Page 54 of Hide From Me (Chaotic Love #3)

Twenty-Seven

Moe

Seaborn Medbay

Pain is the first thing I feel. It's not sharp or burning; it’s just heavy .

It feels as though the very air surrounding me is too thick to breathe, as if something massive and invisible is pressing down on my chest, squeezing my ribs inward.

My bones feel as if they are filled with wet cement, and my limbs are nailed down, rendered useless.

This isn’t just the pain from wounds—no, this weight is different.

It’s the kind of weight that comes from living when you weren’t supposed to.

I force my eyes open, my eyelids sticky, and my lashes clumped together with sweat and grime.

The world swims before me for a moment, then slowly sharpens.

Stark white ceiling panels above slowly fade into my vision, accompanied by the faint, rhythmic beep of a monitor looping in the background, along with the sterile scent of antiseptic and stitched flesh.

Med bay.

Fuck .

It's a familiar ceiling, one I've stared at before, but it feels so foreign now, like a room borrowed from someone else's nightmare.

I try to move, instinct taking over logic, but the moment I shift, a dozen needles of pain slice through me.

My shoulder feels like it's tearing apart, while my thigh pulses hot and insistent, as if my heart has relocated there.

A low groan escapes my throat before I can stop it.

“Jesus Christ—Moe?”

It's Caspian .

I drag my gaze sideways too quickly, and white-hot stars explode behind my eyes.

He’s there—right there—slouched in a chair, looking like he's been through his own war. His hair is a mess, wild and flattened in places as if he’s been yanking on it for hours.

His hands are shaking, knuckles raw from clenching his fists, and his red eyes, rimmed with exhaustion and unshed tears, are wide and frantic as if he’s watching me die all over again.

“Hey. Hey— stay down. ” Cordelia’s voice cuts through the haze as she appears behind him, moving quickly, her expression tight with concern. She scans my IV and grips it so tightly that it looks like she might hit me with it if I even think about sitting up again.

I blink slowly this time, trying to focus as the rest of the room gradually comes into view.

Jasmine is there, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed tightly, her nails digging into her sleeves.

Her mouth is set in a hard line, but her eyes—oh, her eyes look hollow, as if she’s barely holding the pieces together while watching Sam pace, back and forth like a tiger in a too-small cage.

“Where is she?” I whisper, my voice a raw rasp.

No one answers. The silence between the beeps of the monitors is louder than the sound of gunfire. I feel it pressing against me, crushing, until my fingers curl into the thin blanket covering me.

“Where the hell is she?” I try again, this time louder, my voice breaking. Caspian flinches as if I've hit him.

“Moe…”

“Did I hurt her?” I choke out. The words burn as they leave my mouth. My chest tightens, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. “Did I—God—did I scare her?”

Cordelia moves closer, sliding her hand over mine, grounding me.

“You scared all of us,” she says, her voice low and steady. “But Raylen… she didn’t know how to handle what hit her.”

I shut my eyes, but all I can see is her face. That moment. That look .

“She looked at me like I was a stranger,” I whisper, and the words feel like they tear something loose inside me.

“She found out everything in one breath. No time to prepare. And then you collapsed in front of her.” The voice from the doorway pulls my head around despite the ache.

Jonathan stands there, arms crossed, shoulders stiff, his expression struggling to remain neutral but failing.

There’s something fragile in the way his brow creases, in the way his eyes crinkle, as if a smile might soften the blow of truth.

As if a smile could fix this. I suppose I now understand how people feel when I do it.

I stare at him for too long, and my pulse quickens. My body feels wrecked, my mind is on fire, and a spiral of anxiety grips me before I can stop it.

I didn’t get to explain.

I didn’t get to fix things.

I can barely remember what I said before blacking out—just fragments: her flinch, her eyes wide with fear, the step she took away from me.

Caspian leans in, his palm warm against my uninjured shoulder. “Don’t do that. Don’t spiral right now, Moe. I can’t—”

“I’m not spiraling,” I snap, my tone too sharp and raw.

The monitor beside me is betraying me, beeping faster as my breath hitches.

I don’t mean to lash out. I can’t imagine what Caspian has been through, sitting here watching me bleed out, wondering if he would have to bury me.

But I can’t stop the storm inside. Everything hurts—and the only thing that could make it better isn’t here.

