CHAPTER 2
The moment I step into the hallway, heads turn.
Boys.
Girls.
Everyone.
The girls don’t even try to hide it. Some gasp softly. Others smirk, twirling strands of hair around their fingers as they look me over. A few wink like we’re sharing a secret.
I don’t care much for attention—but I won’t pretend I’m unfamiliar with it either.
I notice the way women look at me when I enter a room. I’ve been asked out more times than I can count. I know I’m attractive. I just don’t let it get to my head.
I like women.
I just don’t make a habit of it.
When we left this town four years ago and moved to New York, trouble followed me everywhere. Or maybe I went looking for it. By the time I turned sixteen, I’d been kicked out of six schools.
Mom still looks at me sometimes like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she broke herself. She wonders where she failed. How her son turned into a delinquent.
I don’t have an answer for her.
All I knew back then was that I couldn’t breathe in my own skin. I hated who I was. Hated how weak I’d been. Hated that I’d been too afraid to fight back.
If I hadn’t been so timid…
If I hadn’t been so weak…
Hayes wouldn’t have hurt me.
That thought ate at me.
I wanted to hurt someone. Needed to bleed the anger out of my system. I didn’t care who got caught in the middle.
Then I met an older guy who showed me another way.
He taught me how to let the rage out without destroying myself—or anyone else. He introduced me to underground fighting.
And I took to it like I was born for it.
Soon enough, I became a name people whispered about in those circles. People paid to watch me fight. I didn’t care about the money. I cared about the release. The control. The silence in my head when my fists connected.
I came home bruised more nights than not. Mom worried. Asked questions I never answered.
But for the first time in years, I could breathe.
Or at least I thought I could.
Because sometime last year, Hayes Griffin started showing up in my thoughts again.
Uninvited. Unwanted.
I couldn’t stop remembering the night he kissed me. The way his hands felt on my skin. The look in his eyes when he did it. I told myself it was all a setup. A lie. A trap meant to humiliate me.
But some traitorous part of me still believed the rest of it was real.
Including the kiss.
I don’t know why I let myself think that. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was my mind trying to convince itself that what I felt back then wasn’t one-sided.
I was young. The feelings were foreign. Terrifying.
But just because I’m older now doesn’t mean they magically disappeared.
For a while, I was curious.
I hooked up with a few guys. The results were embarrassing. There was no spark. No fire. Nothing. Just bodies and awkward silence.
The last guy I tried to hook up with didn’t even get that far. I left his apartment before anything could happen and went straight to the gym, transferring all that frustration into a punching bag until my knuckles ached.
I was furious.
Furious at myself for still feeling pulled toward Hayes after four years. Furious for wanting someone I shouldn’t want. Furious that no matter how much time passed, he still lived under my skin.
And one look at Hayes Griffin today—
Every feeling I’d buried came crashing back.
It took me four years to admit that I might be bisexual. But the truth is, I didn’t want men.
I wanted him.
The one boy I should never want.
Being a big name in the underground fighting scene meant attention came easy. Girls—especially older ones—were always around. Some threw themselves at me. Others fought over me.
I hooked up with plenty of them.
It always went the way it was supposed to. Heat. Arousal. Pleasure.
But never a spark.
Never fire.
Something was always missing, and I couldn’t figure out what—until today.
Until I locked eyes with Hayes after all these years.
I am fucked.
Completely. Utterly. Fucked.
I should hate him. I do hate him. I want to punch him. Hurt him. Make him feel even a fraction of what I felt back then.
But something holds me back.
I’ve forgiven him.
I just can’t forget.
Not when he ruined my childhood and laughed about it with his friends like it was some kind of joke.
Fucking prick.
The second our eyes met today, all the anger I thought I’d burned out of myself came roaring back, and every instinct in me screamed to hit him. To swing. To break something.
I stop at my assigned locker, shoving everything I won’t need inside before slamming it shut.
I turn to head to my first class—
And crash straight into someone.
A girl.
She’s wearing the school uniform, but no blazer. Her button-down is missing the top two buttons, exposing the curve of her chest. Honey-blond hair frames her face perfectly. Green eyes. Too much red lipstick. Too much floral perfume.
She’s hot.
Just not what I’m looking for.
“Hey, handsome,” she purrs, eyes locking onto mine as she steps closer.
I’m a lot taller than her, so she has to tilt her head back to look at me. Instead of backing off, she presses in, subtly forcing me against my locker.
“I’m late for class,” I say, trying to sidestep her.
Miss Blondie doesn’t budge.
“I’m Gwen,” she says. “And if you don’t mind, I’d love to show you around.”
“Thanks. I can manage.” My voice is calm—flat—but authoritative enough to tell her I want her out of my space.
She either doesn’t catch the hint… or she does and doesn’t care. Girls like her usually don’t. Spoiled. Rich. Used to getting whatever—and whoever—they want.
“You haven’t told me your name, handsome.”
Something presses lightly against my stomach.
I glance down just in time to see her fingers sliding over my shirt, drifting lower, toward my belt loop.
I catch her wrist before she can go any further and gently—but firmly—push her hand away.
“Ooh,” she whispers, smirking. “A hard nut to crack. What a turn-on.”
She bites her lower lip, flashing pale teeth.
I notice a few students watching now. Assessing. Cataloguing. Trying to figure out where I fit in Crestview’s precious social hierarchy.
If only they knew how little I give a fuck.
“I’m Dakota,” I say. “And I’m not interested.”
I turn the corner toward my first class—
And then I see him again.
Hayes Griffin.
