Page 35 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

Sage’s free period falls between Media Theory and Production Workshop, which means I know where he’ll be.

I’ve known him long enough to predict him better than anyone.

He always sits near the far corner window where the sun doesn’t hit his laptop screen and the outlet is just close enough to keep him in that stupid slouch he calls posture.

He keeps his earbuds in to avoid interruptions, but he’s never really been someone people avoid.

I stand at the edge of the room for longer than I should, staring at the back of his head like I’m trying to summon the courage to be a better version of myself, but nothing comes.

No epiphany, no strength, no sudden rise of bravery.

Just that same tightness in my throat that never really goes away lately.

I hesitate for maybe three seconds before walking over.

His eyes flick up when I move into his line of sight, and his fingers still on the keyboard when he sees me. He pulls his earbuds out but doesn’t say anything as he watches me. His silence isn’t cold, but it’s not warm either.

I drop in the seat next to him, but don’t say anything right away or look at him. The silence between us stretches longer than it should. I hate it. I hate the way I don’t know how to start. I hate that I have to explain myself at all.

He waits, like he’s done this before—like he knows better than to push when I’m still fighting myself to speak.

I finally exhale and say, “I was a dick.”

His voice is sharper than I expected when he says, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I mutter and roll my eyes, but don’t lift my head.

There’s a beat, then his tone turns smug. “Did I? Because it almost sounded like an apology.”

“I hate you,” I grumble, tipping my head back.

“I know,” he says easily, and I hate that he says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s something he’s used to.

My throat works around the guilt stuck there. “Look… I don’t trust him, alright? I still don’t trust him. But that doesn’t mean I had the right to take it out on you.”

When I finally look at him, his expression is unreadable for a second. Then his voice lowers. “What’s really going on with you?”

I don’t answer at first. Just shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, eyes locked on the corner of the room. I don’t want to say it, but I need to.

“It’s… it’s just some shit I have to deal with. The whole temper management thing.” I clench my jaw before continuing. “Seriously, Sage. It’s nothing you need to get dragged into. I’m handling it.”

He sets his laptop aside. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he says, and there’s a bitterness in his voice that makes my stomach twist.

I glance at him. “What?”

He tilts his head. “You got pissed at me for keeping things from you. Went off about how I didn’t trust you, how I shut you out about Luca. But now you’re doing the same damn thing.”

“That’s different—”

“Is it?” His tone cuts deeper now. “You said it yourself, Nate. You’ve been dealing with something. You blew up at me—and I get that, I do—but you’re still keeping your own shit close to your chest. I’m supposed to be okay with that?”

The words are right there, sitting at the back of my throat, pressing against my teeth, but I don’t want to let them out. Saying them makes it real. Saying it means I have to admit that Liam got to me.

That he got under my fucking skin.

That he broke me.

That I let him fuck me because I was hurting and needed to not feel anything.

Sage knows I’m struggling, but he’s not letting this go. He never does.

“It’s Liam,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Callahan?” His voice is angry, already edged with something dangerous. “Liam fucking Callahan is the reason you’re like this?”

I tilt my head back again, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

Sage doesn’t speak right away. I know he’s holding back. I know he’s biting down on the first thing he wants to say, trying to keep his temper in check because if he doesn’t, he’s going to fucking explode. “You gonna tell me what he did?”

I sigh. “He didn’t do anything.”

Sage scoffs. “Didn’t do anything?” He gestures toward me. “You’ve been acting like a shell of yourself for weeks, Nate. You look like you haven’t slept in days, you’re avoiding class, you’re… fuck, you’re drowning. And you’re telling me Liam didn’t do anything?”

“Not in the way you think.”

He’s silent for a moment before sucking in a breath. “Then tell me,” he begs. “Please.”

Sage leans forward slightly, waiting. I force myself to meet his eyes, and once I do, the words start tumbling out.

“It started in therapy. The anger management sessions we both got assigned to. At first, I thought he was just fucking with me to pass the time. But he never let up. Kept pushing, kept getting in my head. He says things that sound normal, but they… aren’t.

He acts like he’s trying to help. Like he’s calming me down.

Says the right things, uses this voice—low and soothing—but it never feels clean.

It’s not kindness, it’s control. He knows what he’s doing.

He’s breaking me apart just so he can be the one to put me back together. ”

Sage stares at me, jaw locked, muscles twitching beneath the skin.

“He makes you think it’s your fault,” I say. “That you’re the one who keeps inviting it. That you’re the problem, so maybe you deserve the attention, even if it hurts.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sage mutters, voice ragged.

“He watched me fall apart, Sage. Slowly. Quietly. He didn’t push me, he didn’t hurt me, he didn’t call me names.

He just… waited. Waited for me to get soft around him.

Waited for me to need the attention he’d always been shoving down my throat.

And the second I needed it, he pulled it away and started ignoring me. ”

Sage’s jaw tenses, and his eyes narrow. “So he love-bombed you, then vanished.”

