Page 106 of Cruel When He Smiles
“You’re not fucking fine, Nate.”
Did I just imagine the tremble in his voice?
I close my eyes.
Everything hurts.
My head pounds like my brain is trying to punch its way out of my skull. My ribs scream when I breathe. There’s a sharp sting behind my eye, like someone buried glass in it. But Liam’s hand stays on me, his palm never moves, and his grip never falters.
I feel him even through the fog.
“Nate.” His voice is firm. No room for negotiation. “Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me.”
I try. I really fucking try. But the warmth of his hand feels too much like safety, and the ache in my head is too fucking loud. I think there are sirens screaming, and I want to tell him that this month with him has been the only time I haven’t hated being alive—
—but the words don’t make it out.
The dark takes them first.
And then it takes me.
My eyelids are heavy. My head’s worse. It feels like someone cracked my skull open and poured molten lead inside before stitching me back up with wire. There’s a bandage wrapped around the crown, tight and tugging against my hairline.
Pressure blooms just above my left temple, throbbing with every slow, reluctant beat of my heart. My neck aches, stiff and twisted at an odd angle against the hospital pillow. There’s dried blood crusted near the corner of my eye, and my cheekbone is swollen tight beneath the skin.
I’m not just sore—I’m wrecked.
And I don’t remember how I got here.
The scent of antiseptic and bleach clings to the air, curling in my throat and making it even harder to swallow. I open my mouth and regret it instantly. My tongue is thick, throat raw and dry, like I’ve been breathing in fire instead of oxygen.
I shift, and pain punches straight through my ribs, dragging a hoarse grunt from my mouth before I can stop it. The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough.
A chair scrapes softly against the tile floor beside me, then I feel movement near me before I hear it.
“Pup?”
His voice comes out quiet, low enough to pass as a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the weight behind it. That’s not calm, that’s forced control.
Liam.
I open my eyes. Or try to. It takes effort, and the fluorescent light from the hallway spills in through the cracked door, stabbing at my vision until everything bleeds.
He’s right there.
His gaze is fixed on me, trained so hard on my face that it feels like a physical touch.
Liam’s hazel eyes aren’t just watching—they’re dissecting. Studying. Memorizing every twitch of my expression as I wake up. His brow is drawn tight, his mouth a thin line, his jaw clenched.
His control isn’t slipping, but it’s damn near cracking.
“You stayed?” I ask, and he nods slowly, running the pad of his thumb down my cheek.
I move again without thinking, trying to sit up, and the pain makes my vision splotch white around the edges. It’s not just my ribs, my whole side aches. My head throbs like it’s been split open and only half put back together. There’s a tug of tensionnear my scalp where they must’ve stapled something, and I can feel swelling behind my left ear that wasn’t there this morning.
Liam reaches over me before I can blink. He hits the nurse call button on the wall like he’s done it before. I try to push his hand away, but he doesn’t let me.
“Don’t,” he says. The word’s soft, but his tone isn’t.
