Page 72 of Cruel When He Smiles (Sinners of Blackthorne U #3)

Nate

Earlier today, I’d been fine. More than fine—ridiculously happy in a way that felt almost unreal. I’d been walking around campus with that steady hum in my chest that comes when everything just… fits.

Practice had gone well. Classes hadn’t been unbearable. And Liam—fuck, Liam—had been in that sweet mood he gets in sometimes, where the sharp edges are still there but turned in my favor.

I’d been thinking about him more than I’d admit, replaying things he’d said, the way he’d looked at me, how his hand had lingered a little too long when he passed me my water bottle after drills.

It was the kind of good day that didn’t feel fragile yet, the kind that made me think maybe it wasn’t all temporary.

And then I saw her.

I just went to the frat to grab a spare hoodie, when I stepped inside and froze. She was sitting on my bed like she belonged there, one leg crossed over the other, posture perfect, that same unreadable smile she’s worn for as long as I can remember.

“Hello, Nathaniel.”

The sound of her voice made my stomach turn. My first instinct was to leave, to turn around and put as much space between us as possible, but she moved before I could.

“I know about you and Liam Callahan,” she said, like it was a fact that required no buildup, no explanation.

Like she’d already filed it away in whatever twisted cabinet she keeps for all the ways she thinks I’ve failed her.

“Do you know he called me to come here for some ‘interview’? I know you told him, didn’t you? ”

I didn’t answer. My throat wouldn’t work.

Every step she took toward me sounded louder than it should have, the air between us getting heavier until she was right there, close enough for her lavender perfume to cut through everything else. I hated that smell.

Her hand came up, fingers brushing my cheek. It was barely a touch, not even enough to leave a mark, but it made my skin crawl. It wasn’t affection. It never was with her. It was a reminder—her way of saying that no matter how far I thought I’d gotten from her reach, she could still get to me.

“You really wanted to embarrass me further by sleeping with her son, didn’t you?” she asked, voice too soft for how sharp the words were. “Why are you always taking everything from me?”

I froze completely, breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

Every nerve in my body was telling me to step back, to get away, but my feet wouldn’t move.

She didn’t even press her palm flat, just let the tips of her fingers rest against my face like she was holding something she could crush without effort.

She said something else about how I wouldn’t last, about how Liam would ruin me—but my head was already ringing too loud to catch all of it. I just knew the look she gave me when she pulled her hand back. That tiny tilt of her head with the faintest frown, like she was disappointed in me.

It hasn’t left me since I got to Liam’s room. It sits on my skin, under it, in it. Her voice. Her perfume. The fucking weight of her hand on my face like I’m still fifteen, and she’s teaching me what disappointment feels like.

It’s not going away. The shirt helps, the smell of Liam all over me helps, but it’s not enough. Not when, every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that room with her looking at me like I’ve already lost.

That’s why I’m here now. That’s why I’m in Liam’s shirt, sitting on his bed like I can disappear into it if I pull my knees close enough.

I can still feel her fingers on my skin, and no amount of scrubbing in the shower erased it.

My hair’s still damp from how hard I tried.

I drowned myself in Liam’s cologne to get rid of the cloying lavender smell, and that’s the only thing keeping me from tearing my skin open to make sure she’s not still there.

I’ve been here for hours, curled up tight, locked so far in my own head I can’t hear much beyond my own heartbeat.

I’m aware of the house in that muted, distant way—low voices somewhere downstairs, footsteps moving past the door, the faint creak of the floorboards as someone comes up the stairs. But none of it truly reaches me.

Until it’s him.

Liam’s voice cuts through like it’s wired directly to the part of me that still knows how to move.

Low, steady, coaxing. I can’t make out all the words at first, but the tone is enough.

I feel his presence before I see him, the way the air shifts when he’s in the room.

Then he’s beside me, warm and solid, his hands careful as he pulls me into his lap.

As his fingers continue trailing through the ends of my hair, he tilts his head just enough that I feel his mouth near my temple. “Talk to me,” he murmurs. “Please, Pup.”

My focus sharpens. The words stop feeling like they’re coming from far away, and suddenly, I’m back in my body, pressed against him.

I lift my head to look at him; his pretty hazel eyes are on me, steady and unblinking. I don’t feel like crying. The only thing I feel is cold, and the only thing I want is for that cold to be gone.

“I want her gone,” I say, surprising myself at how clearly it comes out.

The shift in him is instant. His hand stills in my hair, but his eyes never leave mine. “Who?”

I don’t have to say it. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the quiet calculation that settles over his expression. He knows I’m talking about my mother.

“She was in my room,” I say, the words heavier now that they’re out. “She said you were the reason she was here and she knows… about us.”

I can hear him grinding his teeth and his hand moves to my jaw, tilting my face so he can see me better. “Did she hurt you?”

I shake my head, but the movement is small, almost hesitant. “Not… not like that.” I pause, taking his hand and leaning my cheek into it. “She touched my face right here, but I couldn’t—” My throat closes up, and I take a breath through my nose. “I couldn’t stand it.”

His thumb brushes along my jaw. “That’s why you’re in my shirt.”

“Yeah. And I couldn’t stand smelling her perfume.”

He studies me for a long moment, and I let him. I know what he’s thinking, how fast his mind is moving even when his body is still. I know he’s already planning something, and for once, I don’t care what it is. I just want her gone.

“I’ll take care of it,” he says finally.

I lean into his chest, closing my eyes again, but this time it’s different. This time I’m not locking myself away—I’m just letting him be the one to hold me up. His arms tighten around me, and for the first time since I saw her, the cold starts to fade.

