CHAPTER 23
Principal Caldwell’s office is just as intimidating as I remember—large, cold, and spotless, like it belongs in some courtroom instead of a Preparatory school.
Her desk is a fortress of order, every paper and pen meticulously arranged.
And there she sits, staring at me and Hayes like we’re two criminals on trial.
Beside her stands Ms. Aldridge, arms crossed and clearly still annoyed from earlier.
“Sit,” Principal Caldwell says curtly, motioning to the two wooden chairs in front of her desk. Her tone leaves no room for argument. Hayes and I take our seats, the tension between us so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“I warned you, Mr. Miller,” she begins, her voice sharp, her eyes locking onto mine with a sternness that feels like a weight pressing down on me.
“At the start of the semester, I made it very clear that I didn’t want to see you in this office again after the cigarette incident. And yet, here you are.”
I try not to roll my eyes, pushing my irritation down as I hold her gaze.
This is not new to me. I’ve been in this situation more times than I can count—different schools, different principals, all with the same scolding tone and disappointed looks.
It’s a script I’ve heard so often I could recite it in my sleep.
“I'm so sorry, ma’am,” I say, my voice flat but polite enough to avoid making this worse. I keep my face neutral, refusing to let her see how much this whole lecture grates on me.
Principal Caldwell doesn’t buy my act for a second. Her eyes narrow, her fingers tapping on the edge of her desk in a steady, controlled rhythm. “Is this a joke to you, Mr. Miller? I gave you a chance to prove yourself when you transferred here, and now you’ve wasted it.”
I inhale sharply, resisting the urge to bite back. I know better than to argue—it’s not like it’ll change her mind. But my patience is wearing thin, especially with Hayes sitting beside me, watching this whole thing like he’s enjoying the show.
“Ms. Aldridge has informed me of the disruption you caused in her class,” she continues. “I don’t care who started it or why it happened. What I care about are the consequences of your actions.”
”I’m sorry, Principal Caldwell,” Hayes interjects, his voice calm but laced with irritation. “I don’t think detention is really necessary here.”
I glance at him, surprised by the composure in his tone. Of course he’d try to talk his way out of this.
“And why is that, Mr. Griffin?” Principal Caldwell asks, her eyebrows arching slightly.
“I’ve never had detention before,” Hayes says smoothly, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I’ve always maintained good behavior, and frankly, I have hockey practice after school. We’ve got an important game coming up, and missing practice isn’t exactly ideal.”
“Oh, please,” I mutter under my breath, earning a glare from Hayes.
“What was that, Mr. Miller?” Principal Caldwell asks sharply, her gaze snapping to me.
“Nothing,” I mumble, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.
Hayes, clearly not done yet, gestures toward me.
“Honestly, Principal Caldwell, I wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for him.
Ever since Dakota showed up, it’s been one problem after another.
I’ve never had issues like this before. This whole thing—” he waves a hand, “—is because of him.”
I whip my head toward him, anger bubbling up. “You’re seriously blaming me? You’re the one who can’t keep your mouth shut in class!”
“Enough!” Principal Caldwell’s voice cuts through the room like a whip. “I don’t care whose fault it is. This isn’t about blame—it’s about accountability. Both of you disrupted the class. Both of you are responsible. And both of you will face the consequences.”
“But—” Hayes starts, his confidence faltering slightly.
“No buts, Mr. Griffin,” she says firmly. “I don’t care about your hockey practice or your game. You’ll serve detention, and you’ll do it today after school. If it impacts your practice, that’s a consequence of your behavior. Learn from it.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to smirk. For once, Hayes isn’t getting a free pass.
Principal Caldwell’s eyes shift back to me, and the smugness I’m trying to hide dies instantly.
“And you, Mr. Miller, you’re running out of second chances.
You’re already on thin ice with me. If you find yourself back in this office again, the conversation will be about suspension. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Good.” She straightens in her chair, her sharp gaze cutting between the two of us.
“You’ll report to the detention room immediately after school.
Ms. Aldridge has already coordinated with the staff member overseeing it.
I don’t want to hear a single word about further incidents. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” we say in unison, though Hayes’s voice is clipped with irritation.
