Page 63 of Cruel When He Smiles

I nod, not sure what to do with that kind of loyalty. Not sure I’ve ever had it from anyone except Sage—and even that feels unsteady lately.

Killian looks at me again, one brow lifting slightly. “You got people like that?”

I stare down at the soda can. “Used to.”

He doesn’t push. Just takes one last drag from the cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray near the drink table. “Well. You ever need backup, Carter… You know where the fuck to find me.”

I blink at him, unsure if I misheard, then smile. “You’re offering me backup, King?”

“Maybe I like chaos,” he says with a smirk, then steps back. “And maybe I think there’s more to you than just the brat Liam’s obsessed with.”

I stiffen. “He’s not obsessed with me.”

Killian smirks and lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Sure. If you say so.”

Then he walks off, his pace easy, like he’s done what he came to do, and now he’s giving me the space to figure out what the hell it meant.

I stand there for a long moment, heart ticking unevenly in my chest, and when I finally glance around, I spot Sage on the other side of the pool, still deep in conversation with Luca. They’re close, too close for comfort, and I force myself to look away.

It doesn’t matter. Not right now.

Because for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like drowning. I’m still raw, still angry, still confused, but I’m here. I showed up. I didn’t spiral. And someone who I thought hated me just offered a sliver of understanding I didn’t expect.

I don’t know what that means.

But it’s something. And right now, that’s enough.

Liam

ThesecondNatesmilesat Killian, I want to rip my fucking skin off.

It’s not a grin—nothing broad or sweet. It’s barely more than a twitch of his lips, a small upturn that most people wouldn’t notice. But I noticed. I clock it so hard my vision tunnels.

I’ve spent weeks dissecting that mouth, mapping every muscle in it, learning how far I can push before it snaps shut around some venom-laced insult meant only for me. He doesn’t smile easily, and when he does, it’s never clean. There’s always a cost or a reason.

So, what the fuck did Killian say to earn it?

Killian—of all people. The one person in this house I’ve never had to worry about when it comes to Nate, because Killian doesn’t like anyone enough to talk. I can’t hear what they’re saying, not from this distance, but I don’t need the audio when I can read the body language as if it’s being broadcast in neon across the lawn.

Killian tilts his head.

Nate responds.

A sip of soda.

A narrowed gaze.

Then the smile.

That’s it. That’s all it takes to black out a part of my mind.

I put the beer down with too much force, the sound sharp against the table. No one around me reacts. Ryan’s still mid-story, Adrian’s half-listening, and no one has noticed the fucking fire beginning to crawl up the inside of my ribs. I stand slowly, roll my shoulders, and excuse myself with a nod that doesn’t invite questions.

Killian turns and walks toward the back door of the house and slips inside with that relaxed, slow gait of his. He doesn’t rush because people don’t bother him. And maybe that’s what makes the pressure behind my teeth throb harder—because for the first time, Killian fucking Kingbothered. He looked at Nate and didn’t treat him like a nuisance, and Nate responded.

I’m in the house before I fully register the decision.

The kitchen’s quiet, with the faint hum of the fridge filling the silence. My brother stands near the sink with his back turned, rinsing his hands under the tap like he hasn’t just shattered the last of my composure without even trying.