CHAPTER 7
“Hiya, Coty,” Seth says as soon as the FaceTime connects.
I shut my bedroom door behind me, Shepard padding in after me, and glare at my phone. Seth’s on the screen in a black T-shirt, standing in what looks suspiciously like his kitchen.
“You know how much I hate it when you call me Coty,” I say, tossing my backpack onto the bed as I walk over.
Seth rolls his eyes, his gaze roaming around my room like this is our first FaceTime ever.
“How you doing?” he asks. “You look okay.”
“I’m good.” I drop onto the bed beside Shepard, scratching behind his ears. “And either my eyesight is finally giving up on me, or you’re actually in the kitchen. Cooking.”
Seth laughs, flashing white teeth as he runs a hand through his brown hair.
He’s annoyingly attractive—light-skinned Hispanic, charming, the kind of guy girls fall for without meaning to.
Seth has always known exactly what he looks like, and he uses it like a weapon.
New girl every week. A serial flirt. Commitment-phobic.
“You remember Aaliyah, right?”
Of course I do.
Aaliyah—brown-skinned, soft-spoken, all curves and shy smiles, and she’s had Seth by the balls from the very first day he laid eyes on her two years ago.
I’ve always told him she’s the kind of girl he can’t have.
She’s shy. Too pure. The kind who blushes at everything.
And on top of that, she’s his trainer’s only daughter—protected like glass.
The man guards her like an egg, terrified that if she gets anywhere near the guys he trains, they’ll ruin her.
But that never stopped Seth.
“Yeah,” I say. “What about her?”
“Well…” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.
I sit up. “Are you nervous?”
“What? Fuck no,” he scoffs. Then hesitates. “Okay, maybe a little. She finally agreed to go out with me.”
I blink. “She agreed?”
“Yup.”
“And you asked her on a date?” I smirk. “You, Seth? I don’t know what’s more fucked up—her letting you ruin her life, or you actually taking a woman on a real date. That’s not your thing. You throw a few overused pickup lines around and somehow they let you take them to bed.”
“You serious, Coty?”
“I swear to God, I’ll come down to Brooklyn and beat you with a fucking bat if you call me Coty again.”
Seth laughs loudly, shaking his head. “I’m not even kidding, man. I like her. You know I do. I’ve been trying for years, and she finally said yes. Told me to take her out.”
“Huh.” I tilt my head. “That’s… weirdly sweet.”
“Yeah.” His grin fades a little. “And I get this… feeling. Like, right here.” He taps his chest. “Every time I’m around her. I don’t know if you get what I mean.”
Yeah.
I do.
And I hate that I do—especially when the person doing that to me is the one guy I want to hurt more than anyone else.
…and maybe fuck.
God. This is fucking pathetic.
“And I hate that it feels nice,” he adds quietly.
I scoff. “Yeah. Look at you, falling for the good girl. So fucking cheesy.”
“Fuck you, Dakota,” Seth mutters, and I laugh.
“And who knew you could finally call me by my real name?”
“Well,” he shrugs, “I don’t want you flying down here to hit me with a fucking bat. Even though…” He hesitates. “It’d be nice having you around again.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, dragging a hand over my buzzed hair that’s already starting to grow out.
One of the reasons I came back to this town without making a fuss was so I could leave again the second I graduate. Mom doesn’t know that yet—and she doesn’t need to.
“I’m happy for you,” I say. “You’ve spent years fantasizing about the two of you together. I’m glad she’s finally coming around.”
“Yeah.”
“But you still haven’t told me why you’re in the kitchen,” I add, sitting up and resting my phone on my thigh as I start unbuttoning the cuffs of my shirt.
“I’m gonna cook dinner,” Seth says softly.
I grab my phone immediately, staring at him.
He’s blushing. Biting his lip.
“What?”
“You heard me, asshole. I’m cooking for Aaliyah. We’re having the date at my place.”
I snort. “Damn. Look at you, learning how to cook to impress a girl.”
“Hey,” he points at the screen. “I know my way around the kitchen.”
“You can’t even cook noodles, Seth. You don’t know shit.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’ve been watching cooking videos on YouTube. It doesn’t look that hard.”
“Oh yeah? You could save that girl a trip to the toilet by admitting you can’t cook for shit.”
He groans, pressing his palm to his forehead. “Guess I’ll have to take her out instead.”
“That would be the smartest option. Take her somewhere nice.”
“Yeah. Then I’ll have to convince her to come back to my apartment.”