He’s walking straight toward me, his gaze locked onto mine, unblinking. Every step he takes is deliberate. Controlled.
On his left is Ezra—his best friend since middle school.
On his right is the girl from the parking lot, her arm looped through Hayes’s like she belongs there, even though his hands are tucked casually into his pockets.
Walking beside her is another guy I don’t recognize—tall, white, dark hair, thin lips.
They’re talking to Hayes, but he’s not listening.
His attention is solely on me.
People move out of his way without being asked, parting like the hallway belongs to him. Like he’s royalty.
Of course he is.
Hayes Griffin—school king. Blonde girlfriend. Ezra and the rest of them acting like loyal little soldiers.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and turn the corner into my classroom.
AP English.
I push the door open and step inside.
The chatter dies instantly.
Every head turns.
If I cared about attention, I’d be nervous. Embarrassed. Self-conscious.
Instead, I’m irritated.
I ignore the stares—most of them from girls already biting their lips and flipping their hair, giving me looks I’ve seen before—and walk toward an empty seat near the middle of the room.
I pull the chair back—
And someone shoves it forward again.
“Sorry,” a guy says, leaning across the desk. “Someone’s sitting there.”
I look up.
Jock. Big. Loud. The kind who thinks muscles equal authority.
I grab the chair and yank it back anyway.
He straightens, stands up, squaring his shoulders, matching my glare. I feel the attention shift in the room, eyes locking onto us. But there’s one stare I feel more than the rest—dark, burning into my back.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.
“Do I look like I give a fuck?” I ask calmly, lifting a brow like I’m genuinely curious.
I sit, sliding my backpack onto the hook beside the desk.
“So you’re the tough new kid, huh?” the jock says, still standing, looming like he expects me to flinch.
“Let it go, Brian.”
The voice is familiar.
I turn, unsurprised to find Hayes Griffin standing beside my desk, looking down at me. He sounds the same—only deeper now. Rougher.
Sexier.
There’s something in his eyes I still can’t read.
His friends hover behind him, his girlfriend clinging to his arm like a status symbol. Hayes looks untouchable. Like the world bends slightly in his favor.
And it does.
Private parking spot. Donor parents. The way people watch him like he’s something sacred. Girls would kill to be where his girlfriend stands. Half the school would sell their souls just to have him notice them.
It’s always been like this.
Everyone loves Hayes Griffin.
“You’re the new kid,” his girlfriend says, eyes raking over me. “You look hotter than I imagined.”
Something sharp flashes through Hayes’s eyes.
Jealousy.
I almost laugh.
Of course he hates not being the center of attention.
“I’m Shay,” she adds sweetly, tightening her grip on him. “Hayes’s girlfriend. Captain of the cheerleading team. Class president. What’s your name?”
“Come on, babe,” Hayes cuts in. “Let’s go.”
He turns and takes the seat directly across from mine, pulling Shay down with him. Ezra and the other guy drop into the desks behind them.
The jock beside me snorts.
“Your tough act won’t get you far, new kid.”
I glance at him.
“I can see through you,” he continues. “You’re not tough. You’re just a scared little kid.”
I shake my head, unimpressed, and look away as I pull out my phone.
If he only knew.
I didn’t have friends back in New York.
The only person I was close to was Seth—the older guy who introduced me to underground fighting. He’s twenty-three now, and he texted me constantly during the move back here. Mom hated him. She called him a bad influence just because we were always together and because he had tattoos.
She tried to stop me from seeing him, like we were lovers or something equally ridiculous.
I snapped.
“You stopped being my mom after Dad died,” I told her. “You don’t get to waltz back into my life now and start dictating what I do. You lost that right. Remember?”
I regretted it the second she burst into tears.
I love my mom, even when she drives me insane. Sometimes I think one of the reasons she dragged us back to this town was to force distance between Seth and me. And when she couldn’t control that, she enrolled me in this private school instead.
Like she was trying to remind me she was still my mother.
Like she could still control me because I was still her son.
I stare at my phone, Seth’s name glowing at the bottom of the screen, and open the message.
From Seth: Does high school still suck just like I remembered?
I huff a quiet laugh and type back.
Me: Yep. Still fucking sucks.
A second later—
From Seth: Have you met any hot chicks yet? And guys? And by guys I mean Hayes.
Of course I told Seth about Hayes.
“Mr. Miller?”
I look up.
“Mr. Miller?” a woman repeats, standing at the front of the room.
She must be the AP English teacher. Early thirties. Pencil skirt. Baby-blue blouse doing absolutely nothing to hide her chest.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, not bothering to smile.
She scans the room and clears her throat.
“I was trying to introduce you to your new classmates, but you seem like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
I lock my phone and slip it into the inner pocket of my blazer.
“Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?”
And people wonder why I hate new schools.
“I’d rather not,” I say flatly. “Thanks.”
A ripple of surprise runs through the room. A few girls purr quietly in my direction, and I resist the urge to crawl out of my skin.
“Oh. That’s fine,” the teacher says after a beat. “I’ll do it for you. Class, this is Dakota Miller. He’s from New York. Now let’s get back to today’s lesson.”
She turns to the board.
“That really Miller?” someone mutters behind me. It sounds like Ezra. “What the fuck happened to him? When did he get so… hip?”
“Why don’t you go ask him?” Hayes says.
There’s irritation in his tone.
I turn just in time to catch Hayes looking straight at me.
Our eyes lock.
Fury burns in his dark gaze as we hold each other there for a long, stretched-out second. Then his mouth curves into a slow smirk before he looks away.
Yeah.
The line has been drawn.