28. Daltyn
DALTYN
The ride home is quiet.
Like the porch kiss cracked something open between us, and now neither of us knows what the hell to do with the pieces.
Peyton sits beside me in my Escalade, turned slightly toward the window while soft music hums through the speakers. The glow from passing streetlights sweeps across her face every few seconds.
And every single time, my chest tightens.
Because she’s still here. Even after the way I handled this week. After the distance. After I pulled away like a fucking coward.
My fingers flex against the steering wheel.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Peyton murmurs softly.
I glance at her. “How do you know?”
A tiny smile pulls at her lips. “Your forehead does this grumpy wrinkle thing.”
Jesus Christ.
My chest does that stupid, painful squeeze again .
“I don’t have a grumpy wrinkle thing.”
“You absolutely do.”
I snort quietly.
And just like that, some of the tension loosens.
Only Peyton could do that.
That realization should probably concern me more than it does.
The cabin finally comes into view through the trees, warm light glowing against the darkness. I left a couple of lights on so Peyton wouldn’t have to come home to a dark house.
My home.
Except it doesn’t feel like just mine anymore.
That thought follows me all the way inside.
Peyton goes to the sectional and removes her boot. I close the door, locking it behind us.
“Guess this is the last time I’ll wear this.” She holds the boot up. “Hallelujah.”
I grin and half-heartedly tease, “You sure you won’t miss it?”
“Positive.”
The cabin settles into silence around us.
After all the noise and chaos at Connor and Allie’s, it suddenly feels too quiet. Too intimate.
Peyton turns toward me slowly. For a second, neither of us says anything.
My eyes drop to her lips, remembering that kiss. My pulse kicks harder.
Fuck.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” I lie automatically.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re doing it again,” she says quietly .
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Doing what?”
“Thinking about everything except what you actually want to say.”
The words hit harder than they should. Because they’re true.
My jaw tightens.
She steps closer. “You don’t have to tell me tonight,” she says softly. “But I know something’s wrong.”
My throat feels too tight suddenly.
God. This woman sees too much.
“I just…” My voice roughens. “I don’t want you caught up in my shit.”
Peyton’s expression softens. “Daltyn?—”
“No.” I drag a hand through my hair. “You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand.”
My chest constricts painfully. Because I want to tell her.
Fuck, I want to tell her everything.
About the nightmares. About my father. About the blood and yelling and fear. About why the idea of loving someone feels like holding a loaded weapon.
But the words stay trapped inside me like they always do. Because saying them out loud makes them real again.
And worse?—
What if she looks at me differently afterward?
What if she sees something broken and ugly in me?
What if she realizes I’m not worth all this effort?
The silence stretches between us.
Peyton watches me carefully. Waiting. Giving me space without pushing.
And somehow that patience feels worse than pressure. Because she deserves honesty .
But I can’t give it to her. I can’t make myself say it.
Instead, all I can manage is, “I’m trying.”
Her face falls slightly. And guilt claws through my chest.
She nods once. “Okay.”
That one word nearly wrecks me. It’s careful. Guarded. Like she’s trying not to ask for more than I can give her.
I hate that I’m doing that to her.
“I’m gonna shower,” I mutter.
Coward.
Her eyes flicker with disappointment before she hides it. “Okay.”
I force myself to walk away.
Even though every instinct in me screams to go back. To pull her into my arms. To tell her something.
Anything.
But I don’t.
Because I’m terrified that if I start talking, I won’t know how to stop.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.
It never fucking does after being vulnerable.
After wanting too much.
I stare at the ceiling while the cabin creaks softly around me.
Downstairs, Peyton moves around before everything finally goes quiet.
She’s probably asleep.
I should be, too.
Instead, my mind keeps replaying the kiss on Connor and Allie’s porch. The way she looked at me afterward, like she saw every ugly, terrified part of me… and stayed anyway.
My chest aches.
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under.
I’m running.
My bare feet slam against worn hardwood floors as panic tears through my chest.
But it’s too late.
I already know I’m too fucking late.
“Stop!” My mother’s voice cracks through the house, thin and desperate.
A sharp crack follows.
Something inside me splinters.
I round the corner—and he’s there.
My father.
Towering. Furious. Out of control.
My mom stumbles backward, one hand clutching her face, eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t—” I start, stepping forward.
He turns slowly. His eyes lock on mine.
And I know, I just made it worse.
“You think you can step in?” he sneers.
Instead of answering, I step between them. Every muscle in my body is coiled and ready to defend her.
“Get away from her.” The words come out stronger than I feel.
His lip curls. “Big man now, huh?”
I barely see it coming.
Pain explodes through my ribs as his fist slams into me. The air leaves my lungs in one violent rush as I crash onto the floor.
Everything inside me rattles.
I try to breathe, but can’t.
“Stay down,” he growls.
I don’t.
I can’t.
I force myself up, despite the pain.
Another hit.
White-hot pain erupts through my shoulder. Something pops.
I collapse again, my vision blurring.
“Daltyn!” my mom cries.
I hear her scrambling toward me ? —
Then another crack.
A sob.
My head turns sluggishly.
Too slow. Everything feels too fucking slow.
I see him grab her.
See her flinch.
See the fear in her eyes.
And I can’t stop it.
I can’t fucking stop it.
My fingers scrape uselessly against the hardwood as I drag myself forward.
But I’m in too much pain to move.
I’m nothing.
