Page 127 of Hide From Me

My eyes sting. I blink hard, trying to clear them before he sees.

“I need space,” I whisper. It’s the only truth I can offer him right now.

He nods slowly, understanding even as it clearly hurts him. “Then I’ll give you space. I can’t promise it won’t drive me insane. And I’ll warn you—I’m prone to last-minute, impulsive decisions.” His grin flickers, weak but genuine. “But I’m not giving up, and I’ll keep starting over.”

“Why?” My voice cracks on the word. I need to hear it. I need to know why he’s still here, still trying, after everything.

He lifts his eyes, steady and filled with something that moves me deeply. “Because I found something worth fighting for and not hiding from.”

The weight of his words nearly buckles my knees. I stand there too long. Long enough that Jack clears his throat at the register, his not-so-subtle way of reminding me that I’m still at work, still in the middle of a diner, still pretending like my heart isn’t tearing itself apart.

I force myself to turn and walk away before he sees me cry. My vision blurs as I head behind the counter, but I catch sight of the order slip still sitting there, left by Jack.

Chocolate chip pancakes.

In the corner, small and almost hidden, is his familiar crooked scrawl:

Hi. I’m Moe. Still yours.

My fingers hover over the slip, brushing the edge as if it might burn me.

Goddammit.

I quickly fold it and shove it into the pocket of my apron before anyone can see how much my hands are shaking. That stupid sentence feels like a live wire, threatening to short-circuit me if I hold on to it for too long. I already replay his voice in my head the moment I turn my back on him.

“Hey, uh, Ray!” Goddamn it, Jack. It’s as if everyone has been tiptoeing around me, even though no one knows what’s going on… except Laura, but of course, I’m still mad at her too. My hand freezes on the kitchen door, and I barely turn my head to acknowledge Jack.

“It’s game night. I’m bringing booze, don’t worry.”

I try to force a laugh, but nothing comes out, so I quickly dart into the kitchen and rush into the back room. I don’t know what the hell I expected to do in here. Pretend I’m checking stock? Pretend I’m not about to come undone?

The moment the door swings shut behind me, I lean against the wall, fists clenched in the fabric of my apron, eyes closed. I’m breathing too fast. My lungs ache like I’ve run miles, but I haven’t moved more than ten steps from him.

He said,"Stillyours," asif I hadn’t shattered him with every cold look. As if he hadn’t been bleeding at my feet and I let silence be my answer. As if he wasn’tstillbleeding, limping into this diner every morning to order pancakes and pretend that we’d just met.

But I see the pain in his eyes, no matter how brightly he smiles. He hides it better than he used to, like he's afraid of scaring me again. And maybe that’s theworst part: that I did this to him. I made someone who has been through hell afraid to be himself in front ofme.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes. No tears. Not here. Not now.

He says he wants a chance, but chances come with risks, and I’m not sure if I have anything left to risk. What if I fall in love with him all over again, only to lose him once more? What if, next time, there’s no helicopter waiting, no team to bring him back from the edge? What if he doesn’t make it home? What ifIcan’t handle it?

The slip of paper crinkles when I shift, and I pull it from my pocket again.

You big, stupid, delusional idiot.

Thirty

Moe

04-23-2026

Caspian's House

I don’t want to do this, but fuck, I feel like I actuallyamlosing my mind.

Every night, as I try to sleep, her voice echoes in my head. Every morning, I see her at the diner, where that tight little smile she gives me feels like she's holding herself together with glue and spite. It makes me feel as if I'm bleeding all over again.

I can’t keep pretending that I didn’t lose the biggest part of me.