Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 37

Caleb’s POV

William and Catherine leave for their vacation with the kind of enthusiastic energy that comes from two people finally getting time alone together after years of putting their children first.

Mom hugs me tight at the front door, her familiar lavender scent wrapping around me like comfort I don’t deserve.

“Take care of each other,” she says, pulling back to study my face with those perceptive eyes that see too much. “And Caleb—try to have some fun while we’re gone. You’ve been so serious lately.”

“I will,” I lie, because what else can I say? That fun died the moment Serena told me our stories don’t intertwine? That I’m barely holding myself together behind this mask of dutiful stepson?

William shakes my hand with paternal approval. “I’m trusting you to look after Serena. Keep an eye on her, make sure she’s not pushing herself too hard with school and everything else.”

“Of course.” The words taste like ash. “I’ll take good care of her.”

I play my role perfectly, the protective brother, the responsible young man they raised me to be, while Serena stands three feet away by the staircase, not looking at me once.

Her arms are wrapped around herself like armor, her gaze fixed somewhere over my left shoulder.

The moment their car disappears down the driveway, the performance ends.

Serena retreats upstairs without a word, and I’m left standing in the foyer listening to her door click shut with the finality of a coffin lid. The sound echoes through the house, emphasizing exactly how alone I am.

A whole week alone together.

A week ago, that would have meant something. Would have meant stolen moments and whispered conversations and the chance to be real with each other without performing for an audience.

Now it’s just a sentence to serve.

I try to fill the silence that presses against my eardrums like deep water. I work out in the basement until my muscles scream and sweat burns my eyes, but even exhaustion can’t quiet the noise in my head.

I attempt calculus homework and stare at the same paragraph for an hour, the numbers blurring together until they might as well be written in a foreign language.

I stand outside her door twice, hand raised to knock, and walk away both times. She made herself clear last night. She doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want me.

Our stories don’t intertwine.

The words loop through my brain like a broken record, each repetition cutting deeper than the last.

My phone buzzes late in the afternoon, Shane’s name lighting up the screen like salvation.

“Kid, we need to talk.” His voice is gruff, no preamble, no social niceties. “The collectors are getting restless. They want their money, and they’re not interested in your personal timeline.”

My stomach tightens. “I still have three races left. That was the deal.”

“Deals change when people get impatient. These aren’t the kind of guys who care about your feelings or your schedule.”

Shane’s tone carries a warning that makes my skin crawl.

“Next race is today. Big payout if you place. You in or not?”

I think about Serena upstairs, about the wall she’s built between us, about the rejection still burning like acid in my chest.

I need something, anything to feel other than this hollow ache that’s eating me alive from the inside out.

“I’m in.”

I could have her on this table right now, the thought hits me unbidden and vicious. Sweep everything off the surface, spread her legs, make her forget every reason she thinks this is wrong.

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