Page 75 of Cruel When He Smiles
I drag a hand down my face, gripping my jaw. My throat’s tight again, but no sound comes out. No sob. No scream. Just the hollow kind of quiet that comes after something important snaps.
“Rough day?”
His voice is amused in a way that shouldn’t be comforting yet is. I lift my head slowly and see him there, leaning against thebrick wall beside me like he’s been watching me crumble for longer than I realized.
Killian King.
Of course it’s a motherfucking Sin Bin boy.
He’s in a dark blue Henley and black jeans, with an unlit cigarette in his hand. He’s twirling it between his fingers, and his eyes are fixed on me in that strange way of his—curious, detached, and knowing all at once.
“Jesus,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Do you guys just fucking materialize when I’m at my lowest?”
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose and pushes off the wall, not walking toward me exactly, just pacing a slow circle near the step. “No,” he says. “I was just cutting through campus. Didn’t expect to run into the Carter storm front.”
I roll my eyes but don’t walk away. I should, since he’s in Liam’s circle. I want to tell him to fuck off, but the words don’t come. Instead, I let out a breath and say, “You stalking me now or what?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, I was cutting through and saw a very familiar scowl from about fifty yards away.” His eyes flick over my face. “Figured it was either you or someone else losing their shit.”
“Guess you won the jackpot,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he sits on the low concrete edge across from me, elbows on his knees, that unlit cigarette still between his fingers. “You gonna tell me what happened, or you just planning on sulking until nightfall?”
“You don’t have to pretend to care,” I mutter.
“Not pretending,” he says simply. “You look like you’re about to unravel. Figured you could either bottle it up or get it out before you shatter.”
I scoff. “I’m not going to shatter.”
“Didn’t say you would.” He tilts his head. “Just said you look close.”
I stare at him for a second, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. Why I don’t stand up and leave. Why I don’t tell him to mind his fucking business. But the thing is—I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired of holding it in. And I think part of me knows Killian won’t give me some bullshit pep talk or fake sympathy. He doesn’t do that. For some goddamn reason, I answer.
“It’s Sage. He lied to me, made me believe there was nothing going on with Luca, even when I could see the fucker was messing with his head. Told me that I didn’t need to get involved because he's got it handled, and now they’re… together. Sage—he didn’t even tell me. Just kept lying to me about what Luca was doing to him, like I was some idiot who wouldn’t notice.”
Killian exhales. “That’s rough.”
I nod and swallow deeply. “He was supposed to be my best friend.” My throat burns with the words. “We’ve been through everything. And now he’s lying for someone who’s been fucking with his head since the start of the semester.”
“You feel betrayed,” Killian says, like he’s stating a weather condition.
“Yeah. No shit.”
A beat passes; wind rustles the trees overhead. My heart keeps hammering, my jaw clenched so tight I swear I can feel it in my ears. I expect Killian to offer some dumb frat boy line about loyalty or to defend Luca because they all live in that house together. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he says, “You’re not telling him everything, either.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You’re pissed. Hurt. Whatever, and that’s valid. But that’s not the only thing bleeding through your skin, is it?”
I squirm, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. Killian keeps going. “You’re hiding your own shit, Carter.And maybe Sage lied, maybe he fucked up. But can you really say you’ve been honest with him?”
I blink. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He lifts one shoulder. “You tell me.”
He doesn’t say Liam’s name; he doesn’t have to. It’s there, heavy in the silence between us. My stomach tightens, shame and something darker clawing up my throat. “I didn’t do anything,” I mutter.
