Page 50 of Cruel When He Smiles

I feel Liam move more than I see him, but he’s too close to me. I try to move away, but my body still won’t comply. There’s no space. No room in my chest to breathe, and now his presence is burning at the edge of my awareness, threatening to pull me deeper under instead of pulling me out.

He reaches for me, and I visibly flinch. “Don’t,” I whisper, then I jump to my feet and run.

I don’t remember leaving the building. One minute I’m in the chair, breath catching on Liam’s voice, eyes still wet and my body stiff, and the next I’m outside with the cold settling into my hoodie and the parking lot spinning under my feet.

My fingers are still trembling, not enough to be obvious, but enough that I feel them. Enough to know that if I sit down in my car, I might not get back up again. I don’t head to the driver’s side right away. I stare at my car like it has answers, like it might tell me what the fuck just happened and what part of me snapped while it was happening.

My phone buzzes, and I ignore it at first. It’s probably Sage, or the group chat I haven’t checked in two weeks. Maybe even Coach wondering why I’ve been off in practice and why my temper’s gotten shorter again.

It keeps buzzing persistently, so I reach for it with a hand I don’t trust.

The screen lights up, and my stomach caves in on itself. I feel the collapse, the sharp dip of pressure, the way the air seems to drain out of my lungs before I can stop it. The screen glows too bright in the shadow of my hand.

I should let it go to voicemail. But my thumb moves without asking me first, and suddenly the phone’s pressed to my ear and my voice is already whispering a quiet, flat, “Hello.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” her voice purrs sweetly, and my whole body freezes.

“I’ve been thinking,” she continues, and my stomach turns. “You should come visit. Just a quick weekend. I’ll make your favorite—those dumplings you used to love. We can watch that documentary series you liked. You remember, the one about wolves? You always said they reminded you of yourself. So fierce.”

I feel the nausea before I can stop it. The way her words roll over my skin, pinning me under every implication, every polished twist of concern dressed up as disappointment.

I don’t know how long I stay quiet, but when her voice comes through again, there’s an edge to it. “Nathaniel. Say something.”

I continue staring at the back of my car, but I don’t see it. My vision’s starting to fuzz again, and there’s that same dull ringing in my ears I thought I’d left in that room.

“You don’t even have to stay the whole weekend,” she says quickly. “Just dinner and one night. You owe me that much, don’t you?”

There it is.

The twist.

The hook behind the bait.

I know what that means.Let me near you so I can fix what they’ve done to you. Let me in so I can untangle all the wrongness you think you’ve outgrown.

My fingers twitch around the phone, thumb hovering near the red disconnect button, but I can’t press it. I’m caught—paralyzed by her voice, her guilt trip, the leash I swore I cut but still feel looped tight around my throat.

I hate how quickly she finds that pressure point. How fast I go back to being a kid who didn’t know why it hurt so much when she smiled.

“Nathaniel—”

“Don’t call me that,” I croak, voice raw and brittle, but it’s too late. She’s already in.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, like I’ve wounded her, like I’m the cruel one. “You always get like this. I’m trying to fix things, but you won’t even try.”

“You’re not… not supposed to contact me. They said you’re not—”

Her grip on my throat is invisible, but it’s there. My hands go numb, and the wordsare stuck in the back of my throat, but they won’t come out.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t—

The phone disappears from my hand in a blur of motion, and the next thing I know, I’m being yanked back, and shoved so hard against the side of my car that the frame groans.

The air blasts from my lungs. My head snaps up, and Liam’s right there with a hand around my throat. “Focus,” he says, his voice deadly calm. “Right here. Look at me.”