Page 59 of Better Hide

Mom takes a bite. “It’s good, honey!”

“Thanks!” I blush. “I put the water on to boil for just under four minutes. When you cook them by themselves, it goes faster.” Excitement fills me. Mom is proud of me. I can’t keep the words in, “Did you know that a lot of real-life chefs can’t properly poach an egg? It’s actually really hard to do. I tried a bunch of different ways—sorry about all the eggs I went through, but…” I trail off when Mom picks up her phone and starts scrolling.

“So…yeah.”

Mom doesn’t notice; she just types on her phone.

Pain races through me. The plate sits there, with one bite taken. I bite my lip.

“What was that, honey?” Mom looks at me briefly, then back at her phone.

“Nothing.” I hold back the bite of tears.

She cares.She cares.She’s just tired.

Mom doesn’t notice me leaving the room. Pain fills my entire chest.

She cares. She loves me.She cares.

I wakeup in a cold sweat, gasping. There’s a heavy weight around my waist. I try to get up, but the weight doesn’t budge. The arm drags me back into Cole’s body, and his voice whispers soothingly, “Hey, Jo, hey.”

I suck in deep breaths. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t dream frequently, but the dreams about my mom seem to be coming more frequently.

“Bad dream?” Cole whispers, stroking his hand through my hair.

“Yeah,” I swallow.

“What was it about?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Uh…”

Cole continues to play with my hair, moving his hand up to massage my scalp. He waits for my answer. “Jo?”

“It’s not a big deal.” I try to sit up, but Cole tightens his arm around me, pinning me to his solid chest.

His voice is low and warm, “Tell me. No one gets to make you scared, even in your dreams. So, who do I need to kill?”

I gasp. “You can’t kill my mom.”

Cole stiffens slightly, then relaxes his hold and plays with my hair. He doesn’t push me anymore, just runs his fingers along my hairline, making me shiver. I blink and wish I had my phone. When I have nightmares, I need to fully wake up, or when I go back to sleep, I’ll get dragged back in.

Desperate to take my mind off things, I ask, “What did you do while I was…” I hesitate. Will he be mad at me for mentioning when I was gone?

Cole’s body is big and warm and comforting against mine. “When you were gone?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, you know. Punched some holes in the walls, threw some things around, and stalked your social media.” Cole laughs, but then his voice softens. “Thought about you every second of every day.”

The room goes silent, and I swallow, conflicted emotions wrestling in my chest. What he’s saying is so fucked up…but it also warms my chest.

“What did you do?” Cole asks, pulling me out of my discomfort.

“What, you didn’t find out?” I snort as if he hasn’t bragged about sticking his nose up in every aspect of my business.

“Well, yeah.” Cole chuckles and gives me a squeeze. “But I want to hear it from you. There’s only so much that stalking will give you.”

That stupid warmth rolls across me again. It’s fucked up that I enjoy it when people care, even if their “caring” is a giant red flag.

---