CHAPTER 16
This is a nightmare.
My nightmare.
The day I’ve been dreading has finally arrived.
I didn’t think it actually would—especially after my mother stopped mentioning it following the day she dropped the news and I stormed out. I’d hoped she’d changed her mind. Or forgotten. Or decided this whole thing was a terrible idea.
But yesterday, she made it painfully clear.
We’re having dinner with the Griffins.
Tonight.
I didn’t want to come. I said as much. My mother made it equally clear that my opinion didn’t matter. This wasn’t optional. Mom and Mark wanted to use the evening to thank the Griffins for giving Mark a job, and apparently, my presence was required—because family.
As Mark drives through the electronic gates, I stare at the mansion looming ahead of us. Massive. Imposing. Its windows glow warmly against the darkening sky, like something pulled straight out of a magazine spread titled How the Other Half Lives.
The reality of where I am—of who I’m about to face—settles heavily in my chest. I can’t shake the feeling that whatever happens tonight, things won’t stay the same afterward.
Mark parks the car, and we step out. My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Wow,” Harper breathes beside me, her eyes wide as she takes in the towering structure. “This place is beautiful.”
Of course, she thinks so.
My mom doesn’t even try to hide her awe, a soft smile playing on her lips as she takes everything in. I groan quietly, not bothering to mask my irritation, and trail behind them toward the massive double doors.
I can’t believe I’m the only one who thinks this is fucked up.
Seeing Hayes at school isn’t enough. Playing on the same team isn’t enough. Now I’m supposed to sit at his family’s dinner table and pretend everything’s fine—when half the time, we can barely stand being in the same room without wanting to tear each other apart.
Mark rings the doorbell.
A woman I assume is the housekeeper lets us inside, ushering us into a grand living room that feels more like a museum than a home.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Griffin descends the staircase, elegant and perfectly put together.
She greets my mom with a hug like they’re old friends, laughing softly as if this is all completely normal.
“Hayes!” Mrs. Griffin calls, her voice echoing through the space. “Hayes, honey! Come on down!”
My stomach twists.
Footsteps sound from somewhere deeper in the house. Then—
There he is.
Hayes appears at the top of the stairs, freezing when his eyes land on me. For a split second, something flickers across his face—surprise, confusion, maybe even irritation—as he tries to piece together why I’m standing in his living room.
Even dressed casually, the asshole looks unfairly good.
Baggy denim shorts hang low on his hips, a loose black T-shirt clinging just enough to remind me of everything I shouldn’t be thinking about. His hair is a mess, like he didn’t bother trying, and somehow that only makes it worse.
My mouth goes dry.
He stands there, gaze locked on mine, and I swear the room shrinks around us.
Of all the places I could be tonight…
I’m here.
In his house.
And something tells me this dinner is about to be anything but polite.
Hayes’s gaze sweeps past my family, detached and cool, until it lands on me.
And sticks.
The weight of his attention presses into my chest, heavy and deliberate. For a split second, something flickers in his eyes—something raw, unreadable—but it disappears almost immediately, replaced by that familiar mask of indifference.
Control.
Always control.
He starts toward us at an unhurried pace, every step measured, like he owns not just the house, but the moment. The air tightens with each step he takes, and I swear the room feels smaller by the second.
“Hello, Mrs. Miller,” Hayes says smoothly, offering my mother a polite smile as he shakes her hand.
“Hi, Hayes. It’s Turner now,” Mom corrects gently. “But it’s okay.”
Right.
Sometimes I forget she answers to Mark’s last name now.
“My bad,” Hayes replies easily. “Hello, sir.” He turns to Mark, that same polished smile still in place as he shakes his hand.
If I didn’t know him—really know him—I might’ve believed the act.
What a pretentious piece of shit.
Then his attention shifts to me.
“Hey, Dakota.”
The sound of my name from his mouth catches me off guard, sharp and intimate in a way I’m not prepared for. I recover quickly, schooling my expression before he can notice.