I stare at him. “You wanna fuck her on the first date? That’s not romantic at all.”
He smirks. “Like you wouldn’t.”
“I would,” I admit. “Just not with a girl like Aaliyah. She deserves respect.”
“Wow,” he scoffs. “What a boner killer.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, whatever.”
“I guess I’m gonna have to treat her right. Just won’t let her tease me too much.”
“Right.”
“How’s tryouts?” he asks. “Today’s the last day, right?”
“Yeah. It’s been good. A lot of guys didn’t make it this far.” I pause. “The final roster drops Monday. I’m one of the few left.”
“I knew it. You’re gonna make the team. Coach knows you—that helps.”
“Yeah.”
He studies me through the screen. “So… how’s it been going?”
“With who?”
“You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Of course I know he’s talking about Hayes.
I told Seth about him years ago. I told him about the kiss when we were fourteen.
And I made the mistake of telling him Hayes would be at the same school when we moved back here.
Seth had turned it into this whole thing — jokes about us hooking up again, re-enacting old feelings, rekindling whatever the hell he thought we had.
I shut that down fast.
The last thing I want is Hayes’s hands on me again. His mouth on mine.
That’s what I told him.
And thinking about it now makes something twist violently in my chest.
Images I don’t want surface anyway — the first day of tryouts, the way Hayes shoved me against the locker-room wall, his grip firm, his mouth close to my ear as he whispered threats meant to scare me.
I wanted to punch him.
I also wanted his hands back on me.
Not against a wall.
Against a bed.
The thought makes me nauseous and furious all at once. I want to throw up. I want to slam my head into the wall.
How the fuck could I still want him?
How could I even imagine something like that with the one person I should hate more than anyone?
I scoff, kicking off my shoes with my toes. Hayes has been nothing but a complete asshole these past few days — not that it surprises me. I made it clear I don’t care how he acts, as long as he stays out of my personal space.
Instead, he glares. Makes snide comments. Looks at me like I’m supposed to crumble under the weight of his gaze.
I don’t.
“Tryouts have been good,” I say flatly. “And Hayes is still a dick.”
“Yeah?” Seth grins. “Because you and I both know you want his—”
“Oh, screw you, Fernandez,” I snap. “I hope you get hit by a bus.”
He bursts out laughing, loud and obnoxious.
Seth knows about my sexuality. Always has.
He’s never judged me for it once. My mom doesn’t know.
Neither do Mark or Harper. Not because it’s some big secret — I just don’t like talking to my family about the people I have sex with.
I don’t want them making a big deal out of something that feels small to me. Especially my mom.
“Come on,” Seth says. “You know it’s true.”
“Am I supposed to argue with you?” I sigh. “Hayes might be hot and…”
Annoyingly attractive—but Seth doesn’t need to know that.
“…and a good hockey player. But he’s not my type. And even if he were, the last thing I want is being involved with someone as self-centered and egotistical as Hayes. That’d be a total turnoff.”
“Yeah?” he teases. “I don’t see you cringing right now.”
“Oh, go to hell, Seth. I fucking hate you.”
“Yeah, you wish.” He glances at his phone. “Aaliyah just texted. She’s asking if she should start heading over. I’m gonna text her about the change of plans and go get ready.”
I nod as he smiles at me.
“Talk later, Coty,” he says, winking before hanging up quickly—before I can threaten his life for calling me that.
I smile to myself, tossing my phone onto the bed. Stripping out of my clothes, I dump them on the couch and head for the bathroom.
“Hey,” I say later that evening as I walk into the kitchen.
Mom’s cooking. Mark isn’t home yet. Harper’s probably in her room, glued to her phone and her new friends.
Mom looks up, surprised to see me there. She gives me a small, hesitant smile.
We haven’t really talked since our last conversation two weeks ago. I go to school, come straight home, and disappear into my room. Dinner is brief—short answers, curt nods—then back upstairs. On weekends, I take Shepard out just to avoid being around too much.
“Do you need help?” I ask, slipping my hands into my sweatpants pockets.
She lets out a small laugh. “You don’t have to help, Dakota.”
“I want to.”
She pauses, then smiles and nods. “Okay.”
“We’re making spaghetti and meatballs,” she says. “You can help by scooping and rolling the meatballs.”
“Sure,” I reply, smiling as I head to the sink to wash my hands.
Mom places the bowl of ground beef—already mixed with spices—on the kitchen island as I wipe my hands dry. I grab the ice cream scoop and start forming small meatballs, placing them neatly onto a white platter while Mom turns back to the stove to deal with the spaghetti.
