Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 91

Caleb’s POV

Permission is a strange kind of currency — the moment you earn it, you realize you never learned how to spend it.

The hallway is dark, the house finally quiet after a day that tasted like swallowed glass. Breakfast was a masterclass in avoidance — William clearing his throat when I touched Serena's hand, Catherine studying her eggs like they'd reveal the meaning of life. We're trying to.

Their words from the living room. Still settling. Still not enough and somehow everything.

I told my mother I'd testify. Said it while she dried the same plate for the third time.

"About Simon?" Her hands went still. "Everything?"

"Everything. The scar. The closet. The nights I slept through breaking glass because it was easier than being awake for it."

"You don't have to do that for me, Caleb."

"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because I'm tired of carrying his secrets like they belong to me."

She cried against my chest — quiet, the way she always cries — then pulled back and said, "Then we do this together. As a family."

That was this morning. Now it's past eleven, and Serena's door is cracked open an inch — an invitation without words. I push it open.

She's sitting cross-legged on the bed in one of my old t-shirts, hair loose, no crisis behind her eyes. Just her.

"Hi," she says.

"You left your door open."

"Maybe I was hoping you'd notice."

"I always notice." I close the door behind me and lean against it. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"It feels different now." She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, gaze fixed on the ceiling. "Coming to you without a reason. Without the sneaking, the listening for footsteps. The secrecy was miserable, Caleb, but now that it's gone, there's this absence where it used to be, and I hate myself for missing it."

"You think the danger was the point?"

"Wasn't it? Even a little?"

"No." I cross the room and sit beside her. "The danger was noise. Loud enough to drown out what actually terrified us."

"Which was what?"

"Choosing each other on purpose. No one chasing us, no clock ticking." I tuck hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail her jaw. "The forbidden part was easy. This part — wanting each other in broad daylight — this is the brave part."

"Then why does it feel like I lost something?"

"Because you haven't found what replaces it yet." I pull her up, walk her backward until her shoulders meet the door. Her breath catches when my hands settle on her hips. "Let me show you."

I reach behind her. Turn the lock. Then unlock it. The click is deliberate.

"The door's unlocked," she whispers.

"No hiding tonight. No muffling. No pretending this isn't exactly what it is."

I kiss her slowly — my hand cradling the back of her neck, her fingers curling into my shirt. When her lips part, I don't rush. I learn the shape of this new permission.

"This feels different too," she murmurs against my mouth. "Kissing you without listening for footsteps."

"Better or worse?"

"Terrifying."

"Good. Terrifying means it's real."

My hands find the hem of the t-shirt and peel it over her head. She's bare underneath.

"You're staring," she breathes.

"I'm always going to stare. Get used to it."

I press my mouth to the hollow of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer against my lips. Lift her — legs wrapping around my waist — and carry her to the bed. Lay her down slowly, following her, bracing above her.

"What are you doing?" she asks when I don't move, just hover above her, tracing the line of her collarbone with my mouth.

"Taking my time."

"You never take your time."

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