Page 18 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

I stay on the field long after the others have left. That silence—the hollow kind that sinks in your chest and makes you aware of your own heartbeat—is the only thing currently keeping me upright.

Sage hasn’t said more than five words to me in three days, but he’s been off for longer than that.

It’s in the way he lingers outside on the front steps with his phone in hand and his jaw clenched.

I’ve asked if he’s okay. He said he was tired.

That was it and nothing else. Now I don’t know where I stand.

I feel stupid for how much it’s bothering me.

The distance, how he won’t meet my eyes when I ask if something happened, feels worse than yelling ever could.

Worse than the last time we fought. Because this isn’t anger, this is indifference.

This is him not trusting me enough to tell me what’s wrong.

I can’t tell if I did something wrong or if he’s just done pretending I matter.

I jog to midfield and start running drills with the ball, not caring about form or speed, or anything that would make Coach Bryant proud. My movements are messier than they should be, arms tense, chest tight, breath too loud in my ears.

Sweat breaks across my forehead before I’ve even made it halfway through, and I don’t stop because I know what’ll happen if I do. The thoughts will catch up. The grief I’m not allowed to feel will crush my throat closed.

I need someone to tell me this isn’t all in my head. That I haven’t lost my grip on everything I thought I had. That I’m not the one breaking apart.

I slam another shot toward the net and miss again. My chest heaves as I stagger back, dragging my hand through my hair, digging my fingers into my scalp and pressing until it hurts, hoping the pain will anchor me. Hoping it’ll give me a reason to breathe.

It doesn’t.

The silence stretches too long, and I try to swallow, but it sticks in my throat.

I hate how alone I feel. No—scratch that. I hate how used to this I’ve become. Everyone thinks I’m fine. They see the sarcasm, the swagger, the performances I give, and think they know me. But they don’t.

I suck in another lungful of air and blink up at the sky, dizzy from how long I’ve been at this. My breath hitches once, too close to a sob. I clamp down on it so fast, I bite the inside of my cheek.

Don’t cry .

Not here.

Not again.

I press the heel of my palm to my eyes and force a breath out, swallowing around the pressure in my throat. But the second I feel that static prickle across the back of my neck, I know I’m not alone.

He hasn’t said a word, and I haven’t turned around, but I know it’s him.

Liam.

He’s always quiet when he wants to be. He’s mastered the art of not being heard until he’s ready to speak, and tonight’s no different. I don’t hear him approach. I feel him.

And the thing that twists my stomach and makes me hate myself a little more, is that it’s not dread that slams into me first.

It’s relief.

The kind that makes your legs weaker, because it means someone saw you. Someone stayed. Someone noticed you were drowning in plain sight.

“You planning on running yourself into the ground, or is this your idea of post-practice therapy?”

I turn slowly. My shirt’s soaked and clinging to my ribs, my hair’s dripping into my eyes, and I know I look like a wreck. But Liam Callahan stands at the edge of the pitch like he’s been watching me this whole damn time, arms crossed, jaw set.

“I don’t remember inviting you into my therapy session,” I snap, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. “Go home, Callahan.”

His brow lifts, subtle and unimpressed. “I could. Or I could tell Coach how you stayed on the pitch after he benched you for being reckless.”

I bristle. “I wasn’t reckless.”

“You were,” he says, voice calm and steady. “You weren’t even looking when you took that last shot. You were aiming at ghosts.”

The pressure on my chest tightens. “You don’t know what the hell I’m aiming at.”

“I know it’s not the net.”

I look away. He’s too close to the truth, and I’m too tired to shove him back. There’s a beat of silence before his voice softens again. “You know, for someone who says he hates me, you sure let me see you when it counts.”

I swallow the bitter laugh that rises. “You think this is me letting you see anything? You’re not special, you just happened to be there.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “But I’m still the one you didn’t push away when your world was cracking open.”

“Please go away. I don’t feel like being manipulated today.”

He steps close enough to be felt, and his presence slides under my skin like heat. “You can be mad at me,” he says. “You can pretend I’m the villain in your story. That’s fine. But don’t stand out here pretending you’re okay.”

“I am okay.”

His eyes flick down my frame slowly, and he watches me with that quiet, infuriating patience that he’s suddenly learned to weaponize. “Did you want to be alone? Or do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, and it’s not a challenge. Not a dare, but an honest, simple question.

The truth is, I don’t know. I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head, jaw clenched tight. “Sage’s been weird lately,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “He doesn’t talk much anymore. Not even to me.”

Liam doesn’t blink. “That bothering you?”

“I don’t know,” I lie, even though it’s tearing me open just to say it out loud. “Probably. He’s my best friend.”

Liam hums, barely audible. “You feel abandoned.”

I snap my head up, but he’s not looking at me. He’s staring out across the field, like he’s thinking about something too far away to reach.

“Don’t do that shrink shit on me,” I mutter.

“I’m not.” His gaze flicks back to me. “I’m just telling you what I see. You’re angry, but it’s not at Sage. It’s at being forgotten.”

The words land too cleanly, and I shift my weight, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m not forgotten.”

“No,” Liam agrees. “You’re just not the one being chased anymore.”

It hits a nerve, and my heart fucking shatters, but I don’t let it show. “You really think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” he says, and this time there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “But I’m starting to learn how to read you.”

I turn away before he sees the heat rising to my face. Before he sees how badly I want to believe him.

Liam steps closer again, his voice brushing the back of my neck with that gentle command I’ve come to dread and crave in equal measure. “You’re not alone, Nate.” I close my eyes. “Not unless you want to be.”

I stay quiet and let the silence settle. Let the weight of it press against the tension in my shoulders.

He doesn’t push again or say anything else as he waits. And somehow, that’s worse because it means the choice is mine now to say something or to push him away, or to let the wall fall another inch.

I don’t know which part of me I’m supposed to trust anymore. So, I just keep staring ahead, heart hammering like I’ve run a mile more than I should’ve, and whisper, “Thanks.”

He doesn’t answer, but I already feel him turning to go, the silence he leaves in his wake heavier than his words.

I stand there a little longer, eyes burning, breathing shallow, and wonder when I stopped recognizing my own reflection. When I stopped knowing which parts were mine and which were just shadows of someone else’s damage.

I don’t have the answer.

But I know when Liam said I wasn’t alone… a part of me almost believed him.