“So how was school today?”
“Great.”
“Yeah?” she asks lightly. “No one giving you a hard time?”
I pause, glancing at her from beneath my lashes while continuing to work.
“It’s not middle school, Mom. No one’s giving me a hard time.”
“Good,” she exhales. “I guess I worry too much.”
“Yeah, you do,” I say. “I’m not fourteen anymore. I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” I can hear the smile in her voice even though I don’t look at her.
She stirs the pot. “How are hockey tryouts going?”
My hands still for half a second before I look up at her. She’s watching me now, a small, hopeful smile on her lips.
“I know you didn’t tell me you were trying out,” she continues gently, “but you should’ve. I’m your mom. I’d like to know what’s going on in your life.”
I take a breath and drop my gaze back to the bowl.
“Tryouts were good,” I say. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to make the team first before saying anything.”
“You’ll make it,” she says without hesitation. “You’ve always been good at hockey. Ever since you were little.”
I don’t respond.
“I hear Hayes is on the team too,” she adds casually. “He’s pretty good. His mom won’t stop talking about how Hayes is the reason Crestview Prep has the best hockey team.”
My head snaps up. “You’re talking to Mrs. Griffin?”
“Not really,” Mom shrugs. “You know she’s the president of Evergreen Private Hospital.”
“She is?”
“Yeah. Mark and I ran into her and Mr. Griffin the other night during date night. We got to talking. She even asked about you.”
My jaw tightens. “Are you guys planning on being friends?” I ask. “You know—since Mark works at their hospital.”
Mom goes quiet, stalling as she pours the half-cooked spaghetti into the colander.
“You’re stalling,” I say flatly. “Which means you want to be friends with them.”
I know I’m overreacting. I know I sound like an asshole. But the last thing I want is my mom and her husband getting cozy with the Griffins.
I already have to see Hayes at school. Mark works at their hospital. And now they’re chatting, exchanging pleasantries, asking about me?
Everywhere I turn, there’s Hayes fucking Griffin.
And I’m so goddamn tired of it.
The Griffins are good people. Everyone knows that. Rich, powerful, influential—but humble. Kind. Which honestly makes no sense considering the son they raised.
Hayes walks around like the world belongs to him. Like everyone’s already in his pocket. A conceited bastard who doesn’t even bother hiding it.
I like to believe his parents have no idea what really goes on in his life. What he’s done. What he’s capable of. Meaning they don’t know about the drama between Hayes and me that’s been festering since we were ten. And even if they do know, I doubt they care.
So right now, the last thing I want is my mom being friends with Kim Griffin.
The next thing, they’ll be hanging out at each other’s houses, having family dinners like we’re all one big happy circle.
I don’t want that. Seeing Hayes every day at school is already too much—being forced to interact with him outside of school?
I can’t. We’d be at each other’s throats every chance we get.
And why would my mom even be interested in the Griffins? They’re upper class, old money. Even though we’re doing better now—better than we were four years ago—we don’t move in the same circles. We never have.
Why would she want to force herself into that kind of life?
“You know the Griffins aren’t bad,” Mom says.
“Yeah, so?” I snap. “You can’t be friends with them.”
“We’re not friends. It was just one conversation. And I know you don’t like the idea of Mark working at their hospital—”
I open my mouth to argue, but Mom raises her palm, stopping me.
“I’m your mother. I know you,” she says calmly. “I just want to know if whatever drama you have going on with Hayes is over.”
“It’s over.”
“Good. I hear he’s a good boy. At least that’s what Kim said.”
I scoff, heat rising in my chest. I want this conversation to end—now.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“And don’t get mad,” she continues, “but the Griffins invited us to dinner at their place next weekend, and Mark and I agreed.”
“What?” I whip my head toward her. “What?!”
“We had to. Mark works at their hospital, and honestly, it didn’t seem like a bad idea. It’s just dinner.”
“Just dinner?” I laugh harshly. “I can’t believe you. You already like her, and now you’re just going to start hanging out like this is normal?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Mom insists. “Kim is beautiful and kind. I just want to get to know her. You don’t like her son, I get that—but does that mean I’m not allowed to be friends with his mother?”
“You know what Hayes did!”
“That was four years ago,” she says. “You need to let it go. He was a child. Kids do stupid things.”
Of course.
I scoff, dropping the ice cream scoop back into the bowl with a dull thud before storming out of the kitchen and through the living room door, ignoring my mother calling after me.