Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 36

I barely make it through the front door before they descend like vultures circling fresh roadkill.

“Sweetheart, how was it?” My father looks up from his evening paper with hopeful eyes. “Did you have a good time?”

“What did you two do?” Catherine appears from the kitchen, dish towel in her hands and warm curiosity radiating from every pore. “Did he take you somewhere nice?”

“Is Lucas as charming as he seems?” Dad continues, setting his reading glasses aside. “He certainly made a good impression when he called to ask permission.”

Their eager faces blur together as exhaustion crashes over me in waves. “It was fine. Really nice, actually. But I’m incredibly tired, and I have that early class tomorrow…”

“Of course, darling. Get some rest.” My father’s approval shines bright enough to power the chandelier. “We can talk more about it tomorrow.”

I mumble something about needing sleep and escape upstairs before they can press for details I don’t have the energy to fabricate.

My heart pounds as I pass Caleb’s door, deliberately quickening my pace, but as soon as I enter my room and close the door behind me, my stomach sinks.

Caleb leans against the wall beside my door, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I can’t read. Before I can speak, before I can even process what’s happening, he moves.

His hands press flat against the door on either side of my head, his body crowding mine until I’m trapped between solid wood and the heat radiating from his chest. I hear the soft click of the lock turning behind me.

We’re trapped together now—unacceptably close, close enough that I can count the darker flecks in his blue eyes, feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat, smell the cedar and amber scent that’s uniquely his.

“What took you so long?” His voice is low, controlled, but I can hear the tension vibrating beneath the surface.

“Lucas dropped me off exactly when he said he would. Right on time.”

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

“I was busy, I didn’t see them.” The lie comes easily, though we both know it’s bullshit. I felt every buzz against my leg during dinner but couldn’t risk checking my phone with Lucas sitting across from me.

Caleb’s jaw tightens. “Did he behave himself? Did he do anything?”

“No, he was fine. Perfect, actually.”

Something dangerous flickers in his expression at the word perfect.

Caleb’s gaze travels down my body with clinical precision, and before I can react, he’s lifting my sleeve, checking my wrist, my arm—searching for marks, for bruises, for any evidence of harm.

“Caleb…”

His fingers find the pepper spray in my purse, and his shoulders relax fractionally. “You kept it.”

“Of course I kept it.” I catch his hands, stopping his frantic inspection. “This is too much, Caleb.”

“No.” His voice cracks with barely contained fury. “Not too fucking much. Not when it comes to Lucas.”

But then his expression shifts—the anger draining away like water through sand, leaving something softer underneath. Vulnerable. Raw.

“I was worried sick,” he admits quietly, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. “I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t think. I kept imagining all the ways he could hurt you, and knowing I wasn’t there, that I couldn’t help if something happened…”

The confession shakes something loose inside my chest.

Against my better judgment, I lift my hand to his cheek, my thumb brushing across the sharp line of his cheekbone. His skin is warm, rough with the shadow of stubble, and he leans into my touch like he’s starving for it.

“I’m fine. I promise. I’m okay.”

Caleb exhales shakily, his breath ghosting across my palm, and pulls me into his arms with desperate urgency.

I wrap myself around him without thinking—arms circling his neck, fingers threading through the soft hair at his nape, face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder where his pulse beats wild and erratic.

His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer until no space remains between us, until I can feel every hard plane of his chest, every tremor in his muscles.

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