Page 34 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

Sage didn’t even think I’d care. I cared more than anyone ever did.

And he still chose the guy who had made him feel like shit for months.

I lie on my bed, thinking about everything that happened today, with that familiar voice inside my head whispering the same thing it always does.

You’re easy to leave.

Even by the people who swore they never would.

The courtyard’s mostly empty this time of the afternoon.

Just wind, sun, and that hollow pressure behind my ribs that hasn’t let up since I walked away from Sage after I blew up at him.

I stormed off like I had somewhere to be, but I’ve just been circling campus for twenty minutes, too wired to sit and too pissed off to go home.

I should’ve gone back to the frat. Locked myself in. Blasted music or worked out until I collapsed. Instead, I’m here, pacing the path behind the English building, dragging my fingers through my hair like that’ll help untangle the mess behind my eyes.

He fucking lied, and not in a harmless, forgettable way. No, he lied purposefully. Looked me in the eye and told me I had nothing to worry about while he was busy letting Luca wrap himself around him like a victory.

I end up near the back edge of campus—where the newer buildings bleed into the old stone ones, where ivy strangles the brick, and where the benches are barely used.

Where it’s quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you feel like a ghost. I want that right now.

I want to disappear into it. Maybe if I sit long enough, my chest will stop feeling like it’s been torn open and scrubbed raw.

I drop down onto the concrete step outside the old media building, arms resting on my knees, head bowed low. Wind stings the corners of my eyes. Or maybe it’s not the wind.

I drag a hand down my face, gripping my jaw. My throat’s tight again, but no sound comes out. No sob. No scream. Just the hollow kind of quiet that comes after something important snaps.

“Rough day?”

His voice is amused in a way that shouldn’t be comforting yet is. I lift my head slowly and see him there, leaning against the brick wall beside me like he’s been watching me crumble for longer than I realized.

Killian King.

Of course it’s a motherfucking Sin Bin boy.

He’s in a dark blue Henley and black jeans, with an unlit cigarette in his hand. He’s twirling it between his fingers, and his eyes are fixed on me in that strange way of his—curious, detached, and knowing all at once.

“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Do you guys just fucking materialize when I’m at my lowest?”

He lets out a soft laugh through his nose and pushes off the wall, not walking toward me exactly, just pacing a slow circle near the step. “No,” he says. “I was just cutting through campus. Didn’t expect to run into the Carter storm front.”

I roll my eyes but don’t walk away. I should, since he’s in Liam’s circle. I want to tell him to fuck off, but the words don’t come. Instead, I let out a breath and say, “You stalking me now or what?”

He shrugs. “Like I said, I was cutting through and saw a very familiar scowl from about fifty yards away.” His eyes flick over my face. “Figured it was either you or someone else losing their shit.”

“Guess you won the jackpot,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he sits on the low concrete edge across from me, elbows on his knees, that unlit cigarette still between his fingers. “You gonna tell me what happened, or you just planning on sulking until nightfall?”

“You don’t have to pretend to care,” I mutter.

“Not pretending,” he says simply. “You look like you’re about to unravel. Figured you could either bottle it up or get it out before you shatter.”

I scoff. “I’m not going to shatter.”

“Didn’t say you would.” He tilts his head. “Just said you look close.”

I stare at him for a second, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

Why I don’t stand up and leave. Why I don’t tell him to mind his fucking business.

But the thing is—I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired of holding it in.

And I think part of me knows Killian won’t give me some bullshit pep talk or fake sympathy.

He doesn’t do that. For some goddamn reason, I answer.

“It’s Sage. He lied to me, made me believe there was nothing going on with Luca, even when I could see the fucker was messing with his head.

Told me that I didn’t need to get involved because he's got it handled, and now they’re…

together. Sage—he didn’t even tell me. Just kept lying to me about what Luca was doing to him, like I was some idiot who wouldn’t notice. ”

Killian exhales. “That’s rough.”

I nod and swallow deeply. “He was supposed to be my best friend.” My throat burns with the words. “We’ve been through everything. And now he’s lying for someone who’s been fucking with his head since the start of the semester.”

“You feel betrayed,” Killian says, like he’s stating a weather condition.

“Yeah. No shit.”

A beat passes; wind rustles the trees overhead. My heart keeps hammering, my jaw clenched so tight I swear I can feel it in my ears. I expect Killian to offer some dumb frat boy line about loyalty or to defend Luca because they all live in that house together. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “You’re not telling him everything, either.”

I freeze. “What?”

“You’re pissed. Hurt. Whatever, and that’s valid. But that’s not the only thing bleeding through your skin, is it?”

I squirm, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. Killian keeps going. “You’re hiding your own shit, Carter. And maybe Sage lied, maybe he fucked up. But can you really say you’ve been honest with him?”

I blink. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He lifts one shoulder. “You tell me.”

He doesn’t say Liam’s name; he doesn’t have to. It’s there, heavy in the silence between us. My stomach tightens, shame and something darker clawing up my throat. “I didn’t do anything,” I mutter.

“Didn’t say you did.” His voice is quiet. “But whatever’s going on with you? You’re carrying it alone. And the more you try to convince everyone you’re fine, the more you push the people who’d bleed for you out of reach.”

My hands drop into my lap, fingers digging into my palms. “I didn’t ask anyone to bleed for me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies. “They were willing to. Sage was willing to, you knew that. And you shut him out.”

“I didn’t shut him out.” My voice cracks.

Killian doesn’t argue as he watches me, a stillness in his eyes that makes me want to look away.

“You can be mad,” he says. “You can be hurt, but if you want to fix it—really fix it—you have to start from a place of honesty. Otherwise, you’re just throwing bricks at each other from opposite sides of the wall. ”

I nod slowly, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Why are you even telling me this?” I ask. “You don’t even like me.”

He shrugs again. “Doesn’t mean I don’t see you. Your friendship isn’t broken, Carter, but it’s definitely cracked. Get ahead of the fracture before it runs deeper.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds longer. Then Killian offers a nod, gets up, and walks away, his back cutting through the breeze like he never intended to stay long.

I think of Sage and the way we always seemed to understand each other without saying a word. I think about the trust that used to feel unshakable, the bond that made everyone else seem irrelevant.

And I think about how fast it all cracked.

I think about the way Sage looked at me when I walked away. There was hurt in his eyes, yeah, but there was also regret.

Maybe he doesn’t know how to fix it either. Maybe I walked away too fast. Maybe I didn’t let him speak the truth because I was too angry, too betrayed, and too tired of always being the one who held the door open while everyone else decided if they wanted to walk through it.

Maybe it’s not about forgiving. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending I’m not hurt.

And maybe it’s time I stopped expecting Sage to read my mind when I’ve done everything possible to keep him out of it.