Page 144 of Cruel When He Smiles
I filled the hours with noise. More practice. More pointless conversations. More nights staring at my ceiling, waiting for sleep that never showed. I was restless in my own skin, pacing my room like there was something trapped in it with me.
Killian noticed. I could see it in the way he watched me, but he didn’t say a word. Maybe because he already knew the truth. That for all my games, I’d fucked myself the second I made Nate need me and then ripped it away.
When I found myself crawling to him, it wasn’t the relief I expected; it was worse. Because the second I looked at him, I knew I’d missed him in ways I don’t miss anyone. I don’t miss people; I replace them. But Nate isn’t replaceable. He’s an itchunder the skin, a weight in my chest, a fucking storm I don’t want to outrun.
My chest tightens as I think about how he stripped me down in ways I didn’t even know I could be stripped down—physically, mentally, every fucking layer. He didn’t let me drown in my own head; he pulled me out without using violence. No one, not even Killian, has done that for me.
Except him.
I drag my teeth over my lower lip, eyes flicking back to the road, my fingers flexing against the leather.
Nate makes me happy.
The idea of it still feels foreign, and I don’t even know what to do with it. I’ve spent my entire life being taught to kill anything that feels like this before it can sink in. To erase it before it can make me weak.
But with him, it doesn’t feel weak. It feels… dangerous in a different way. Not obsession or even possession. Something I don’t have a name for—and maybe don’t want one for—because naming it would make it real.
I glance at him again, watch his chest rise and fall, and my grip on the wheel tightens until my knuckles ache.
Is this…
No.
No, it can’t be.
I can’t love people, and I don’t get attached.
I destroy things. I own things. I control things.
But Nate is the first thing in my entire life that I don’t want to break anymore. And that thought is so fucking dangerous, I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.
The tightness in my chest doesn’t go away; it gets worse. The pressure builds until it’s choking me. My chest feels like it’s being wrapped in barbed wire, and the air in the car suddenlyfeels too thick to pull in. My mother’s voice slices through my head so sharply, I almost flinch.
Love is a weakness.
It’s like she’s in the back seat, her nails digging into my shoulders, her eyes daring me to prove her right.
Caring will get you killed.
I wasn’t allowed to care or feel. She ensured it—every lesson, every punishment, every hour locked in the dark until I learned exactly what she wanted me to be. Cold. Unshakable. Untouchable. I became it; I perfected it.
And now, here I am, burning alive in my own fucking chest because Nate’s asleep in my passenger seat, and some sick, messed-up part of me wants to protect him from everything, including myself.
The coil inside me twists tighter until I can’t take it anymore. I yank the wheel to the right, pulling off the road so hard the tires spit gravel. I slam the car into park, my breath loud in the silence, my heartbeat hammering like it’s trying to punch its way out. My hands fall from the wheel into my lap, and I stare at them, watching the shake in my fingers.
What the fuck is happening to me? I’m allowed to love him… aren’t I? I can be good. I can be deserving of it, right? I’m not… I’m not broken like she said. I’m not—
“Liam?”
His voice. Groggy, soft, but it hits me so hard, I almost forget to breathe entirely. I snap my eyes open, every muscle tensing because the last thing I want is for him to see me like this.
He shifts in his seat, rubbing his eyes, then glances around before locking onto me. “What—where are we?” His brow furrows. “Liam?”
The change in his face is instant—the tiredness replaced with that razor-sharp awareness he gets when he’s reading me. I forcemy mouth open, force my lips to move, force myself to fucking say something.
But the only thing that comes out in a whisper is, “Nate.”
His whole body stills for half a second, then he moves fast. His hands wrap around mine, and his voice drops low. “I’m here.” He’s steady, sure, and so damn real. “Look at me, Liam.”
