CHAPTER 13
“Hey, man. You good?” Tripp asks, falling into step beside me. He gives me a quick once-over, his expression curious—and a little concerned.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply, irritation lacing my voice as we walk toward English class.
He snorts softly. “You don’t look good. I saw you talking to Hayes. Did he say something to you? Is it about the dare?”
“I said I’m fine, Tripp,” I snap, the words harsher than I intend.
I stop short and turn to face him. To my surprise, he doesn’t look offended—just patient. Too patient.
I rake a hand through my short hair. Tripp’s gaze drops, his brow furrowing as his eyes settle on my hands.
He squints. “Your knuckles.”
I follow his stare and curse inwardly. Purple bruises bloom across my skin.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter.
“Your knuckles are bruised and you’re telling me it’s nothing?” He exhales slowly. “You wanna tell me what’s actually going on?”
The concern in his voice makes my chest tighten. I’m still not used to someone giving a shit.
Tripp means well. I’m just being a fucking asshole.
“If it’s the dare, you can just tell Hayes you’re backing down,” he adds carefully.
The dare is the last thing I’m worried about. There are way too many things spiraling in my head right now, and Hayes Griffin—unfortunately—is at the center of all of them.
“I’m fine,” I say again, more firmly this time. “You go ahead. I gotta check on something.”
I pat his shoulder and walk off before he can respond.
I don’t need to look back to know he’s confused—probably wondering what he did wrong. I’ll apologize later. Right now, I just need a fucking smoke.
I skipped English class.
Not intentionally—but anger has a way of pulling me off track. I ended up in the stairwell, smoking and stewing until time slipped through my fingers. By the time I finally make it to Calculus, I smell like bad decisions and regret. A little cologne helps, but not nearly enough.
“Mr. Miller,” Mr. Abel calls as I stop at the front of the room.
I lift my head, fully aware my expression screams I’m not in the mood for this shit.
“Care to tell me why you’re late?”
“Not really, sir,” I reply with a tight smile.
Okay, Dakota. Apologize. Sit down. Don’t make this worse.
“I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “I wasn’t feeling well, so I stopped by the nurse’s office.”
Mr. Abel raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighs. “You know I don’t tolerate lateness. Since this is your first offense, I’ll let it slide. But next time, you’ll be getting detention. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take a seat.”
I mutter under my breath and head toward my desk. As expected, a few students stare like I’m some kind of spectacle. I ignore them.
Then my gaze collides with his.
Brown eyes. Sharp. Unapologetic.
Hayes Griffin.
My worst enemy.
And apparently, the reason my focus has gone to absolute shit.
There’s something in his eyes—something that almost looks like concern. I try not to scoff as I walk toward my seat next to Tripp’s.
Brooklyn—Ezra’s supposed girlfriend—is sitting there instead, her attention fully on Tripp as he says something to her. She laughs softly.
I hope he’s not asking her to move so I can sit down.
I wouldn’t want that. Tripp’s had a crush on Brooklyn for a while now, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that.
Besides, Brooklyn usually sits with Hayes’ crew—Ezra’s crew.
Watching her there always made her look out of place, like she didn’t belong with them no matter how hard she tried.
But now she’s sitting with Tripp.
Which can only mean one of two things—either she and Ezra are fighting, or they’re done.
I take the empty seat behind Hayes instead, dropping into the chair next to Lance. Tripp glances back at me, something unreadable flickering in his brown eyes. I give him a small smile and hang my backpack before pulling out my Calculus notebook.
“You good?” Lance asks, turning toward me.
“Yeah,” I reply easily.
“What happened to your hand?” he asks, concern creasing his face.
“It’s nothing,” I say, tucking my bruised knuckles closer to my side as I flip my notebook open with my left hand.
“If it’s about the dare, you don’t have to do it,” he murmurs. “You and I both know it’s an impossible one.”
Jesus. What is it with everyone and this stupid dare?
“I’m good, Lance. Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile before turning my attention to the board.
“Okay,” he says, but I’m already gone.
My focus locks onto the back of the one person I fucking loathe.
And like he can feel it, Hayes turns his head just enough to glance at me—smug grin firmly in place—before facing forward again.
Fucking bastard.
