All Chapters of I Hate How Much I Want You: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Adrian’s POVElias didn’t speak for the first forty minutes of the drive.I let him have it. The podium had been a blur of flashbulbs and sticky champagne, and he’d stood on the second step smiling for the photographers like a man holding a door shut with his back. When the sponsor’s rep tried to hand him the oversized check, his fingers had shaken so slightly that only I noticed. Afterward he went straight to the transporter, packed his bag in under three minutes, and found me by my car without being asked. Now he sat in the passenger seat with his forehead against the window and his hands pressed flat between his knees.The highway ran flat and gray ahead of us, cornfields on both sides, the sky going the color of dishwater. I kept both hands on the wheel and my speed at exactly the limit, which was the most disciplined thing I’d done all week. Normally I drove like the road owed me money. Today I signaled for every lane change, like a driving instructor’s dream.“You can put music

Adrian’s POV Yelena Marsh walked into the paddock on Tuesday afternoon like she’d been invited, which she hadn’t. I was under Car Two with a wrench in my hand, listening to Coach Daniel argue with a tire supplier on the phone, when the garage went quiet in the specific way it does when a pretty stranger appears. I rolled out on the creeper and looked up. Purple hair. That was the first thing. Not a pale lavender but a deep, saturated plum, falling in perfect waves past her shoulders, the kind of color that took a professional four hours and cost more than my tires. Green eyes, sharp and bright. A cream crop top, tiny gold hoops, and a phone held out in front of her at an angle that made me think of lenses before I thought of people. “Is Elias Kane here?” she asked the nearest mechanic, in a voice as smooth as syrup. The mechanic pointed at the back of the garage like he’d just been hypnotized. Elias was bent over a laptop at the data station, headphones around his neck, hair a m

Adrian’s POV The argument started in the parking garage behind the engineering building, because apparently that’s where all our worst conversations happen. I hadn’t planned it. I’d spent two days pretending I hadn’t seen the photo, which had by then gathered forty thousand likes and a comment section full of strangers calling Elias a “cutie” and Yelena a “queen.” I’d pretended I hadn’t walked past Bellamy’s on Friday night. I’d pretended I hadn’t stood under that awning for ten minutes like a creep, watching a woman kiss him while his hands hung at his sides. Then I saw him on Monday morning, unlocking his hatchback, and every careful lie fell out of my head. “You’re dating her?” I said. He didn’t turn around. “Hello to you too.” “Are you?” “I haven’t decided.” His voice was flat. “She asked. I said I’d think about it.” “You kissed her.” “She kissed me.” “Elias.” He shut the car door and finally faced me. His eyes were dark and tired, and there was a bruised look under the

Adrian’s POV I’d been parked outside Elias’s building for two hours when a stranger knocked on my window. I jumped so hard my knee hit the steering wheel. A guy stood on the sidewalk with a plastic grocery bag in one hand and the other raised in a little wave, as if we’d met at a barbecue. Red hair, soft brown eyes, a hoodie two sizes too big. He looked like the kind of person who returned shopping carts. I rolled the window down four inches. “Can I help you?” “That’s my line.” He smiled, friendly and unbothered. “You’ve been out here since eight. I saw you from the third-floor window. I figured you were either a cop or lost.” “Neither.” “Good, because you’re a terrible cop.” He lifted the bag. “I’m Julian. I’m Eli’s friend.” Another friend?! Just how many friends does Elias have? ‘Eli.’ That’s what he called Elias. The nickname landed in my chest like a thrown wrench. I’d known Elias Kane for three years and I’d never once called him that. I hadn’t known he had one. “Adrian

Adrian’s POV My father did not wait until I reached the house. He called while I was still on Elias’s street, the engine running, the empty paper bag crumpled on the passenger seat like evidence. “Come home,” he said. “Now. Do not make me send a car.” “I am already driving.” “Good. Do not bring anyone with you.” The line went dead before I could ask why. That was his style. Information as a leash. I told myself it was about the radio clip, or the hospital bill, or Claire, anything except the third-floor window I had just been staring at. The house looked the same as it always did at four in the afternoon, white and quiet and expensive enough to make ordinary panic feel ungrateful. My mother was not in the kitchen. A staff member I barely knew took my jacket and said they were in the sitting room. They. Plural. I stopped in the doorway. Elias was standing by the window in the only decent shirt he owned, hands behind his back like he had been told not to touch anything. My fath