Page 159 of Cruel When He Smiles

A spike of adrenaline hits so hard that my hands tighten on the steering wheel as soon as I’m in the car. I don’t bother with music or even checking my mirrors like I normally would. I just pull out and head straight for the stadium, every muscle wound tight.

I don’t let myself think about what this could mean, not fully. I’ve learned that thinking too far ahead when I don’t have all the pieces is just giving panic a free invitation. But I can’t ignore the way my chest feels heavier with every block I pass, like I’m chasing something I can already feel slipping further away.

By the time I pull into the stadium lot, I’m out of the car before the engine’s even fully off. The main entrance is unlocked, and the emptiness inside hits me as soon as I step in. The echo of my own footsteps feels too loud.

“Nate!” My voice bounces back at me off the concrete walls, empty rows of seats stretching out in every direction. No answer. I head for the locker rooms first. If he’s here for some reason I can’t figure out, maybe he’s inside changing or grabbing something he left behind.

The locker room is just as empty as the stands. I check the showers, the training area, and even the equipment room. Nothing. No sign he was ever here.

I pull my phone out again, checking the location, but now it’s just… gone. No signal. Either the phone’s been turned off longerthan I thought, or the battery’s dead, and I don’t know which possibility makes my chest tighter.

I’m halfway back to the parking lot when my phone rings. It’s Killian.

“Where are you?” he says the second I answer, his voice sharper than usual.

“Stadium,” I answer, my tone clipped. “Looking for Nate.”

“Stop.”

I blanch. “What?”

“Get in your car and come back to the house. Now.”

Something in his tone tells me everything I need to know. It’s not the words—it’s the way they’re precise, measured, and controlled in that way he gets only when something’s already gone wrong and he doesn’t want me to hear the crack in it.

“What happened?” I’m already moving, already heading back out the same way I came in.

“Just get here,” he says, and I can picture him standing in the kitchen with his hand braced against the counter, and his jaw tight.

“Killian—”

“Liam.” One word, sharp enough to cut. The kind of tone that tells me I can keep asking and waste time, or I can get in the car and find out for myself.

I end the call, and I’m moving faster, every step a push against the knot in my stomach.

If something’s happened to him—if she’s touched him—I’ll make sure she doesn’t get the chance to regret it.

By the time I pull into the driveway, my knuckles ache from how hard I’ve been gripping the wheel. The second I’m out of the car, I’m already heading for the front door. My focus is a single point—get upstairs, find Nate, make sure he’s breathing. Everything else can burn.

I shove the door open, step inside, and almost plow straight into Killian. He’s standing in the foyer like he was waiting for me, his posture loose but his eyes calculating, watching every micro-expression that crosses my face.

“Move,” I say, not slowing down.

He doesn’t. “You need to calm down before you go in there.”

“I’m calm,” I snap, even though we both know I’m not. My pulse is still hammering, and I can barely breathe with the weight of not knowing pressing on my ribs.

Killian tilts his head slightly, reading me the way he always does. “No, you’re about thirty seconds from tearing the place apart. That’s not what he needs right now. He’s apparently been here for hours, according to Ryan. I only noticed him because I went into your room to get something.”

That pisses me off even more. I take a step to go around him, and he mirrors it without effort. “Get out of my way.”

“Liam.” His tone is calm, but it’s the kind of calm that means he’s about to escalate if I don’t listen.

I pivot to the other side, and he blocks me again. The longer he keeps me here, the more my frustration climbs, snapping at the frayed edges of my patience.

“Killian, I’m not doing this right now!” My voice is clipped. “Either move, or I’ll make you.”

That gets the faintest smirk out of him, because he knows what happens when I try. “You’re not walking in there like this. You’ll spook him.”