Page 27 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

The fucker hasn’t looked at me in nearly three weeks.

At first, it was a relief. I told myself it was good that he’d backed off, that I could finally fucking breathe without feeling his eyes crawling over me, without waiting for him to smirk, to push, to test.

But this was all before he talked me down from spirals.

The second day, I pretended not to notice that he didn’t glance my way at practice, that he didn’t make some smart-ass comment when I missed a pass, that he didn’t bother. By the third day, I started to wonder if he was fucking with me again.

By the fourth, I knew he was.

I should’ve known better. I’ve dealt with people like him before.

My mother trained me to recognize them—people who take your broken pieces and twist them into leverage.

Who act like they care until they’re holding your throat in one hand and a mirror in the other, forcing you to look at every crack.

And the moment you look grateful, they’re done.

I’ve survived worse than some psychopath with too many secrets and a messiah complex. I’ve survived my mother. I’ve survived years of being manipulated, gaslit, shoved into boxes that didn’t fit, and told to smile through all of it.

Liam Callahan is not new to me. He’s a recycled nightmare in prettier packaging.

So, I go through the motions. Wake up. Shower. Go to class if I feel like it, sleep with someone if I don’t, drink when I can, smoke when I need to. I drown in anything that numbs the part of me still reeling from what he flayed open in me.

Sage is pissed. He stops by my room more than once, knocking hard, his voice sharp through the door. “Nate, open the fucking door.”

I don’t. I don’t answer his texts either, and eventually, he stops trying. That should hurt, but it doesn’t—nothing does anymore. Not the empty sex, not the bruises I wake up with when I let someone bite too hard, scratch too deep, or use me in the same way I’m using them.

Liam didn’t just break me; he fucking hollowed me out. He made me believe someone saw my broken pieces and decided to stay anyway. He didn’t stay, and his excuse was that it’s for the best.

“Are you seriously going to pretend I don’t exist?” Sage asks one afternoon, blocking my way out of the house. His arms are crossed, expression set in frustration, but his eyes are all concern. “Because I can deal with your avoidance to a point, but this? This is getting fucking ridiculous.”

I sigh, rolling my shoulders and walking back upstairs. “I’m fine, Sage.”

“You’re not fine,” he snaps and follows me. “Fine isn’t skipping class for a week straight, barely eating, and spending your nights getting railed by strangers just so you don’t have to be alone with your thoughts. When was the last time you ate something that wasn’t someone’s cum?”

“Fuck you, Sage,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Some people would call that a great time.”

Sage doesn’t laugh and follows me into my bedroom. “Last time you were like this,” he says, voice turning quiet in a way that means he’s serious, “you almost fucking died, Nate.”

My stomach clenches. Fuck, I hate when he brings it up. I swallow hard, looking away, my fingers twitching at my sides.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Sage continues, softer now, like he’s trying to reach me. “You’re trying to bury whatever the fuck happened, whatever’s fucking with your head. You’re just throwing yourself into every self-destructive habit you’ve got and hoping it drowns it out.”

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. “It works.”

“Does it?” Sage asks. “Because it didn’t work out so well last time.”

I don’t say anything. We both remember how my body went cold when I decided I’d had enough. The way I had lain there, numb and exhausted. The way I almost let myself go.

Sage is still watching me, waiting for some acknowledgment, some reaction. I sigh. “Alright.”

His brow furrows. “Alright, what?”

“I’ll pull myself together.”

I don’t know if I mean it, but I’ll fucking try.

Sage doesn’t look convinced. He still has his arms crossed, mouth pressed into a tight line, and there’s this flicker in his eyes that makes me feel worse than any of the shit I’ve done to myself lately.

But he’s here. Still trying even when I’ve pushed him away.

Still reaching even when I’ve dropped my hand. And I owe him something for that.

So, I mutter again, “I’ll try, alright?”

His shoulders finally drop as some of the fight drains out of him. “You better. Because I’m not doing this again, Nate. I’m not watching you disappear.”

I nod, just once, and for a second, neither of us speaks. The silence hangs there, awkward and weighted, broken only when Sage shifts his weight and clears his throat. “There’s a BBQ at the Sin Bin on Sunday.”

I blink, thrown. “Why the fuck would I care?”

“You’re coming.”

That earns a bitter laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m not exactly on the ‘hot dog and sunshine’ wavelength right now. Especially not in that fucking house.”

He doesn’t back down. “Too bad. You’re coming.”

I squint at him, trying to read whatever the hell he’s doing here. “Since when do you hang out with that crew?”

“Since Luca invited me.”

Now, I just stare, because what the fuck am I missing? “Seriously? Luca Devereaux invited you?”

He shrugs, but it’s casual in a way that screams how not casual this actually is. “Yeah.”

I fold my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes. “And you trust him now?”

“I didn’t say that,” he says, shaking his head.

“Then what the hell are you doing going to a cookout at the house of the guy who used to make your life a nightmare?”

Sage runs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly. “Because I don’t think he’s that guy anymore.”

I snort, looking away. “Yeah, right. People don’t change, Sage. Especially not guys like Devereaux. They just learn how to hide the asshole better.”

He groans and pulls on my arm. “Come on, Nate. We won’t go for them,” he says, and I already know he’s going to convince me. “For me? Please?”

I shake my head and pace a few steps because this conversation is too fucking weird. “You used to hate that fucker.”

“Yeah,” Sage says, voice a little rough now. “And maybe I meant it. But I also meant it when I told you not everything is black and white. And maybe… maybe I’m figuring out that Luca’s more of a mess than anyone realizes.”

I raise my eyebrow at that. “You like him.”

Sage shrugs again, but his ears are pink, and it’s the only tell he’s got. “This isn’t about me. This is about you needing to get out of your head before you rot in there.”

I say nothing for a moment and look at him. He’s standing there, still offering, still trying to dig me out of the hole I threw myself into, even though I’ve given him every reason to stop. My throat tightens.

“You really think I should go?” I ask.

“I think you need to be reminded there’s still shit worth showing up for.

That you’re not some fucking ghost haunting your own life.

Because if you spend another weekend in bed with a stranger you won’t remember, drinking yourself into a blackout and hating yourself when you wake up…

I don’t think I can fucking watch that again. ”

His words hit harder than I want them to. My chest tightens, my throat burns, but I blink it away, nodding once, just sharp enough to look like I’ve still got control. “That’s dramatic.”

“Yeah, well,” Sage says with a half-smile, “I learned from the best.”

I drag a hand over my face. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Just come for an hour,” Sage says, softer now.

I look down, rub the edge of the floorboard with the heel of my shoe, jaw tight.

I hate how appealing that sounds. I hate that part of me wants to go.

That the idea of stepping into that chaos again doesn’t feel as gut-wrenching as it did two minutes ago.

How starved I am for anything that feels real.

I hate that Liam’s voice is still echoing in my head, and that some part of me believed him.

Maybe I still do, but I’m tired of letting him win.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally mutter.

He smirks, stepping back. “I’ll text you the time.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“You didn’t say no,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks out.

He knows I can’t really say no to him.