Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 108

Serena’s POV

Healing does not announce itself. It just shows up one evening wearing the face of someone you love, sitting on a swing with proof that the war is not finished written in the redness of his eyes.

I find Caleb where I knew I would.

The clearing holds us the way it always has. He sits on the swing with his hands wrapped around the ropes, head tipped back toward a sky turning amber. His eyes are swollen and red, and he doesn't angle his face away when he hears me.

I lower myself beside him. The ropes creak. Branches rustle overhead. Our breathing finds the same rhythm, his exhale, my inhale.

"I keep waiting to feel like it's over." His voice comes out scraped raw. "The trial's done. Simon's gone. The judge ruled. And I keep waking up braced for the next hit."

I take his hand. His fingers are cold despite the warm evening, gripping mine with a pressure that tells me he has been waiting for this.

"You don't have to talk about it."

"I know." He swallows. "That's why I want to."

"Then I'm right here."

"Maybe it doesn't end all at once. Maybe it ends slowly, in pieces, over years. And maybe that's okay."

"Years." He turns to look at me, testing the word. "You planning to stick around that long?"

"Longer."

The corner of his mouth lifts. "What classes are you taking next semester?"

"Constitutional Law II. Ethics seminar. Maybe that literary criticism elective Mia won't stop talking about."

"You're going to hate the literary criticism elective."

"Probably. What about you?"

"Macro econ. Statistics." He pauses, and the grief in his expression loosens just enough to let the real him peek through. "I was thinking about that environmental policy course. The one with the professor who brings his dog to lecture."

"You want to take a class because of a dog."

"It's a really good dog, Serena. A golden retriever named Professor Barkley."

"That can't be real."

"Hand to God. Mia sent me the syllabus. The dog has its own office hours."

I laugh, and the sound loosens the last knot of tension between us. "What about this summer? You think the clearing would work for a picnic when it warms up?"

"If we can get a cooler down that trail without one of us breaking an ankle, sure."

"I'll carry the blanket. You carry the food."

"Deal. As long as your dad isn't in charge of the menu. Last time he grilled, the burgers tasted like charcoal wrapped in regret."

"He tried so hard, though. You could see the disappointment in his own eyes while he was eating."

"The man looked at his own burger like it had personally betrayed him." Caleb shakes his head. "Catherine's cooking only, then. Speaking of which, do you think her tiramisu recipe could be improved?"

I look at him like he has suggested we set the clearing on fire. "Improved?"

"What if she added a layer of dark chocolate shavings?"

"Don't you dare suggest that to her face. That recipe is sacred."

"You're right. It can't be improved."

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