“You are,” Cordelia retorts, her voice now edged with anger. “You’re acting like you didn’t just survive a mission that would’ve killed most people ten times over. You’re alive . That matters.”

Her words sting more than I expect, especially coming from her. But I can’t hold back.

“Does it?” My voice cracks on the words. “Because if she doesn’t look at me the same—if she’s afraid of me—then what was the fucking point? ”

“You didn’t just survive,” Jonathan says quietly as he steps into the room. His presence fills the space, calm and steady. “You made choices out there. You put yourself last. You saved the hostages. You saved your team. You saved…” His voice falters. “Me.”

He hesitates, and the next words come as if they cost him everything.

“That’s not something a monster does.”

The room seems to hold its breath.

Jonathan stands there—solid and sure—but there’s no coldness in him. Just a quiet, shaky uncertainty, like he’s trying to cross a chasm he never thought he’d have to. His eyes flick to Caspian, then to Cordelia, and finally back to me, searching for… I don’t even know what.

“I’d like a minute with him,” he says, his voice soft but firm.

Caspian goes rigid. “No.”

“Tide,” Jonathan tries again, attempting a calm and formal tone.

“No,” Caspian snaps, louder and angrier. “He just woke up. He needs rest. He doesn’t need some dramatic father-son heart-to-heart while he’s still bleeding and disoriented.”

Cordelia shakes her head, already stepping toward the bed as if she’s ready to defend me with her bare hands if necessary. “I don’t like it either. Not now. Not yet. He’s too—”

“I’m right here.” My voice is thin, but I force it out. “I’m not deaf. I’m not dead.”

I swallow hard, fighting the lump in my throat, and look at Caspian.

“Cas… It’s okay.”

The look he gives me is one of pure heartbreak, as if I’ve betrayed him without intending to. His voice drops, heavy with the weight of hell.

“No, it’s not . You almost died, Moe. I’ve been sitting here for three days, wondering if I’d have to plan another funeral.”

My throat tightens because I know the impact that would have had on him but I don’t know how to ap ologize in a way that would make any of this better.

All I can do is breathe—and hope that it’s enough.

“I need a minute,” I manage to say, my voice raw and worn down by exhaustion and too many unanswered questions. But it’s all I have left to ask for.

Caspian hesitates, as though I've just asked him to sit down and watch me die all over again. His jaw ticks, and his hand twitches—he seems one second away from punching the nearest wall or person. He doesn’t want to leave.

I can see it in the way his eyes flick over my vitals, scanning as if he can will the numbers higher just by glaring at them.

Cordelia reaches for him, whispering something low and sharp near his shoulder. I can’t catch the words, but I see how his whole body coils and then releases all at once. There's a quiet war inside him, ending in reluctant surrender.

Finally, he exhales, his voice low and clipped. “Sam, go to security. Monitor every second in this room. Audio. Visual. All of it.”

Sam is gone before the words finish—no questions, no protests, just action.

Caspian turns his attention to Jasmine. “Go find the two best soldiers we’ve got. Not you. Not me. Not Cordelia. I need people we’d trust if one of us were in that bed. Got it?”

Jasmine stiffens. “The only people I’d trust with any of us, is us.”

“Jasmine,” Caspian says, his tone firm, adopting the superior-subordinate dynamic he has always maintained with her. She hesitates, as if she might argue, but ultimately nods and disappears quickly.

Caspian pivots to Cordelia, his features softening as he stands like he’s alone with the one person he’s allowed to break down around.

“Find Laura. She’s the only person I trust to take care of him when we’re not here,” he whispers, placing a kiss on her temple, calming her more than he is calming himself.

“Hey, Cas?” I croak before he can turn towards the door, and my throat tightens with every syllable. The panic I had managed to choke down just moments ago is clawing its way back up like bile. He’s already halfway past my bed, rushing, moving too fast—

“See? I don’t need to leave. What if—” His words jumble, and he’s on me in a blink, crouched low, his hands fluttering over the machines and lines like a man possessed.

He checks my vitals, adjusts the wires, and runs his hands over my chest as if he can somehow feel what's wrong beneath the surface.

“Still here. Still alive,” I grit out, trying to breathe through the chaos. “I just—”

But he’s not listening. He’s too frantic. Too much himself .

“Cas,” I snap, louder this time. “Someone broke into Raylen’s place not long ago. I need you to—”