Page 61 of Cruel When He Smiles
“Then what the hell are you doing going to a cookout at the house of the guy who used to make your life a nightmare?”
Sage runs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly. “Because I don’t think he’s that guy anymore.”
I snort, looking away. “Yeah, right. People don’t change, Sage. Especially not guys like Devereaux. They just learn how to hide the asshole better.”
He groans and pulls on my arm. “Come on, Nate. We won’t go for them,” he says, and I already know he’s going to convince me. “For me? Please?”
I shake my head and pace a few steps because this conversation is too fucking weird. “You used to hate that fucker.”
“Yeah,” Sage says, voice a little rough now. “And maybe I meant it. But I also meant it when I told you not everything is black and white. And maybe… maybe I’m figuring out that Luca’s more of a mess than anyone realizes.”
I raise my eyebrow at that. “You like him.”
Sage shrugs again, but his ears are pink, and it’s the only tell he’s got. “This isn’t about me. This is about you needing to get out of your head before you rot in there.”
I say nothing for a moment and look at him. He’s standing there, still offering, still trying to dig me out of the hole I threw myself into, even though I’ve given him every reason to stop. My throat tightens.
“You really think I should go?” I ask.
“I think you need to be reminded there’s still shit worth showing up for. That you’re not some fucking ghost haunting your own life. Because if you spend another weekend in bed with a stranger you won’t remember, drinking yourself into a blackout and hating yourself when you wake up… I don’t think I can fucking watch that again.”
His words hit harder than I want them to. My chest tightens, my throat burns, but I blink it away, nodding once, just sharp enough to look like I’ve still got control. “That’s dramatic.”
“Yeah, well,” Sage says with a half-smile, “I learned from the best.”
I drag a hand over my face. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Just come for an hour,” Sage says, softer now.
I look down, rub the edge of the floorboard with the heel of my shoe, jaw tight. I hate how appealing that sounds. I hate that part of me wants to go. That the idea of stepping into that chaos again doesn’t feel as gut-wrenching as it did two minutes ago. How starved I am for anything that feels real. I hate that Liam’s voiceis still echoing in my head, and that some part of me believed him.
Maybe I still do, but I’m tired of letting him win.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally mutter.
He smirks, stepping back. “I’ll text you the time.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks out.
He knows I can’t really say no to him.
Nate
Thesun’salittletoo bright for my mood, but it’s not enough to make me leave. I’m not sure what I expected when I agreed to this. Maybe a house full of blasting music, half-naked people hanging off balconies, and red Solo cups bleeding across the lawn. That’s the kind of chaos the Sin Bin is known for, the kind that always makes my skin itch and my guard snap into place like armor I never take off.
But the moment Sage and I step through the back door, I realize this isn’t that.
It’s quiet in a way I didn’t expect. Laidback. The grill’s on, the scent of char and spice heavy in the air. Someone’s playing a playlist from a speaker, but it’s more vibe than volume. There’s maybe a dozen people spread out across the lawn and patio—the ten athletes I recognize instantly, all part of the Sin Bin circus, and a few others who must be friends or partners.
No one’s falling into the pool. No one’s drunk off their ass. And the most shocking thing? No one’s trying to be the center of attention.
I adjust my sunglasses, eyes sweeping the scene with slow caution as Sage turns to face me, his prescription sunglasses catching the sun in a way that hides most of his expression, but I know that look. He’s waiting to see if I’ll bolt. My stomach’s uneasy, but I breathe through it.
We’re both in boardshorts and tanks, our long hair down and probably already curling in the heat. Sage said it’d be chill, and I didn’t believe him. But maybe for once, he didn’t lie to get me out of the house.
A few people notice us and nod or sayhey.It’s not weirdly forced, not fake or hostile—just casual greetings, the kind you toss out to someone who’s not quite a stranger but definitely not a friend. Beneath it all, my chest is tight, nerves coiled up just beneath the surface like they’re waiting to strike the second I seehim.
