Page 110 of Cruel When He Smiles
“You let this happen, Callahan. You were there. You’re always fucking there. What did you do when that piece of shit leveled him? What the fuck did you do while Nate was face-down, bleeding on the turf?”
I don’t blink. “I nearly crushed the fucker’s windpipe with my bare hands.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. He blinks, chest still rising and falling fast like he’s struggling to catch up with everything crashing through his bloodstream. I’m sure he didn’t expect honesty or violence. Not from me.
Behind me, Killian lets out a low chuckle, his tone dry. “Told you he snapped.”
Sage’s eyes flick to him, brows pulling together like it takes him a second to process the sound. His face twists, some of the rage giving way to confusion.
I step toward him, lowering my voice. “I don’t let anyone touch what belongs to me.”
I see the second Sage realizes that whatever lines used to exist—whatever walls were up between me and Nate—they’re gone. That I didn’t just cross them, I shattered them. That I’ll fucking burn this entire school down if anyone ever touches him again.
He looks like he wants to break my face. His knuckles go white, his stance rigid with restraint, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll actually throw a punch. Part of me wants him to. It would make this easier. Let him scream, swing, bleed. But Sage is smarter than that.
He storms past me, his shoulder brushing mine hard enough to sting, and drops into the chair next to Nate’s bed. The same one I abandoned when I couldn’t sit still anymore. He grabs Nate’s hand without hesitation, his thumb brushing over the bruised knuckles, holding on like he’s afraid Nate might slip away if he loosens his grip.
“Wake up, dumbass,” Sage mutters, his voice rougher now, stripped of the rage.
Killian snorts. “Yeah. That’ll work.”
“Shut the fuck up, King.”
Killian raises both hands in mock surrender and leans against the far wall, barely containing his amusement. I stay quiet, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the way Sage’s shoulders bow over Nate’s body.
Then Nate moves beneath the blanket, and his fingers twitch. Sage straightens so fast that the chair scrapes the floor. “Nate?”
My breath catches. I move closer instinctively, drawn in by the flicker of life under all the stillness. Nate’s brow furrows, and his lashes flutter. His body tenses slightly, enough that I know he’s starting to come around.
Then his eyes open.
Sage exhales like he’s been drowning. “There you are.”
Nate blinks slowly, his gaze scanning the ceiling first, then drifting to Sage. He squints. “You look like shit.”
Sage snorts, his voice hoarse. “Yeah, well, you look worse, so fuck you.”
Nate smiles faintly, slow and crooked, but it’s there. That stupid, tired, fucking beautiful smile that does something dangerous to my ribs.
“Fair,” Nate murmurs.
I move closer and watch the way Nate’s eyes flick to me, how his lips part slightly like he’s surprised to see me still here.
I don’t give him a chance to ask. “How’s your head, Pup?”
Nate’s breath hitches, and Sage notices. Then he swallows, blinking up at me. “Hurts.”
“Good.” I reach down, brushing my fingers against his jaw, tilting his face up slightly, checking his pupils. “Means you’re still alive.”
My eyes search Nate’s, checking for clarity, for signs of dilation, for anything off. They’re glassy and bloodshot, the whites tinged faintly red, but his focus is better than I expected. I brush a thumb over his cheek, careful not to touch the bruising.
Nate’s breath stutters.
Sage watches the whole thing, and for once, he doesn’t say a damn word. Because I know he sees the way Nate responds to me. How he doesn’t flinch from the touch he used to pretend he didn’t want.
His best friend now belongs to me, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
Nate
