Page 126 of Hide From Me

Still the man I gave too much of myself to. Still the one who made me feel safe, vulnerable, and alive... and the same one who made me question if I ever really knew him at all.

I know I should walk away. I should turn on my heel and disappear behind the counter again. But I don’t.

I just stand there, watching him cut into his pancakes as if he’s trying not to wince every time he moves his shoulder. I observe how he chews slowly and carefully, glancing up at me as if waiting for a sign—some breadcrumb that says I haven’t completely locked the door on him. It feels like I'm hovering over him, like a worried mother afraid that if their child eats too quickly, they might choke.

I want to say something cruel—something final that will create distance between us, a gap between me and where emotion keeps pulling me back. But my throat is tight, and my heart feels like a traitor. All I can do is ask, “How long are you going to keep doing this?”

He swallows his bite and wipes his fingers on the napkin, as if buying time. Then he meets my eyes again and replies, “As long as it takes.”

Fuck.

I hate him.

I hate how much I don’t.

“Why? What do you want from me, Moe?” The words burst out before I can stop them, raw and sharper than I intended. My hands tremble at my sides, fingers curling into my apron as if I can hold myself together by gripping it tightly. My heart is thudding so hard that I swear he can see it, feel it shaking the air between us.

Moe swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He unclenches his fingers from the fork, setting it down with a soft clink, like he’s surrendering a weapon all while his eyes never leavemine.

“A chance.”

The air feels too thin. I blink at him, trying to process the simplicity of his request, the weight of what he’s asking. A chance? After everything? After the bleeding truths and broken trust?

“A chance for what?” My voice is quieter now, but no less fierce. The words taste bitter in my mouth. “To lie again? To pretend none of it mattered? That you weren’t someone else the entire time we were together?”

I expect him to flinch, to look away, to shrink under the weight of it all. But he doesn’t.

“I never pretended,” he says. His voice is low and steady, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curl into loose fists against the table as if he’s trying to hold himself in check.

“You lied about everything,” I snap. The fury is still there, but now it’s layered—hurt, confusion, longing, all tangled together. “Your job. Your world. Who you are.”

“I lied about my job,” he replies. His gaze remains unwavering, and there’s something in his tone that cuts through the storm in my head. “But not my past. Not my trauma. Not what I went through. Not who I am with you.”

His words hit me like a punch I didn’t see coming. I freeze, my breath caught halfway between inhaling and exhaling.

“And I never lied about loving you.”

The diner falls silent after that, so quiet it feels like the whole place is holding its breath. The plates clink in the back, and the soft whir of the ceiling fan fades. Jack’s humming slows into nothing. The world shrinks down to the space between us and the ache blooming in my chest.

“You should stop coming here,” I whisper. The words scrape out of me, brittle and small, feeling like a betrayal even as I say them.

He leans forward, just enough to bridge a sliver of the distance between us. “Do you want me to?”

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I don’t know how to answer him. Ishouldsay yes. I should end this before I fall again, before I let him in far enoughto break me for good. But I can’t because the truth is—no. No, I don’t want him to stop. When he said he loved me, in some twisted, infuriating way, I started loving myself again. He made me feel seen. Wanted. But what if it all crumbles again? What if I lose myself trying to hold on to him?

He’s still watching me, patient, as if he can see the battle playing out in my head.

“Are wereallydone, Sunshine?”

My mouth opens. I want to say yes. I want to give him something clean and final. But the word sticks in my throat, heavy and wrong. My heart squeezes so tight it hurts.

“I don’t know.”

And that damn smile— that soft, crooked, almost-sad smile— makes it impossible to hate him. “Then we’re not.”

I have to look away. If I don’t, I’m going to break apart right here at his table.

“Raylen,” he says, his voice gentler now, as if he knows how close I am to the edge. “You don’t have to decide today.”

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