weak chuckle as I drop my forehead against hers. I don’t deserve how good she is—how she can read me even when I’m trying to stay unreadable.

“I don’t want to ruin the night.”

“Too late. Your jealousy walked into the bar before we did,” she mutters. But there’s no venom in it. Just fatigue. And truth. She's not wrong.

If she only knew the restraint I was holding onto tonight. If she had any fucking clue how close I was to snapping King’s wrist when he brushed her hair behind her ear like he had any right to even breathe near her .

“I just…” I pull back slightly, meeting her eyes. I could tell her now—tell her everything. Let her know that I’ve dragged her into a world she didn’t ask for, put a target on her back without her even knowing. But what if she leaves while I’m gone? What if I don’t even get the chance to explain?

“There’s a chance I met my father,” I blurt.

Her whole body stills.

“It could just be my mind playing tricks on me—knowing he’s here, knowing what’s possible—so I start looking for the worst version I can find, but… fuck, I don’t know. King just…”

Her lips part like she wants to speak, to soothe—but she stays quiet. Just listens. Just sees me.

“You know about my mom,” I continue. “Or at least the basics. She was institutionalized. My grandfather… same well he should’ve fucking been. Both unstable. Both gone in the head. And if he’s unstable too—if I’m three-for-three on broken fucking bloodlines—what does that make me?”

I breathe through my nose, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache.

“It makes me wonder if I’m just fighting a battle I’ve already lost. Like it’s already written in my blood, waiting to surface.”

Raylen swallows, her throat working around a response she doesn’t force. She looks at me like she’s not afraid of the mess—like she’s willing to step into it.

“You don’t even know if it’s him,” she says softly.

“What if it is though?” I mutter. “You’ve seen the man! He’s just like the rest of them. And if he is my… fuck. If that’s the case I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I’m not headed down the same fucking path.”

She lifts her hand to my face, thumb brushing along my jaw like she’s trying to anchor me. Like she wants me to stay.

“I’ve spent my whole life trying to stay in control. Trying to outrun whatever’s inside me. But being here, seeing him... it’s like looking at the version of myself I could become if I take one wrong step. ”

She doesn’t rush to fix it. Doesn’t say some bullshit like you’ll never be him. She just gives me the quiet, the space, and the safety to fall apart.

I step back, dragging in air like I’ve just surfaced from underwater.

“I should’ve told you earlier. I just…” I rub the back of my neck, laugh bitterly. “It’s not like I can explain it all. Not without giving away—”

I catch myself.

She narrows her eyes. “Giving away what?”

I look anywhere but at her. At the wall. At the curtains fluttering from the cracked window AC unit. “Just... more than you need to know right now.”

She stares at me, unblinking, reading between lines I haven’t even spoken aloud. But she doesn’t push. Just walks toward the bed, crawls onto it, and turns back to face me.

“Well, come on then,” she says with a lazy smirk. “If I’m gonna be part of your quarter-life identity crisis, I’d rather do it horizontal.”

A laugh breaks free before I can stop it, and I shake my head, the tightness in my chest finally cracking just enough for breath to slip in.

She stretches across the bed, arms above her head like she doesn’t even realize she’s inviting me in the most dangerous way possible.

But I don’t crawl toward her, no matter how badly I want to.

I kneel.

Slowly. Deliberately. The mattress dips beneath the weight of my knees as I stay completely still at the end of the bed.

Not because I’m afraid she'll push me away. Not because I'm scared I'll spook her. It's because I need this to be her choice. Not just the moment– Me .

"Ray…" I whisper, leaning over, hands bracing beside her thighs into the mattress. “Do you ever think about what you want? Not what you can handle. Not what people expect from you. Just… what you want.”

Her brows knit, the tension between them softening into something more vulnerable.

"Sometimes," she says, voice low, lips parting as she searches my face .

“Tell me what to do,” I murmur.

She tilts her head. “What?”

My hands slide up her thighs, slow and reverent, stopping just where her shorts meet skin. My thumbs draw lazy circles, waiting.

“I mean it,” I breathe. “You tell me what to touch. What to kiss. How to fuckin’ worship you. You take control tonight, sunshine.”

“Moe…” Her voice trembles, soft and full of something that makes my heart squeeze. “Why?”

And I almost tell her the truth.

Because the world could fall apart tomorrow.

Because I need to feel like I’ve given you power over me, even if I have none over anything else.

Because if I’m turning into something dark, I need to know the last light I touched was you.

I drag my hands up slowly, savoring every inch of her skin under my palms, until my fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts. But I don’t pull.

Not yet.

“Because you’ve been controlled before,” I say, voice low and rough, more gravel than air. “Because someone took something from you. And maybe I can’t fix that—but I can give you this.”

My thumbs graze small, slow circles over her hips, steady and patient, waiting for her to move first.

“I want to give you this. You take what you want. From me. I won’t move unless you say so.”