During recess, I grab a bottle of water and scroll through my phone. Seth texted earlier, and I ignored it—not because I wanted to, but because I was in a shitty headspace and didn’t feel like talking.
Hey yo, playa. You snubbing my messages now or what?
A smile tugs at my lips as I type back.
Shut up. I’m at school. Will call u wen I get home.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Tripp near the cafeteria entrance, talking to Brooklyn. She smiles, waves at him, then walks out with her friend Kris.
Tripp notices me and heads my way, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down.
“Hey, man,” I say, locking my phone and placing it face-down on the table.
Like me, he’s ditched the tie, top button undone. The open collar exposes his collarbone, and his low fade—with the top just messy enough—gives him that effortless bad-boy look. Both ears pierced. Easy smile.
Tripp Anderson is good-looking, friendly with half the school, and completely unaware of how easily people gravitate toward him.
Tripp was adopted by his aunt.
He told me once—late at night, half joking, half not—that his birth mother overdosed when he was ten. No father in the picture. None of his relatives stepped forward, so he ended up in foster care for a few months before his mom’s older sister found out and took him in.
She’s a chef. Works mostly on cruise ships.
Tough, loud, affectionate in the way people are when they don’t know how to say I love you without food or sarcasm.
She raised Tripp like he was hers long before the papers made it official.
Later, she married a freelance translator who works from home, and from what Tripp told me, they’re doing well. Stable. Safe.
I think they’re even expecting a baby.
Funny how life works out like that sometimes.
“You good?” Tripp asks, pulling me back to the present.
“Yeah,” I say, then sigh. “Sorry about how I reacted earlier. That was stupid.”
“Yeah,” he says easily, smiling. “It was.”
I chuckle. “I know.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, shrugging. “Seriously, man. I’m fine.”
“Alright,” Tripp says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Is it safe to say it’s about Hayes?”
I scoff. “What do you think?”
“I think there’s a lot of hostility between the two of you. A lot of… tension.” He tilts his head slightly. “Unfinished shit. What happened between you guys back in middle school?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I just mean—maybe it’d help if you confronted him. Like adults. One-on-one.”
I snort. “What’s this? A therapy session?”
Tripp laughs. “Oh, shut up.”
We fall into a comfortable silence.
My eyes drift—against my better judgment—to Hayes, sitting a few tables behind Tripp with his usual entourage. Shay leans into him, her body pressed close as she whispers something in his ear. The smirk on her face, the amused curve of his lips… whatever she said was definitely not innocent.
“I’m not kidding though,” Tripp says, snapping me out of it. “You two look like you were close friends once.”
“Not friends,” I say quickly, clearing my throat. “We were never friends. Not to mention close.”
I feel it before I see it.
Hayes’s gaze.
I glance up just in time to catch him staring at me, eyes locked on mine like he’s been waiting for it. My jaw tightens. I glare back, wordlessly telling him to fuck off.
He smirks.
Of course he does.
Then he looks away.
“Boyfriends?” Tripp asks suddenly.
“What?” I turn to him, genuinely caught off guard. “Why would you even say that?”
He laughs. “What? I don’t judge. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I know,” I say. “But no. Hayes and I were never involved. And he’s straight.”
Tripp hums softly, eyebrows lifting. “Huh. You aren’t?”
I blink.
The question lands gently—but it still catches me off guard. I’m not ashamed of being bisexual. Never have been. I just didn’t expect Tripp to ask so directly.
I bite my lip, studying him for a second.
Tripp chuckles, grinning at me. “Well, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable.
I’m just curious. It’s not like you look gay or anything, but I kind of assumed you and Hayes might have something going on.
I see the way you two look at each other.
It can’t just be a petty feud. Something happened between you two. ”
I scoff. “Nothing happened. We just… have a history. I’ve known the asshole since I was ten. We went to middle school together, played on the same hockey team. He was a jerk—and the fact that he comes from a rich, powerful family doesn’t go unnoticed.”
“Yeah?” Tripp raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you two played together.”
“Yeah, we did.”
“I don’t know him all that well, but he’s kind of a big deal around here. Like you already know, he’s the star hockey player for the Crestview Kings. The best they’ve had. The reason they’ve won state championships several times.”
I don’t need to be told Hayes is a god on the ice. Anyone who’s ever seen him play knows he was born for it. He’s that good. I can’t even compete with him—and I’m good.