CHAPTER 8
“Dakota, my man,” Tripp says Monday morning as I walk up to my locker, a grin stretched wide across his face.
He’s leaning against my locker like he owns it, way too damn cheerful for this early in the morning. I stop in front of him, narrowing my eyes.
“What are you so happy about?”
“Oh.” He pushes himself upright. “I just figured I should be the first person to congratulate you on making the hockey team.” He slaps my back, still grinning like an idiot.
Yeah. I made the team.
Honestly, I’m surprised. Hayes made it his personal mission to remind me that my chances of making the team rested solely in his hands—which was partially true. He’s the captain. His opinion carries weight. But either his threats were empty, or Coach Rivera didn’t give a damn what he had to say.
Probably the latter.
Coach Rivera knew my dad. He watched me play back in middle school. He knew I had talent.
“We should celebrate,” Tripp says.
I chuckle as I step past him and yank my locker open. “It’s Monday.”
“So?” Tripp shrugs. “We don’t have to get shit-faced. Just… do something. This is a big deal.”
“It’s really not,” I mutter, shoving a few books into my backpack.
“It is,” he insists. “You made the hockey team. With Hayes Griffin as captain. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
I scoff, half-smiling despite myself.
“Why don’t I think about it?” I say, raising a brow as I sling my backpack over my shoulder.
I won’t think about it. I just want him to drop it. Whatever celebration Tripp has in mind will definitely include Hayes and his crew.
And that’s the last thing I want.
Should’ve thought about that before joining the team, my subconscious mutters.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tripp says, already distracted.
Brooklyn just walked past with her best friend, Kris. She smiles and waves. Tripp practically melts.
I slam my locker shut to snap him out of it. “When are you gonna ask her out?”
“What?” He jumps, tearing his eyes away from her.
“Brooklyn,” I say dryly. “You’ve been eye-fucking her every chance you get.”
Tripp smirks, glancing back at her before facing me. “She’s fine as hell. But she’s too good for me.”
“Shouldn’t you let her decide that?” I ask as we start toward English, Tripp falling into step beside me.
He shrugs. “Besides, she’s dating King.”
“She’s dating Ezra?” I ask, genuinely surprised a girl like Brooklyn would be involved with someone from Hayes’ circle.
I’ve been at Crestview Prep long enough to know Ezra King doesn’t exactly have a stellar reputation with women. So yeah—this is shocking.
I don’t know Brooklyn all that well, but Tripp never shuts up about her, so I know enough. She’s the head of the Mathletes, ridiculously smart, shy, petite, Chinese—and also Tripp’s calculus tutor.
To sum it up?
She’s a good girl.
“Yup,” Tripp says. “But Ezra isn’t dating her. He’s just playing with her feelings. When he’s not with Brooklyn, he’s busy fucking some other girl.” He scoffs. “She’s way too good for him.”
Oh.
“Sooner or later, she’ll realize that,” I say. “And maybe realize you’re actually a decent guy to date.”
Tripp bumps my shoulder lightly. “Yeah. But for now, I’m not shooting my shot. I’m playing the good-friend card. Maybe she’ll see I genuinely like her.”
I smile at that and push open the doors to AP English.
We take our seats in the middle of the classroom—not too close to the front, not too far from the back.
“You know,” Tripp says as I hook my backpack under my desk, “I’m curious… why’d you guys move here from New York? I’ve been there enough times to know it’s not a shitty place.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Short version.”
“We used to live here,” I say. “I was born here.”
“For real?” He pauses. “Is that how you knew Hayes? Is that where all this shit started?”
I lift my gaze from my notebook just as the classroom doors open.
Hayes strolls in like he owns the place—hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, confidence dripping off him like it’s second nature. Shay’s beside him, glued to his arm. Behind them trail Ezra, Peach, and Finn.
The room goes quiet instantly.
It’s like this every single day.
The moment Hayes Griffin enters a room, conversations die.
People stare.
They worship him. Adore him. Feed his ego without even realizing it.
Some girls shoot Shay jealous, venomous glares. Others look at her with dreamy awe because she’s the lucky girl fucking Hayes Griffin.
God, I hate him.
And I hate myself for being jealous of him too.
Hayes has everything—money, looks, power, loyalty, worship. Maybe I don’t want his life… but a part of me resents him for how perfect his world is.
“Look! It’s the man of the hour,” a voice calls out.
I tear my gaze away from Hayes and find Lance approaching—a defenseman from the hockey team.
Lance’s the friendly type. Loud, easygoing, the kind of guy who grows on you whether you want him to or not.
“Hey, man,” I say, shaking his outstretched hand.
“Dakota Miller.” Lance grins, still gripping my hand. “I saw the roster this morning. You made the team. Congrats. Coach Rivera’s a hard man to please, but you impressed him.” He pauses. “And not just him—me too. Even the team captain. You’re good, man.”
I catch Hayes’s eyes immediately.