“Hey,” I reply, forcing a polite smile instead of the glare burning at the back of my throat.
For a brief moment, his eyes linger on me—too long, too focused—before Mrs. Griffin breaks the tension.
“So, let’s get settled while Marta prepares dinner,” she says warmly. “Hayes, honey, go get changed.”
Mom nods, already distracted by the elegant space around her as Mrs. Griffin leads them farther into the living room. I follow behind, not without shooting Hayes a sharp look over my shoulder.
He doesn’t miss it.
This night is absolutely not going to end well.
The clink of silverware against fine china fills the air, but all I can hear is the thudding of my own heartbeat.
The laughter from the other end of the table is white noise.
My mother, Carol, is chatting animatedly with Mrs. Griffin about some charity gala and Mrs. Griffin’s charity work, and I can see my stepdad nodding along with Mr. Griffin’s golf stories, pretending like they’re old friends.
I can’t wrap my head around it—the idea that my family would ever sit at the same table with them.
This is just fucking weird.
I want to get out of here. Far away from this place. Because the more I sit here while pretending to enjoy myself, the more I want to punch Hayes’ pretty face for even breathing the same air as me.
Yet here I am, stuck in this nightmare, sitting across from him.
Hayes Griffin. He’s directly opposite me, looking as calm and collected as ever. He’s cutting his food like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But I know better. I can feel his eyes on me even when he’s not looking. It’s like the air between us is charged, filled with years of unresolved tension.
His presence sets me on edge. Scratch that—it sets me on fire.
I hate that. I hate him. Every fiber of my being wants to lunge across the table and knock that smug look off his face. But I can’t. Not here, not in front of our parents, who seem oblivious to the fact that their sons have been at each other’s throats for years.
He doesn’t even look at me directly, but I know he feels it too. The same tension, the same rivalry. But there’s something else beneath it, something I’m not even sure I can name. Something that gnaws at me whenever we’re in the same room.
Every time he leans back in his chair or adjusts his grip on his fork, I feel it. The heat. The draw. I want to hate him, and I do. God, I do. But his very presence messes with my head in an infuriating way. It’s been like this ever since I came back, ever since I saw how much he’s changed.
As I force another bite of food down, I try to focus on anything else. My mother’s voice reaches my ears, light and pleasant, and I glance up. She’s laughing at something Mr. Griffin said. She looks…happy, like she fits right in with these people.
How could she be so comfortable here, when I’m sitting on a live wire?
Then there’s a brush of movement across the table—Hayes shifts, and for a split second, our eyes meet. It’s like a spark catching fire. His gaze flicks over me quickly, but in that brief moment, there’s something unspoken. Something dangerous.
I tear my eyes away, my hand gripping my fork tighter than necessary.
My pulse is racing, and not from anger alone.
It’s something else, something I don’t want to admit.
I hate Hayes. I hate how he gets under my skin.
I hate that no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I can’t shake this… this pull I feel toward him.
The fact that it’s still there after all these years makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
I focus on my plate, but the tension keeps building, thrumming in the air between us.
The more our parents talk, the more I wish I could be anywhere else but here.
I catch Hayes glancing my way again, his jaw tightening slightly.
He’s good at hiding it—his cool, unbothered exterior—but I know the truth. I know him better than he thinks.
Underneath that calm facade, he’s itching for a fight just as much as I am. We always push each other like this, testing the limits. Only this time, we can’t. Not here.
But that doesn’t stop my blood from boiling every time his stupid, perfect face comes into view. And it doesn’t stop the fire that keeps flickering inside me, no matter how much I try to douse it.
I can’t stand it.
And yet, here we are, sitting across from each other in this fancy dining room, pretending like none of it exists. Like we don’t want to tear each other apart—or maybe something worse.
I take another bite of roast, my stomach twisting. This night can’t end soon enough.
