Page 6 of Cruel When He Smiles
Because the second Liam Callahan walked into the room, the air fucking changed. It’s not anything obvious; most people don’t even notice. But I do.
I see the way conversations slow somewhat, how people glance in his direction without even realizing they’re doing it. He’s not loud or flashy—he doesn’t need to be, and it grates on my nerves more than it should.
Sage nudges my shoulder, passing me a full cup, then follows my gaze. “You still got those sessions with him?”
“Yeah,” I answer before I think about it, and it comes out more bitter than I intended. I lift the cup to my lips, swallowing a mouthful of whiskey like it’ll wash the taste of that word—Pup—off my tongue.
“Still?” Sage asks, not letting it go. “Thought they were one-offs.”
“They extended them,” I say, forcing a shrug. “Guess Dr. Ellis thinks I’ve got unresolved rage or some shit.”
Sage snorts. “You do have unresolved rage.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat in it. He’s not wrong. The anger’s always there, crouched just under my skin like a second heartbeat. But it’s not the reason I can’t get comfortable tonight. It’s not why my palms are sweating, nor why I haven’t unclenched my jaw in over an hour.
It’s not even the party that’s bothering me.
It’s him.
Liam’s been a problem since the first day I met him.
He wasn’t supposed to be captain, it should’ve gone to Dylan Vargas, a senior who’d been playing longer, had the stats and the leadership. But Dylan had a disciplinary record, and Blackthorne likes their athletes clean and without drama.
Liam was spotless. Perfect. Never got in trouble, never lost his temper, never showed anything but a charming, easy-going persona that made the coaches think he was exactly what the team needed.
They gave him the captain’s band, and just like that, the season was his.
I didn’t care at first. It didn’t matter who led so long as we won. But Liam wasn’t only good at soccer, he was fucking better than me. Marginally, but it pissed me off. Every practice felt like a silent war, a battle to see who could outplay the other.
He always played fair. Never fouled, never lost control, never gave the coaches a reason to look at him twice. I wasn’t like that. I played hard. I played angry. And when Liam smiled at me after tripping me twice during practice, something in me snapped.
That’s how it started.
Small things. A comment during drills. A look across the locker room. Moments that no one except for me noticed. Liam got inside my head, and I fucking hated him for it.
Then came the incident.
I should’ve taken the suspension, gone to the sessions, and ignored him until the season ended. But now he’s here, in my frat house, at my party, acting as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t set me up to fail from the start.
“So, what’s he like?” Sage asks casually, the same way we’d talk about weather or test scores.
I drag my eyes away and throw back another mouthful of whiskey. “Fake as fuck and an asshole, just like the rest of those Sin Bin fuckers.”
Sage hums. “Sounds like your type.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter.
He laughs, nudging me again, but he doesn’t push. That’s the thing about Sage—he knows when to let something go. Which is good, because I can’t talk about it. Not tonight. Not when the wordPupis still echoing in my head, effectively becoming both a threat and a promise all wrapped into one.
The worst thing about it was how my body responded. Even now, hours later, I can still feel that sliver of heat in my gut. That second of want I can’t explain. That sick flicker ofyes.
I slam the cup down on the counter and push off from it, threading through the crowd without another word, ignoring Sage calling after me. I need air. Space. Distance.
As soon as I’m outside, footsteps crunch behind me, too light to be one of my brothers, too deliberate to be someone who’s lost. I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
“You following me now?” I ask without looking up.
Liam doesn’t answer right away. He steps up beside me, hands in his pockets, gaze lifted to the sky as if we’re just two guys having a cigarette break instead of two people locked in some fucked-up power game neither of us ever agreed to play.
