Page 74 of Hide From Me

As if sensing my intentions, she turns so quickly that her hair flies with the motion, leaving me with a frustrated groan rattling in my chest. Shaking my head, I run my hand through my hair to regain my composure. Now's not the time to be thinking with my dick. I need to win over her parents first, and then it's the home stretch. Once I do that, I can tell Raylen everything, and all will be perfect.

I grin as I head to my car, seeing Raylen already perched in the passenger seat, visor down, checking her makeup. My steps falter as I finally realize... I'm meeting her parents. I don't do that. I never have. I never thought I would.

But for the woman peeking out from under the visor, giving me that “get in the goddamn car” look, I am, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Shocked doesn’t cover it. I wasn’t expecting a shack, sure, but a three-story colonial with velvet curtains and polished wood floors? That’s another level. It’s not just wealth—it’s legacy. And yet, Raylen lives in a place where the faucet leaks and the heater rattles like it’s dying. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.

I imagined her childhood differently. Public school. Dirt under her fingernails. Climbing trees in scuffed boots, not waltzing through foyers with gold chandeliers. I take a sip from my flute as I tilt my head curiously at the photo above the fireplace that says everything I didn’t know.

A little girl with honey-blonde hair beams up at the camera, kneeling in bright green grass. Her father is mid-laugh, hand on her shoulder. Her mother kneels beside her, their identical green eyes shining.

They look like a happy family. They look like the family I used to have.

I swallow hard, throat tight. This room is loud—voices, clinking glasses—but the ache in my chest is louder.

I pull my attention back to the crowded room. Raylen left my side almost as soon as we walked in the door. Shortly after that, a man in a white button-up shirt approached me with a tray full of champagne, which I gladly accepted. I don’t quite understand why I need to be here, especially since that was twenty minutes ago, but that doesn’t stop me from tucking my hand in my pocket and placing the glass on a coaster on a side table as I bump shoulders with the groups of older people gathered in the large living area.

“Lost, boy?” a voice cuts in—deep, weathered.

I grit my teeth at the comment, but manage to force a smile. Slowly, I turn to face a large man accompanied by a younger one who appears to be around my age.

“Seems I am,” I reply, forcing a chuckle. “Looking for my date.”

“Date?” the younger one laughs, but the older guy grips his arm, silencing him with a squeeze.

“Who are you looking for, son? All the women stay in the same spots when we come to this sort of thing. I’m sure I can help you out.” The older man smiles, his crooked tooth giving him a somewhat charming expression.

“Moe,” I correct him, holding my grin so tightly it feels uncomfortable. “And I’m looking for Raylen.”

The two exchange a glance.

“I see, you’re looking for little Miss Martyr?” The older man steps closer, looking me up and down. The nearer he gets, the shorter he seems. I tilt my chin, peering at him down my nose, hating the sarcasm in his voice.

“She’s likely with her mother in the dining room. Just head down the hall to the left.” He extends a hand in my direction. It seems I’m not the only one with secrets in my relationships, considering how that one simple statement just threw me for a loop.

I glance down at the extended limb, but don’t take it.

“Right.” Instead of reaching for his palm, I smooth my hand down my shirt, deciding against prying into something Raylen clearly doesn’t intend for me to know yet. It could be nothing at all. The poor old bastard probably just didn’t know the meaning of the words he just spoke.

Passing that waiter again, I grab another flute and lightly walk down the hall, straining my ears for any sign that I am indeed going the right way. Then I hear it. God, the sound is so sweet that I stop dead in my tracks in the large archway leading into the dining room. Raylen sits cross-legged, her palms under her chin, laughing so hard her whole body shakes with the sound. The group of women sitting around the table dab napkins to their lips to muffle their own laughter, but hers is carefree, carrying through the air like a song I’m desperate to memorize.

“Any man who dances on a bar just to get a woman to smile is a keeper.” A brunette at the end of the table fans her face with a flutter of her lashes, prompting the greying-haired lady beside her to nudge her with an elbow and sarcastically say, “That type of man doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, hush! It’s rare that I actually hear about my daughter’s life.” The curvy woman hisses playfully as she swats at her friend’s hand. It’s the same woman from the photo—the same one I've seen on the diner's surveillance footage—but she’s not as slim as she was then. Her curves now match Raylen’s, and her blonde hair has flecks of white.

Raylen puts a finger to her lips, her giggles still clear as day. “Shhh, if he hears me talking about it, I’ll never live it down.”

Can I freeze time so I can rewind it and play it all over again? God, I wish. I love the way Raylen’s shoulders are relaxed and her features are soft, as if she’s never frowned a day in her life. To top it off? She’s talking about me. The thought has my mouth moving faster than I can stop it.

“No, I won’t.”

Raylen freezes, staring straight ahead at her mother, who is looking at me with wide eyes. The other women snicker, but I pay them no mind.

“I guess your father didn’t find him like we thought he would,” Raylen’s mother whispers as if I can’t hear her.

“Should I go find him?” I ask, pointing over my shoulder. I don’t want to interrupt, and I definitely want Raylen to relax and not stay as tense as she is.

“Yes.”

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