He’s glaring at me.
So I did impress him.
A slow, smug grin curls at my lips as I turn my attention back to Lance.
“You should come sit with us,” Lance says, gesturing toward their reserved seats across the room.
Hayes appears at Lance’s side like clockwork, jaw tight, eyes sharp. “I don’t think Miller wants to sit with us,” he cuts in, his glare locked on me like a warning.
I scoff lightly. “Thanks, Lance. Maybe some other time.”
“You sure?” Lance presses. “You should get to know the team.”
“He can do that later,” Hayes snaps. “Let’s go, Lance.”
He shoots me one last glare before turning away and joining his friends, already seated.
Lance hesitates, then looks back at me. “Ignore him. He’s just having a bad day. But if you change your mind, we’re over there.” He jerks his thumb toward the seats.
“Thanks, man.”
He nods, then finally notices Tripp, who’s been watching the whole exchange like it’s a live drama series.
“Hey,” Lance says, extending a hand. “I’m Lance.”
“Tripp.”
“Nice to meet you.” He smiles. “See you around, Dakota.” Lance gives me a friendly slap on the back before heading off.
Tripp leans closer. “Who would’ve thought you’d impress Hayes fucking Griffin?” he whispers, chuckling.
Yeah. Who would’ve thought?
“The guy’s like the god of Crestview Prep,” Tripp adds. “Hardly impressed.”
I scoff.
“And just so you know,” Tripp continues more quietly, “I’m not gonna push you to talk about whatever went down between you and Hayes back then. When you trust me enough—I’m here.”
I flash him a small smile and nod.
“Getting you to actually smile and talk to me?” Tripp grins. “I’m satisfied with that. You’re the hardest nut I’ve ever had to crack.”
“Fuck off, Anderson.”
“I knew we were gonna be best buds the moment I cornered you by your locker.”
“What a fucking creep,” I mutter, grinning despite myself.
“Shut up, Miller.”
The door opens and Ms. Aldridge strides in, dressed in her usual tight pencil skirt and blouse. The room falls silent instantly. She’s playful, tries to be strict, and fails at it every time.
She grabs a marker and writes the date and subject on the board.
“Alright, class,” she says. “Bring out your English notebooks.”
The hallway is quiet as I dig through my locker, already a few minutes late to Calculus. I should care. I should be nervous—Crestview is strict enough to hand out detention like candy—but I don’t give a shit.
What I do care about is how badly I want a cigarette right now.
A pale hand slams my locker shut from behind me, barely missing my fingers as metal clangs loudly through the hall.
I whirl around, anger surging through me at whoever thought that was a smart move.
Hayes Griffin.
In all his fucking glory.
He stands in front of me, that familiar glare carved into his perfectly sculpted face. His expression is darker than usual, more dangerous.
For a second, neither of us moves. The air between us is thick—charged, suffocating.
“Hey, Miller,” he says, his voice sharp enough to cut skin.
“What part of stay the fuck away from me don’t you understand?” I snap. “Or what—are you obsessed with me now?”
Hayes laughs, low and unhinged, licking his bottom lip as his eyes flick briefly down the empty hallway.
My gaze betrays me, dropping to his mouth—pink, full, annoyingly distracting.
Fuck every hormone in my body.
“You really wanna go there?” he says. “Last time I checked, you’re the one who forced your way back into my life by joining my team.” One brow arches, smug. “So tell me, Miller—who’s obsessed with who?”
I have a thousand things I want to say, but I know better. Engaging him only feeds whatever sick satisfaction he gets from this. And I refuse to entertain my worst enemy.
“What do you want, Griffin?” I ask instead, my voice calm—deliberately so. I know it gets under his skin.
“I warned you,” he says, stepping closer.
His cologne—expensive, clean, infuriating—hits me hard, tangling with something unmistakably him and threatening to short-circuit my brain.
“Stay out of my way. Just because you made the team doesn’t mean you’re shit now.
You think Coach Rivera’s gonna save you from what’s coming? You’re wrong.”
I smirk, meeting his gaze head-on. “Funny how you didn’t stop me from making the team,” I say lightly. “Maybe you’re not as in control as you like to think.”
His jaw tightens. His eyes narrow.
Bullseye.
“I’m not scared of you,” I continue, stepping closer, my voice dropping. “If you want to intimidate me, you’re gonna have to try harder. This little act?” I scoff. “It’s embarrassing.”
For half a second, something flickers in his eyes—something that isn’t rage.
Then it’s gone.
“Boys!” a sharp voice snaps. “What are you doing in the hallway during class?”
Principal Caldwell.
Hayes leans in just enough to whisper, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re gonna wish you never made the team,” he murmurs, lips curling. “If you think middle school was hell, high school’s gonna be worse. I promise you that.”
Then he steps back.
Without another word, Hayes turns and walks away, leaving the tension behind like a live wire—still crackling, still dangerous.