Page 133 of Hide From Me

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s not gentle. It’s not the kind of kiss you give when you’re thinking clearly. It’s devastation. Salt. Bruised mouths and desperation. It tastes like pain, like her soul has been burning for too long, and I’m the first breath of air she’s gotten.

I shudder, breath catching as my heart kicks against my ribs. The ache I’ve been nursing for weeks detonates into something new—something sharp and breathless and pleading. I crush her to me like I might lose her if I leave even an inch of space. Like her leaving again would kill me.

Who am I kidding? It might actually do just that.

Her heartbeat slams against mine, loud and uneven as her fingers tangle in my hoodie, gripping like she needs something to tether her. I press her back gently against the nearest tree, grounding us both in the rough bark, the solid earth, the truth of this moment.

I let my body speak what words can’t reach, and she does the same by rolling her hips against my thigh. The strangled gasp that crawls up her throat shoots straight down my spine. My hand slips beneath her sweatshirt, fingers splaying across the heat of her waist. Her skin is fire beneath my palm, soft and trembling, and I want to remember every inch.

I want to remind her what safety feels like.

Whatlovefeels like.

We break apart only when oxygen demands it, gasping mouthfuls of night air between us. Our foreheads stay pressed together, slick with sweat and tears and grief that hasn’t finished unraveling.

“Raylen—” Her name leaves me with a groan, more plea than word. “Sunshine, please—”

Her mouth crashes into mine again, but this kiss is different. It’s still frantic, still pulsing with want, but underneath it—I feel it. That thread of fear. The edge of retreat.

Her hands fist in my hair, tighter than before, and for a moment I think she’s pulling me closer—but she’s not… she’s pulling me away. Not violently, not in anger, but with panic flooding her gaze like a dam just cracked wide open.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, pushing weakly at my chest. Her breath is shaky, her eyes wild again, glinting with unshed tears and something close to terror. “I—I can’t. I can’t do this. Not now.”

Her voice breaks and takes something inside me with it.

“Ray, please—”

But she’s already slipping away.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, the words splintering through her like glass. Her fingers brush across my cheek—so soft, like she’s afraid she’ll forget what I feel like—but she doesn’t stay. She doesn’t kiss me again. She just turns.

I barely catch the choked sob she tries to swallow before she’s running—bare feet pounding across the cold grass—back toward the house. The screen door slams shut behind her, echoing like a gunshot in the silence.

And I stay frozen where she left me.

Pressed against the tree, breathless, stunned, and my chest hollowed out.

The air feels colder than it did a minute ago. Like something sacred was just pulled out of me and tossed into the dirt we just disturbed.

She wants me. I know that now. I felt it in her kiss. In the way she clung to me like I was the only thing anchoring her to the earth, but she’s not ready.

Not yet.

And I can’t rush her. I won’t be the next thing that hurts her.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back toward the blank, starless sky. The wind slides through the trees like a whisper too soft to catch.

“You can’t hide from me forever, sunshine,” I whisper into the emptiness, into the woods that have heard too many secrets already. I touch my lips gently, still swearing I can feel her warmth lingering there.

“I’ll wait.”

My breath fogs the air like smoke.

As long as it takes.

Thirty-One

Raylen

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