His mouth finds mine, slow at first, not careful but intentional, like he’s mapping out exactly how he’s going to erase her from my head. His fingers slide back into my hair, holding me there, his body warm and solid beneath me.

I can still feel the ghost of her touch on my face, but it’s fading under the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the low hum in his chest when I finally kiss him back.

“Better?”

“More.” It’s out before I can stop it, my hands fisting in his shirt again. “Please, Liam—just more.”

His smile is small, but there’s nothing sweet in it.

His mouth lingers against mine for another beat before he pulls back, just far enough that I feel the absence of him in my bones.

His hands stay where they are—one tangled in my hair, the other braced at the base of my spine—holding me in place without needing to tighten his grip.

“Breathe for me,” he says, the tone low enough to slide right under my skin. “In. Now hold it. And let it out slowly.”

I try, but it’s shaky and uneven. My chest still feels tight.

“That’s fine,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “Again.”

He leans in closer, his forehead resting against mine. “You want to know why she doesn’t matter?” he asks, his tone coaxing, like he’s pulling threads out of me one by one.

My throat feels tight. “Why?”

“Because I’m the one who decides what you carry,” he says with slow certainty, each word pressing into me like a brand. “Not her, not anyone else. Only me. And right now, I’m telling you to carry me. Just me.”

It should sound twisted. It should sound wrong. But the way he says it—like it’s a lifeline and not a chain—makes my chest loosen just enough to let him in. He takes my hand and places it on his chest, over his heart. “That’s where you live. Right here. Feel how it’s beating?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“That’s all that’s real right now,” he says, his voice so calm it’s impossible not to match it. “Not her voice, not her touch. Just me—my hands, my voice, and my fucking shirt on your skin.”

My breathing evens out without me meaning for it to, my forehead tipping forward until it touches his shoulder. “You smell like me. You taste like me. You’re in my clothes. She doesn’t get to reach you here, and she never will.”

His hand is still moving at that same steady pace on my skin. “Better?” he asks, tilting my chin up until I’m looking at him again.

I nod once. “Better.”

His mouth curves into a small smile, but his eyes stay locked on mine. “Good. That’s where I want you to stay.”

I sit up a little on his lap, still holding onto the fabric of his shirt. “Liam… was she telling the truth?”

“Yes,” he says simply, not denying it. “I reached out. I wanted to see the type of person she is. And I was right.”

My stomach twists. “So… you’re the reason she’s here.”

“She didn’t need much convincing, Nate.” His tone is clipped, but not defensive—he’s not hiding this. “I suspect she already knew who I was before I contacted her. I needed to know what I’m up against.”

A hard exhale slips out of me, but it’s not anger that tightens my jaw. It’s the way everything feels heavier now, more real than I wanted it to be.

Liam presses a hand to the back of my neck, pulling me forward until our foreheads almost touch.

“I didn’t expect her to do this. I didn’t give her your name, I used mine.

That was enough.” His tone dips lower. “But now I know she’s been watching.

She knew the moment you let yourself start choosing something just for you. ”

“What do you mean?” I ask, but I think I already know.

His eyes darken, lips pressed into a thin line. “You remember Josh Miller?”

“The guy who tackled me at practice? Yeah, how could I forget?” I say, my heart thudding. “Wait… are you saying—?”

“She got to him.”

Liam doesn’t look away from me, doesn’t soften the blow. “I didn’t know until after. Until Killian found out why Josh, who never really bothered with you, suddenly injured you during a drill. It didn’t make sense.”

A sick weight anchors itself in my gut. “What did you find?”

Liam’s voice is steady, but cold. “She threatened his family, scholarship, and his place at Blackthorne.”

My stomach flips, because that sounds just like her.

“She threatened his future here,” Liam continues “And in exchange, he gave her an incident bad enough to hurt you so you’d need care. I don’t think she expected you to remove her from your next of kin list.”

“Jesus.” My voice is barely a whisper. I feel sick.

There’s a pause. He exhales, then leans back to look at me better. “I’m not going to apologize for reaching out to her. I needed to know what I was fighting. I needed to see her, hear her voice, and study her. And now that I have… she won’t get near you again.”

My chest feels tight, but I don’t pull away. I stay on his lap, my body pressed into his, and I let the words sink in. Remembering her touch and cruelty, I see his point.

She doesn’t need weapons; she is one. And Liam… Liam’s not asking for permission to protect me. He’s already started.

I finally let myself sag against his chest, heart still racing but not spiraling. “I don’t hate you for it,” I whisper, pressing my face into his throat. “I probably should be angry you reached out to her, but I’m not.”

“Why?” he asks, surprised.

“Because I know you, and I know you did it to keep me safe.” My voice wavers a little. “I’ve never let anyone protect me before, Liam. No one’s ever tried, not really. So even if I’m pissed off later… I’m still glad you’re the one who did it. Thank you.”

He doesn’t speak for a few moments. Then, in that soft voice that cuts deeper than his cruelty ever could, he murmurs, “You don’t have to thank me for protecting what’s mine.”

I nod into his shirt, eyes stinging.

I want to tell him everything. About how I used to think I’d always belong to her, even when I hated her. How her voice lived in my head, even in the quiet. How I was scared that if I ever found something real, she’d find a way to take it from me.

But I don’t need to say it. Liam already knows, and that’s what makes him dangerous. That’s what makes me feel safe. Not because he’s soft, but because he’s sharp enough to cut down every monster that ever thought I’d stay theirs.

And this time, I’m not fighting alone.