I shrug. “He’s not stupid; he knew exactly what he was doing. I don’t know how he knew what I’d respond to, but he did, and he used it. He made me crave the way he saw me. Made me feel like I was special for being broken.”

The shame tastes like blood in my mouth. I look away again. “Then he started ignoring me and pretending it was for my own good. It drove me fucking insane.”

The silence that follows is different than before. It’s loaded. Heavy with tension and the low hum of rage that I can feel vibrating off Sage like a storm about to snap.

Sage breathes in hard, dragging both hands through his hair, and his eyes are blown wide with disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought it was my fault,” I say. “Because I kept going back. Because I started needing it. Because even when it hurt, it felt like someone finally saw me. Like he saw the parts I usually keep locked down and didn’t flinch.”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“I didn’t tell you,” I whisper, “because I was ashamed.”

“Nate…”

“I thought I could handle him,” I say, my voice trembling and my shoulders slumping. “I thought if I just played along, if I stayed detached, it wouldn’t matter. But it did. It matters. And now I don’t know how to come back from it.”

Sage shifts in his seat, face etched with concern that cuts me deeper than judgment ever could.

“I let him fuck me,” I say, jaw clenched and unable to look at him. “At the BBQ. After I saw you with Luca. I was spiraling and angry and so fucking hollow, I didn’t care. I told him to make me forget, and he did.”

The confession doesn’t give me the relief I expected. It lands like a weight in my stomach, and I nearly fucking gag. “Nate…”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I say quickly. “I’m not trying to justify it. I just—You deserved to know why I’ve been such a goddamn mess. Why I lashed out at you. Why I said all that shit.”

He leans forward now, resting his arms on the table. “You should’ve told me sooner.”

I nod. “I know.”

“And you still… do you still see him? Do you still want him?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“That’s not complicated, Nate,” Sage says, his voice cracking a little. “That’s toxic. That’s—That’s not okay.”

“I know that too,” I mutter. “But every time I try to pull away, he knows how to get me back. He doesn’t chase; he waits, and he watches. Then, the second I need something, he’s there to help. He’s the… the only thing that makes sense when I’m drowning.”

Sage looks like he wants to punch something. “That manipulative, gaslighting motherfucker,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. “He wants you like this.”

I exhale hard, dragging a hand through my hair. “I know.”

Sage shakes his head. Standing up, he paces in front of me, hands on his hips.

“No, I don’t think you do.” He stops, looking at me like he’s trying to force me to understand.

“He wants you broken, Nate. He wants you lost, drowning, grasping for something solid while he’s the only one standing still. ”

I know.

I fucking know.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “Yeah. That’s exactly how I felt about Luca.”

“This isn’t the same.”

“I know it’s not,” I sigh. “But the rage? The part of you that wants to destroy something because someone touched what they shouldn’t have? That part’s the same.”

Sage exhales slowly and runs a hand through his hair again. He’s visibly trying to rein in his temper, but his hands are clenched so tightly I can see the bones shift under his skin. Then he looks at me again, softer this time. “I should’ve seen it,” he murmurs. “I should’ve fucking seen it.”

“You didn’t, and that’s not on you.” I let my head fall back against the wall behind me, closing my eyes. “What do I do, Sage? How do I…”

“Pull yourself together.”

I let out a breath, slow and exhausted. “I’m trying.”

Sage crouches in front of me, eyes still blazing with anger for me, but his voice is softer now. “Try harder. He doesn’t get to win, Nate.”

I huff a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Feels like he already has.”

Sage smacks my knee, hard enough to make me look at him. “No,” he says firmly. “That’s what he wants you to think. That he got in your head so deep you can’t crawl back out. But you can.”

I exhale, rolling my shoulders, the weight of everything still pressing too fucking hard. “Yeah? And how do you suggest I do that, genius?”

Sage tilts his head, considering. “I could sic Luca on him.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Thanks, but I don’t need your boyfriend committing murder on my behalf.”

“Wouldn’t be murder,” Sage says, standing up and stretching. “More like… aggressive population control.”

I huff another laugh, running a hand through my hair. The weight is still there, still sitting in me, but for the first time in weeks, it feels… lighter. Manageable. Like maybe I can fucking breathe again. “I don’t want Luca to know,” I say quietly.

His mouth tightens. “Why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want it to be about Liam. I don’t want it to be this big blowout revenge arc where you and Luca go hunting for his head. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.”

Sage sighs, nudging my foot with his own. “You need a distraction?”

I breathe out a shaky laugh. “From Liam?”

“From yourself.”

I glance over, and he holds up his laptop. “Help me storyboard this disaster of a scene before I fail Film Theory and have to start selling feet pics.”

The laugh that escapes me is real.

God, it’s real.

And for once, I don’t feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin. I just sit there beside my best friend, in the only place that still feels safe, and I let myself believe maybe things aren’t completely broken beyond repair.

Not yet.