Page 161 of Cruel When He Smiles
Earliertoday,I’dbeenfine. 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 belongedthere, 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 loudto 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.”