Just lying there, watching her get hurt. Unable to stop it.
I try to move again, willing myself to get up.
But I fail.
My eyes lock with hers. They’re pleading for me to help her.
She reaches out her hand .
With a loud groan, I reach my hand out, my shoulder screaming in pain.
But I can’t reach her in time.
No matter how much I want to.
I bolt upright with a gasp.
Darkness and silence surround me, so heavy I can barely think.
My chest heaves violently as sweat clings to my skin.
For a second, I don’t know where I am.
Then the loft slowly comes into focus.
I blow out a shaky breath.
I’m home. Safe inside my cabin in Vermont.
Miles and years away from my past.
But it doesn’t feel safe. Not like it should. Because part of me is still trapped in that fucking house.
“Fuck,” I rasp.
I drag both hands down my face, breathing hard.
In.
Out.
It doesn’t help. Nothing ever really does.
Except—
My jaw tightens.
Except her.
Before I can stop myself, I’m out of bed and taking the stairs.
The cabin is dark and quiet as I make my way down the hallway.
I’m not thinking. Because if I do, I’ll stop.
And right now, I don’t want to stop.
Peyton’s bedroom door is cracked open slightly.
I peer inside.
Warm light from the moon spills across her blankets. She’s asleep on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Something in my chest twists painfully.
I step inside before I can talk myself out of it, staring at her in the darkness. The way the glimmer of moonlight slices over her.
The light to my darkness.
And then her eyes snap open.
She blinks rapidly before sitting up.
Blue eyes land on me, sharp and alert. “What are you doing here, Daltyn?”
Shit.
Reality crashes back in.
I take a step backward.
Then another.
“I didn’t mean—” My voice sounds rough. Wrong. “I shouldn’t be here.”
I turn toward the door.
I need to leave. Now.
Before she sees too much.
“Stop.” Her voice is soft, but it hits me like a command.
I freeze.
I don’t turn around. I can’t face her.
Sheets rustle softly behind me. Bare feet lightly move against the floor, bringing her closer to me.
Every instinct in me screams to run.
“Daltyn…”
My gaze stays locked on the door. Panic rises.
Don’t look at her.
Don’t look into those eyes that see too damn much.
“Look at me. ”
I shake my head once, short and sharp. I can’t afford to. Not when everything inside me feels split wide open.
Gentle fingers touch my back, sliding up to my shoulders. One hand slowly moves to my jaw.
I flinch, but remain still.
It’s too much.
“Daltyn,” she whispers again. “Look at me.”
I shouldn’t.
God, I know I shouldn’t.
But I do anyway.
I slowly turn around, her hand moving with me.
I stop, studying her in the darkness.
She’s close enough that I can see every detail. The concern. Softness. Warmth.
She’s looking at me like I matter. Like I’m worth something.
“You’re hurting,” she says softly.
I swallow hard. My throat burns.
I don’t know how to explain this. How to explain the fear. The helplessness.
The constant terror that loving someone means eventually becoming the thing that destroys them.
I squeeze my eyes shut briefly.
And immediately see my mother crying.
My father raging.
The feeling of being too weak to stop any of it.
No.
I won’t do that to Peyton.
I won’t become him.
I won’t ? —
Arms suddenly wrap around me.
I go completely still.
My brain short-circuits for a second .
No one... no one has ever held me like this before.
“I don’t know what’s hurting you,” Peyton murmurs against my chest. “But I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
Something inside me cracks.
My arms move before I can stop them, wrapping around her. Pulling her closer and holding on too tightly. Like if I let go, I’ll completely fucking fall apart.
She doesn’t complain. Doesn’t pull away.
Her hand slides slowly up and down my back, steady and calming. Like she knows exactly what I need.
We stand there in the dark for a long time, just holding each other. Breathing together.
Eventually, she pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at me.
She’s giving me a different version of herself. Not the one who jokes and teases. Not the one trying to protect herself. A side of her seldom seen.
Soft. Open. Real.
“Nightmare?” she asks quietly.
I nod once. It’s all I can manage.
Her expression aches for me.
And somehow that hurts worse than pity ever could.
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
My breath catches. I stare at her.
Every survival instinct I have screams at me to say no. To walk away. To rebuild the distance before this becomes something irreversible.
But I’m so fucking tired.
Tired of fighting myself. Tired of pretending she doesn’t matter. Tired of carrying everything alone.
So I nod again.
She takes my hand and leads me to her bed .
I crawl into her bed, lying stiffly beside her at first, hyper-aware of everything.
Of her warmth. Of her scent. Of how dangerously right this feels.
Then she shifts closer.
And without even realizing it, I follow.
My head ends up against her chest.
Her fingers slide slowly into my hair, soothing, gentle strokes.
I go completely still.
And then… I let myself have this.
Let myself relax into her touch. Her comfort.
For the first time in my life, I’m not the one holding everything together. Not the one bracing for impact. Not the one trying to survive.
“I’ve got you,” Peyton whispers softly, her hand sliding down my back.
My eyes close.
This should terrify me.
This is how lines blur. This is how people become necessary. This is how someone gets hurt.
But wrapped in her arms, listening to her heartbeat beneath my ear… I feel calmer than I ever have in my entire life.
That should scare me the most. Because it means this isn’t just about protection anymore. It’s deeper than that now.
And I don’t know how the hell to stop it.
My grip tightens slightly on her just before sleep drags me under again.