Page 92 of Cruel When He Smiles
He’s mine, not theirs.
The thought snaps through me so fast and violently that I flinch. I slam my eyes shut and drag in a breath, shoving my hand into my pocket for my phone, desperate for any kind of distraction to drown the poison in my head. I just need a fucking break—just one second to breathe.
My phone buzzes the second I pull it out.
Liam: There’s no need to be jealous, Pup.
The bottom drops out of my stomach, and I stop breathing. I’m too stunned, too rattled, too fucking seen. My eyes flick back to the quad, and sure enough, Liam’s no longer looking at the guy. He’s looking at me.
That calm expression hasn’t shifted, not a single crease in his brow, not a twitch of his mouth. He just watches me across the distance, one brow slightly raised, head tilted like he’s amused that I thought he wouldn’t notice.
Another buzz.
Liam: I’m yours, too.
My fingers tighten around the edges of my phone so hard that it’s a miracle I don’t shatter the screen. Every nerve in my body is screaming, but none of them are moving. I’m locked there, jaw slack, heart stumbling like it doesn’t know how to beat anymore.
That’s all it takes.
Two texts. A look across the quad, and he’s already back inside my head like he never left.
And I realize—right there, on that stone bench, with my pulse still thudding and my skin prickling with leftover want from a night I swore I’d pretend never happened—I never stood a chance against him.
I don’t look up again.I can’t.My whole body’s tense, already reacting, already sparking under the surface with the memory of his voice, the weight of his hands, the words he said that made me fucking forget everything.
But before I can even start untangling the mess Liam left behind in my head, before I can shove him out and pretend I’m still in control, my phone vibrates again. The screen lights up.
My stomach lurches, and I answer before I can stop myself.
“Nate,” she says, and her voice is satin wrapped around razor wire. Sweet, familiar, too smooth. It rolls off her tongue like we’re close, like I’m her son and she’s my mother, and we’re not years past pretending anything between us is real. “There you are. I was wondering when you’d pick up. I’ve missed you, baby.”
Baby.
It hits me in the teeth, slices down my throat, and lodges somewhere in the pit of my stomach. I close my eyes, the edges of my vision sharpening with the memory of every time she said it, every time she wrapped me in her smile while twisting the knife a little deeper.
I can’t do this.
Not now. Not when I already feel like I’m barely fucking holding on.
I grit my teeth. “Mom.”
She lets out a breathy sigh, like I’ve just relieved her of some great burden. “It’s been far too long since we had a chat. I know you’ve been so busy playing grown-up at that school, but honestly, sweetheart, don’t you think it’s time we talked properly?”
“I’m in the middle of something.” I keep my voice flat. I press my thumb against the side of the phone, imagining it sinking in, cracking the screen, cracking her voice. “I’ve got class soon.”
“Oh, you’ve always been such a terrible liar. You’re not in class; you’re avoiding me again.” Her voice is syrupy sweet, but underneath is the same tone she used when I was eight years old and crying because she said I was a disappointment.
“You’re not…” I stutter. “You’re not allowed to contact m—”
“I am your mother, don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do, Nathaniel.”
The sound of my name slithers through my ears, curling around my brain, suffocating, poisonous, like I’m trapped back in that fucking house all over again. I close my eyes, forcing my breathing to even, forcing my body not to react, forcing myself to just—
“Pup.”
The word cuts through everything.
His voice is soft. That same voice from last night, the same voice from the phone call. The one that slides down my spine like a caress, like something dangerous wrapped in velvet, like something meant to make me pliable.
