Page 177 of Cruel When He Smiles
“Always.”
He opens one eye, squints at me. “You know, if you weren’t such a manipulative bastard, I might actually say that was sweet.”
I grin. “You just did.”
He groans, dragging the blanket over his head dramatically. “I take it back.”
I climb under it with him, tugging it down enough to catch his mouth again. He tries not to smile, but he fails. His fingers twist in my shirt, pulling me closer until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.
And beneath it all—the blood, the violence, the chaos—we’re still here.
College kids in a broken world, clinging to each other like lifelines we never asked for but can’t let go of now.
“Liam,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice muffled against my chest.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t treat me like glass.”
I press my lips to his hair. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Pup.”
We’re a mess. Toxic. Twisted. Too far gone to ever pull this back into anything resembling what people deem normal. We’re not built for pretty, for clean lines or gentle edges. We’re sharp corners and broken glass, held together by obsession and something so twisted it can’t be called pure.
But none of that matters, because this is ours.
Epilogue
Nate
It’salmostmidnightbythe time we reach the docks. The city behind us is still alive: sirens in the distance, the occasional low rumble of traffic. It’s not peaceful, nothing with Liam ever is. But here, it’s quieter. Here, it’s ours.
The air’s cool against my skin, biting through the thin black hoodie I pulled on when he told me to get dressed and come with him. His hoodie, of course. Everything I own now either smells like him or once belonged to him.
Six months later, and I still haven’t figured out how to stop letting him swallow me whole. Maybe I never will.
The Aston Martin’s headlights cast long beams out over the cracked, uneven pavement of the dockyard, lighting up rusted chains, shipping crates, and the distant glint of water.
He doesn’t say a word as he kills the engine. I unbuckle, but I don’t move yet because Liam’s still sitting there, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearshift, head tilted like he’s thinking something through that no one else would ever understand.
And I wait. I always wait.
He finally turns to me, and those hazel eyes catch mine in the dark. He doesn’t smile—I’ve noticed that he never does when it matters.
“Get out, Pup.”
The words are calm. That voice pulls something taut in me and doesn’t let go. I push the door open and step into the cold. My boots hit the ground, scuffing against gravel, and I hear his car door shut a second after mine.
The wind catches the hem of his coat as he walks ahead of me toward the edge of the dock, his hands buried deep in his pockets, broad shoulders rolled back like the whole world is watching him.
I follow. Of course I do.
The boards creak under our weight, old wood stretching out toward the water. The smell of the ocean hits my nose—salt, brine, rust. My pulse is already picking up, though, because the last time Liam brought me here was to tell me I made him happy.
I don’t know why he’s been weird all day. Not soft exactly, but… quieter. There was no teasing when he pulled me out of bed this morning. No snide remarks during breakfast. No biting comments when I beat him at darts. Just that ever-present focus, like he was letting some plan take shape in his head and wasn’t ready to speak it aloud yet.
He stops at the edge of the dock, boots close to the drop-off, his stare locked on the ink-black water below. I stop beside him; my hands are cold, but my heart’s not. It’s a fucking riot in my chest.
“You brought me here for a reason,” I say eventually, my voice low. I toe the edge of the wooden dock, watching the water lap hard against the beams.
