Page 119 of Cruel When He Smiles

Now, I don’t have control, and it’s wrecking me. I don’t want to stop because the wreckage is Nate Carter.

And, fuck, I want every broken piece.

Killian stands and heads for the door, but pauses on his way out. “Next time you spiral, don’t wait until your hands start shaking. Come find me. I’ll choke the clarity back into you.”

I glance up. “You always know?”

“You’re my brother,” he says, looking at me over his shoulder, “I feel it when you go quiet.” Then he leaves without another word, and I sit on the bed, staring at the wall with Nate’s voice still echoing in my skull.

Mine, too.

And, this time, I don’t feel the urge to run from it. I just want to hear him say it again.

Liam

Theofficesmellslikeold books and the faintest trace of pipe smoke as I sit across from Dean Holloway. My posture is relaxed, my expression calm, and my hands folded loosely in my lap like I didn’t lose my shit in front of the entire soccer team yesterday.

He watches me over the rim of his glasses, fingers steepled in front of him. He’s quiet for a moment, studying me like he’s expecting to find something out of place. He won’t. I know how to fix things, and I know how to play the game.

So, when the silence stretches just a little too long, I exhale softly, tilting my head in a way that makes me look remorseful. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday, sir. It was unacceptable.”

Dean Holloway hums, nodding slowly, but his expression stays neutral. “Not like you at all, Callahan.”

“No, sir.” I shake my head, offering a small, self-deprecating smile. “I let my emotions get the better of me. Nate Carter is oneof my best players, and seeing him taken down like that for no apparent reason—it got to me. I should have handled it better.”

He watches me a second longer, then leans back in his chair, nodding again. “Your track record speaks for itself. You’ve been a model student and an exceptional team captain, Liam. So, we’ll let it slide this time.”

I school my expression into something appropriately grateful, something thankful but humbled, something that makes him believe I won’t do it again.

Even though I will if anyone touches Nate like that again.

“I appreciate that, sir.”

He waves a hand, already moving on. “Good. Now, I believe you have practice to get to.”

I stand smoothly, nodding once more before leaving the office, my mask still firmly in place and my reputation still intact. After personally apologizing to Trevor for punching him and paying for his hospital bill, I head to practice.

By the time I step onto the field, the team is already gathering, their eyes flicking toward me, some of them cautious, some of them curious, all of them waiting to see how I’m going to handle what happened yesterday.

I give them what they want. I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair, letting my shoulders drop like I’m ashamed of myself. “I need to apologize to you guys, too.”

Some of them exchange glances.

“Yesterday wasn’t my proudest moment,” I continue while keeping my tone level. “I should have kept my emotions in check. I should have led by example instead of reacting the way I did.”

A few of them nod, looking reassured, the tension in their shoulders easing slightly. Then Adrian tilts his head curiously. “I mean, I get it. Carter went down hard and hit his fucking head on a bench. We all knew you two were close, but—”

“You ever seen what he does when I push him too hard?” I smirk, cutting him off.

The team laughs, and the mood shifts immediately. I roll my eyes and shake my head like it’s all one big joke, like I didn’t nearly commit murder yesterday, and I haven’t spent the past twenty-four hours gripping my rage so fucking tight my knuckles went numb.

“He’s a fucking menace,” I say, my voice dry. “And if anyone is going to take him out, it’s going to be me, not some second-string nobody who didn’t even turn up for practice today.”

More laughter and tension dissolving, and just like that, they let it go because I made them let it go. But there’s one thing I can’t let go of.

Josh, the guy who hit Nate, is not here. He hasn’t been here all day; in fact, he hasn’t even been at school, and no one knows why. No one can reach him, either.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to refocus, forcing myself to push it aside for now. After practice, my phone buzzes against my thigh with the insistence of something I already know won’t be good. I glance at the screen without breaking stride.