Page 109 of Cruel When He Smiles
I stand suddenly, the chair scraping harshly against the tile. My body needs motion, or I’ll lose it. I pace to the end of the bed, then back, breathing hard, dragging my palms down my face.
The itch to retaliate is clawing at me. I want to hurt the bastard who did this. I want to hear him beg. I want him to understand what it feels like to have something important ripped away in a single moment.
I saw Josh twist at the last second, lean into it with his shoulder down, all his weight angled right at Nate’s blind side. He knew exactly what he was doing. He made a decision, and now Nate’s here—battered, unconscious, too still—while I’ve been going over every second of it in my head, dissecting it frame by frame until I can’t tell if I’m more furious at the asshole who did it or at myself for not getting to him in time.
The door clicks open behind me. I don’t need to look to know it’s Killian. No one else would dare walk in without knocking.
He closes the door behind him and leans his shoulder against it, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the room until it settles on Nate. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “He looks worse than they said.”
I turn slowly, keeping my voice even. “You read the report?”
“I read everything,” Killian says. “Especially when it involves you turning the field into a goddamn warzone.”
“I didn’t—” I stop. What’s the point? He already knows.
“You punched Trevor,” he says. “Broke his nose.”
“He touched him.”
Killian raises a brow. “He tried to check his pulse.”
“He grabbed him.”
“You were already in the ambulance when the EMTs took over. Don’t pretend you don’t remember.” Killian steps closer, voice quieter now. “You lost it.”
I clench my jaw and look away. “He wasn’t moving, Killian,” I whisper. “I thought he was dead.”
The silence stretches until Killian sighs and crosses the room. He stands next to me and watches me carefully. “You want my advice?”
I inhale sharply through my nose. “Not really.”
“Too bad.” He says, and his voice drops into something more serious. “You lost control today. Doesn’t matter if it was justified or not—everyone saw it. You’re Liam fucking Callahan. You don’t get to snap like some emotional wreck over a guy getting knocked on his ass in practice.”
My hands clench into fists. “It wasn’t a fucking accident.”
“I know that.” Killian shrugs. “But you let everyone else see how much it fucking mattered to you.”
I know.
I fucking know I let it show, and that’s not who I am.
I breathe in deep, forcing the tension out of my shoulders, forcing my fists to relax, forcing myself to pull the mask back into place.
Killian studies me for another few seconds, then nods once. “Good.” He smirks. “There’s my brother.”
Before I can form a full thought, the door swings open hard enough to rattle the frame, the sound cutting through the hospital room like a gunshot.
“Where the fuck is he?”
Sage storms into the room, his chest heaving like he ran the whole damn way here. His glasses are crooked, hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed, and his brown eyes are burning.
There’s a tension riding his frame, a storm coiled under skin and bone, ready to tear through someone if they so much as breathe wrong. His eyes land on me and narrow with immediate rage.
I barely glance away from Nate’s vitals. “And here I thought Nate was the one with unresolved anger issues.”
Sage rounds on me fast, lips twisted in something half a snarl. “You want to joke right now?” His voice is sharp enough to bleed. “You want to stand there with your smug fucking mouth while my best friend’s laid out like that?”
He takes a step closer, his fists clenched like he’s ready to swing. I don’t move.
