Page 107 of Cruel When He Smiles
I blink at him, the world still blurry at the edges. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
His voice is too steady, and that’s what makes it so damn unsettling. Because I know him. I know how he sounds when he’s in control. This isn’t it. This is him holding the line.Barely.
“You took a head-first hit into a steel bench,” he continues, sitting forward. “You’ve got a deep gash behind your ear, a bruised orbital, a mild rib contusion, and a grade two concussion.”
I drag in a breath, wincing. “So… I’m fine.”
Liam doesn’t smile.
His hands tighten on the bed rail, knuckles whitening for a second before he eases them back open.
“I saw your body hit the ground, Nate,” he says, continuing quietly, “and for a second, you didn’t move. Not even a twitch. You were just… still.”
I look at him.
Really look at him.
There’s something raw under his skin, some stripped-down version of him that he usually buries so deep no one can reach it. But I see it now in the tight line of his mouth. In the way he won’t meet my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. In the fact that he’s still here—still in wrinkled practice clothes, hair a mess.
I don’t think he’s moved from that chair.
“You stayed,” I murmur, but it’s more of a statement this time, as I’m still in disbelief.
He doesn’t blink. “Of course I fucking stayed.”
I should say something back. Something sarcastic, maybe. Something to take the weight off his shoulders and stuff it back where it belongs—in my chest. But I don’t have the strength. Not right now. And even if I did, I’m not sure I want to joke about this.
Because Liam Callahan is always composed. Always measured. Always three steps ahead of the rest of us, untouchable in the way he smiles without softness and destroys without ever raising his voice.
But right now, he looks wrecked, and not in the way I am.
He sighs and touches my cheek. “They said you were lucky. A few more inches and it would’ve cracked your skull open.”
“Lucky,” I echo, and this time, I do let out a dry chuckle. “Doesn’t feel lucky.”
“No,” he agrees. “But it feels better than losing you.”
The words sit between us, and I feel them in my gut more than I hear them. He doesn’t say shit like that, not unless he’s being manipulative. But there’s no trap in his voice this time. No bait and no soft-spoken threat disguised as comfort.
He just means it.
It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make the tightness in my chest ease, shouldn’t make my shoulders drop, shouldn’t make my body sink deeper into the mattress just from the sound of his voice. But it does.
I squeeze his hand as a form of comfort, to let him know that I’m okay. He doesn’t react to the pressure, but he moves his other hand to my temple, brushing back the hair sticking to the gauze taped behind my ear.
“You scared me, Pup,” he whispers. “Don’t do that again.”
I swallow hard. “I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, but a part of me is glad he saw it. That he got scared. That, for once, it wasn’t just me unraveling.
I should say something Nate Carter-esque to make this moment lighter. Instead, I just close my eyes.
The pain is still there, and the exhaustion is still pulling at me.
But Liam isn’t leaving, and that’s all I need right now.
Liam