The clink of silverware fills the space between us, polite conversation tapering off into a brief, fragile silence.
It doesn’t last.
Kim Griffin—because of course it’s her—sets her wine glass down with deliberate grace and turns her bright, assessing smile on me.
“So, Dakota,” she says lightly, leaning forward just enough to seem interested. “How are you coping with the team? I heard you joined the hockey boys this year. Quite an ambitious move, considering you haven’t played much before now.”
The words are pleasant. Warm, even.
But there’s weight beneath them—curiosity sharpened by surprise. Almost disbelief.
I glance at Hayes without thinking.
Just in time to catch the flicker in his eyes.
Irritation. Brief, controlled—but there. His posture stays relaxed, casual as ever, but his jaw tightens as his fork pierces a piece of meat a little harder than necessary.
“I’ve been doing fine,” I say, keeping my voice even, though it comes out tighter than I mean it to. “The team’s good.”
Good is an understatement.
They’re elite.
And Hayes—damn him—is the best of them.
But I’m not about to say that out loud.
“Dakota is a born hockey player,” Mom cuts in, her voice warm with pride. “His father played in high school and college—he was his mentor. Taught Dakota everything he knows.”
Across the table, Hayes meets my gaze.
A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips.
I look away before I do something stupid, an irritated sound slipping from my throat despite myself.
“Well,” Kim says, still smiling, “you’re certainly brave for jumping right in. Hockey isn’t exactly easy to pick up at your age. But you seem to be managing just fine, right, Hayes?”
Before I can answer, he does.
“Oh, Dakota’s more than just managing,” Hayes says smoothly, turning on the charm like it’s second nature. “He’s actually pretty good—considering he hasn’t played for a while.”
The compliment, if you can even call it that, catches me off guard. I blink, unsure of how to respond. Is he actually saying something nice, or is this just another one of his games?
Then he keeps talking.
“You should see him on the ice,” he adds, addressing our parents now, his tone easy, generous. “He’s got natural talent. Bit reckless sometimes,” he chuckles softly, like he’s sharing a harmless secret. “But I guess that’s part of his charm.”
My blood heats instantly.
It’s all an act.
My blood heats instantly.
It’s a performance.
And he knows it.
The way he speaks, you’d think we were teammates who respected each other. Like he wasn’t the same guy who shoved me into lockers, threatened me in hallways, pushed every boundary he could find.
But his parents are eating it up.
Even Mom and Mark smile, nodding along as if Hayes Griffin is some gracious captain welcoming me into his world.
I grip my fork tighter.
He’s playing the room.
And he’s winning.
I grit my teeth, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah,” I say, my voice colder than I intended. “Hayes has been really helpful.”
Hayes glances at me, and for a split second, the mask slips.
Our eyes lock, and there it is—that familiar edge, that quiet warning simmering beneath his calm exterior.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Playing the golden boy for our parents while needling me just enough to remind me he’s still in control.
Kim chuckles, clearly entertained. “Well, I’m glad to hear you two are getting along so well. It must be nice having a new teammate shake things up a bit, right, Hayes?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Hayes replies smoothly, leaning back in his chair like he owns the room. “Dakota’s really brought something new to the team.” His gaze flicks to me, quick and deliberate. “Keeps things… interesting.”
Harper giggles, like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world. I swallow the urge to roll my eyes.
Interesting.
Yeah. That’s one word for it.
Inside, I’m boiling. I want to rip the mask off him, tell everyone at this table exactly who Hayes Griffin really is. How calculated. How cruel. How good he is at pretending.
But I don’t.
Not here. Not tonight.
I inhale slowly, fingers curling into my palms beneath the table, grounding myself. Hayes keeps playing the charming captain, his parents glowing with pride. My mom smiles too—completely unaware of the tension stretched tight between us, like a wire pulled too far.
And Hayes?
He’s enjoying this. Every second of it.
But I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep he’s gotten under my skin.
Not tonight.