“Then get the hell out of my sight,” she says, turning her attention to a stack of papers on her desk as if we’re no longer worth her time.
I stand quickly, not bothering to glance at Hayes as I head for the door.
The door to the principal’s office clicks shut behind us, and for a moment, there’s silence in the hallway. I start to head toward my next class, wanting to put as much distance as possible between me and Hayes, but his voice stops me cold.
“A fucking detention!” Hayes snaps, his voice sharp and angry, cutting through the hallway like a blade. I pause mid-step and glance back over my shoulder. He’s glaring at me, his dark eyes blazing with frustration and something else I can’t quite place—maybe blame, maybe resentment.
“What?” I say, turning fully to face him. “Don’t look at me like it’s my fault.”
“It is your fault,” he growls, stepping closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve never gotten detention before. Not once. Then you show up, and suddenly, I’m stuck wasting my time because you can’t keep your shit together.”
I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. “Right, because you’re so perfect, huh? Mr. Hayes Griffin, the golden boy of Crestview Prep. Nothing’s ever your fault. Must be nice.” I scoff. “Tough luck, Princess,”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snaps, his voice rising. “I don’t have time for this crap, Miller. I’ve got hockey practice. We’ve got a game coming up, and now I’m stuck in detention because of you.”
“You’re stuck in detention because you don’t know how to shut your fucking mouth,” I fire back, stepping closer. “Don’t pin this on me just because Principal Caldwell finally decided to treat you like the rest of us.”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he scoffs, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve been looking for ways to get under my skin since the lake, haven’t you?”
I freeze, my chest tightening. “Don’t start with that,” I warn, my voice low.
“No? Maybe we should talk about it,” Hayes says, his voice low and challenging as he takes a step forward. Suddenly, we’re close—too close. We’re breathing the same air, and I can’t ignore the faint scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the sharp, clean smell of soap and something uniquely him.
I try not to let it get to me—how he’s irresistibly attractive, even when he’s pissed off and angry.
His lips, full and pink, still curve slightly even when he’s glaring, like he’s always on the edge of a smirk.
How good he smells. His hair, dark and perfectly tousled, looks like he just rolled out of bed, but I know it’s intentional.
Everything about Hayes Griffin is intentional.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he looks, how people react to him. He’s the type who could make anyone fall for him with just a glance. And the worst part? I’m not immune to it. Not even close.
My chest tightens at the mention of the lake, and I clench my fists, refusing to let him see how much that stings. “The lake? Seriously? That’s what this is about now? You’re the one who brought me there, Griffin. I didn’t ask for it.”
“Is that so?” Hayes says, his voice dripping with mockery. He takes a step closer, his smirk sharp enough to cut. “I don’t remember putting a gun to your head, Miller. You wanted it. I didn’t even get to ask you twice before you were hopping on my bike, ready to get away with me.”
His words hit like a slap, and the smirk on his face makes it ten times worse.
A complete mockery, a reminder of just how easily he can twist the truth into a weapon.
My knuckles ache from how tightly I’m clenching my fists.
I want to punch him, knock that smug look off his face.
But more than that, I want to erase the part of me that let myself believe—just for a second—that there was more to him than this.
“I can’t believe I actually thought you had depth,” I snap, my voice shaking with barely contained anger. “Last night, I thought maybe—just maybe—you weren’t the asshole you pretend to be. But you know what? I was wrong. You’re exactly who I thought you were.”
His smirk falters for just a second, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face. But it’s gone before I can place it, replaced by the same cold, mocking exterior.
“Good,” he says, his tone biting. “Because I don’t want you getting the wrong idea, Miller. Whatever you thought happened at the lake—it didn’t mean anything.”
I laugh, the sound bitter and hollow, echoing in the tense hallway. “You’re going to keep on lying to yourself, huh?”
Hayes scoffs, his glare fixed on me and not wavering. “You really didn’t think for a second I wanted to kiss you, did you?”
“Oh, I know you wanted to,” I fire back, taking a step closer. “You couldn’t even help but admit it yourself, Griffin.”
His jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening as his smirk falters for the briefest second.