Page 16 of Cruel When He Smiles
Inside, the café is warm and half-full. People hunched over laptops, girls whispering in a corner booth, and that one guy who always plays TikToks loudly like he wants to die by public execution. Sage gets our regular spot by the window, and I collapse into the seat across from him.
He orders us drinks, as usual, then leans forward on the table, watching me with that steady, infuriating concern I never know how to process.
“So,” he says, brown eyes narrowing. “You gonna tell me what she wanted yesterday?”
My jaw ticks, and he notices that, too. He knows how I get after my mom calls.
I shake my head. “No.” Sage doesn’t argue or push, he just sips his drink when it arrives and lets the silence stretch between us. I sigh eventually. “She called to fuck with my head. What else?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time as he watches me, one leg bouncing under the table, fingers twitching against his cup. I know he wants to hit something for me but doesn’t know what.
“She said some shit,” I add, “about how people confuse intensity with connection. About how lashing out doesn’t get you love.”
Sage’s expression darkens. “She think you’re dating someone?”
I laugh, but it’s harsh and humorless. “She doesn’t think I’m capable of that.”
He leans forward, voice serious. “You know she’s wrong, right?”
I don’t answer, because I’m not sure she is. She knows how badly she fucked me up for anyone else. She knows how much her version of love made me incapable of giving or feeling it in a healthy way.
“She always had a way of twisting things,” I mutter. “Made it feel like she was right even when she wasn’t, and if I got angry, it meant I was broken. If I pulled away, it meant I was disloyal. Every time I tried to breathe without her, she made it a betrayal.”
Sage doesn’t flinch. “You got out, Nate. Your dad saw what she was doing and got you out.”
I think about my dad and what he did. I don’t blame him for not noticing what his wife was doing to his youngest child; she made me lie about it. And he’s always tried to erase his guilt theonly way he knows how: using his wealth. “Yeah. But sometimes it still feels like I didn’t.”
He nods slowly. “Because she built herself into you. That’s how it works.” I glance up at him and frown, but he shrugs. “She built her voice into your reactions. Into the way you look at yourself. Into the guilt you feel for feeling anything at all.”
My heart is beating way too fast as he tells me this, because he has no fucking idea just how close to home that hits. “When did you become smart?”
He flips me off. “I read books.”
I snort, and somehow that cracks the tension just enough to let air back in. Not all the way, but enough. My shoulders lower, and I breathe again.
“Anyway,” he mutters, dragging his sleeve across the condensation ring his iced coffee left behind, “frat duties are officially the worst part of my week.”
“Frat duties?” I raise a brow, but I know this is his way of dragging me away from the topic of my mom. “Thought you were done with all that.”
“I was.” He sighs and leans back, tipping his head against the booth. “But then Preston dropped out of school, and apparently, I’m the only other guy on the roster who can do basic math and not skim off the top, so guess who got roped into being treasurer?”
I choke on my sip of coffee. “Wait, you’retreasurernow?”
“Don’t look so horrified.”
“You still Venmo me in emojis and forget decimal points.”
“I round in vibes,” he deadpans.
I snort into my drink. “Yeah, this’ll end great.”
He groans and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I swear, half those trust fund assholes don’t even know what money is. They just swipe their dad’s card and hope it doesn’t decline.”
“We’re literally the same as those assholes, but what does that even mean for you?” I ask, not getting it. “You just, what, balance the books and chase people down for keg money?”
Sage snorts. “Basically. Except instead of keg money, it’s bullshit like catering for the alumni gala and trying to convince Preston’s new replacement not to invest in crypto with the social fund.”
I blink. “That’s what you get for looking responsible,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Why didn’t you say no?”
