34. Peyton
PEYTON
I do ankle circles clockwise, then counterclockwise. So far, the first day without the medical boot is off to a great start.
A long sigh comes out of me.
Really? This is what you’re focusing on?
Daltyn left for training camp over an hour ago, and so far, all I’ve done is rinse our coffee mugs, load the dishwasher, then sit on the sectional and do some calf raises and ankle circles.
Pathetic.
Still, it’s distracting enough that I’m not looking at social media, which is a huge plus. Every time I get on my socials, I end up spiraling. The number of posts and videos I've been tagged in nearly makes my head spin around like I'm starring in The Exorcist .
It’s exhausting.
I should check my emails to see if there are any updates about my job. But I’m afraid of what might be in there.
Hockey fans are relentless. Especially female fans. Half of them keep telling me how lucky I am and asking when we’re getting engaged, while the other half is sending me death threats because I “locked down the most eligible goalie in the NHL.”
A key rattles in the lock, then Thelma steps inside. Daltyn told me she’d be arriving at ten. I had no idea the morning had been going so fast... even though I haven’t done much of anything.
“Morning, Ms. Peyton,” Thelma says with a smile. “I see you’re not wearing the boot anymore.”
I glance down at my sneaker-clad feet. “It feels wonderful to have matching shoes. And the best news? So far, no pain or swelling.”
“Oh, that is great news.” She sets her purse on the island. “I’m going to start on the laundry. Let me know if there’s anything you want washed.”
I shake my head. “Everything’s in the hamper.”
“Great. Makes my job easier.”
I grab my phone and lie on the sectional. I’m not used to having so much free time, and frankly, I’m a bit out of sorts from it.
I notice a text from Allie. I brace myself before opening it, already knowing I’m not going to like what she has to say.
Allie: Did you look at Instagram today? Someone posted another shot of Daltyn looking at you outside the lingerie store. Girl, that man is in love!
My traitorous heart beats faster in my chest even as my brain holds up a giant red flag.
I need to remember this isn’t real.
Daltyn was just being protective and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, which happened to hard-launch our “relationship” to the public.
Even though we don’t have one .
I don’t know exactly what we are.
Several times, I opened my mouth to ask, then closed it. I suspect that putting Daltyn on the spot will only result in me hurting when he tells me we aren’t anything.
Which is ridiculous. Because I shouldn’t care.
Not when this entire situation started because Landon was acting insane, followed by Daltyn deciding he needed to hover over me like an emotionally unavailable bodyguard with anger issues.
Not exactly normal relationship progression.
My phone buzzes again.
Harper: PLEASE tell me you saw the newest hockey page post?
I close my eyes.
Nope. Not opening it.
My eyes open when my phone beeps.
Crap! Harper sent a screenshot.
Against my better judgment, I click on it. I spiral over it for a few seconds before sighing and opening Instagram to get a better look. If I’m going to go all in, I might as well see the original.
It’s another photo from outside the lingerie store.
Specifically, a zoomed-in shot of Daltyn glaring over the top of my head while carrying multiple shopping bags like an aggressively possessive personal assistant.
The caption reads:
“Green Mountain Avalanche goalie Daltyn Guyer was spotted looking one inconvenience away from committing a felony for his girl.”
Oh, God.
Even worse, there are over 12,000 comments below it.
My stomach drops.
Harper: The comments are feral.
Harper: I’m crying. One woman said she’d let him lock her in a cabin for the winter.
I swallow hard, reading the comments.
The terrifying part isn’t the internet thinking Daltyn is in love with me. It’s the tiny part of me starting to hope they’re right.
Before I can respond, another text appears.
Allie: Connor texted. The team is giving Daltyn a bunch of shit.
I bury my face in the couch cushion.
Until my phone beeps again and curiosity wins out.
Harper: Jake changed Daltyn’s locker room nameplate to “Peyton’s Husband.”
My jaw drops.
Me: HE DID WHAT?
Allie: Connor says Daltyn ripped it off and threw it. Then Connor put it back.
Even though I can only imagine how irritated Daltyn is, my traitorous heart does an embarrassing little flutter at the words, “Peyton’s husband.”
Harper: Men truly never mature.
Despite the locker room chaos, Daltyn is still one of the most emotionally steady men I’ve ever met. Which somehow makes all of this worse.
Me: You’re all enjoying this way too much.
Harper: To be fair, Peyton… He did take you lingerie shopping like an emotionally unstable bodyguard.
Allie: And the way he looks at you??? Girl.
I stare at the messages. Then the photos of Daltyn. The one where he’s looking at me, a wide smile on my face, has my heart fluttering. So does the one where he looks furious enough to kill someone for breathing too close to me.
The scary part?
It doesn’t look fake.
That’s what keeps messing with my head.
Not the posts. Not the comments. Not even the internet, which keeps calling me Mrs. Goalie.
It’s him.
The way he touches me. Looks at me. Protects me.
Like somewhere along the way… he forgot we were pretending.
I groan and toss my phone onto the couch cushion beside me.
“I’m living in a nightmare,” I mutter.
From the laundry room, Thelma chuckles softly. “You’ll survive.”
Easy for her to say. She isn’t currently being complimented and cyberbullied by strangers at the same time.
A while later, Thelma walks back into the living room carrying a neatly folded stack of laundry .
“Everything should be done,” she says. “I left Mr. Daltyn’s clothes in his room.”
Mr. Daltyn.
The way she says it makes him sound like a mysterious widower in a Hallmark movie instead of a terrifying NHL goalie who looks at people like he’s deciding whether he should bury them in the woods for getting close to me.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching for my stack of clothes.
The second I do, something black and lacy slips from the pile.
My entire soul leaves my body as they hit the floor.
The black lace panties.
The same pair Daltyn took from my drawer my first day here. The same pair he shoved into his pocket while looking completely unhinged.
Heat floods my face so fast I nearly catch fire.
Thelma blinks down at them.
Then at me.
Then back at the panties.
“Oh,” she says.
OH?
OH???
I snatch them up so fast I nearly dislocate my shoulder.
“I—these are—” My brain completely short-circuits.
Thelma’s mouth twitches suspiciously like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Well,” she says carefully. “Those are very pretty.”
I want the earth to open and swallow me whole.
Before I can form a response, a loud knock echoes through the cabin. Then a voice yells through the wooden door. “PAYTON! OPEN UP! I HAVE NEWS!”
No. Absolutely not.
I can’t deal with her right now .
Thelma’s eyes widen. “Oh, dear.”
I clutch the panties against my chest like evidence in a murder trial and head toward the door before realizing what I’m holding.
Horrified, I turn around, grab the stack of clothes, and shove them under my folded sweatshirt, leaving them on the island.
Then I yank open the door.
Gram barrels inside wearing giant sunglasses, hot pink leggings, and enough excitement to power a small city.
“THERE SHE IS!” she shouts.
I close my eyes briefly. “Hi, Gram.”
She grabs both my arms dramatically. “Did you SEE the photos?”
“I’m trying not to,” I murmur.
“Well, that’s impossible because your broody mountain goalie boyfriend is currently breaking the internet.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Sweetheart, that man looked ready to fight a parking meter for being in your way.”
My face burns.
Gram gasps suddenly. “Oh! Wait until you hear this one.” She digs through her oversized purse and pulls out her phone. “One woman commented—and I quote—‘I’d let that goalie ruin my life.’”
Thelma makes a strangled sound that suspiciously resembles laughter.
Gram finally notices her standing there. “Hello.”
I sigh. “Thelma, this is Ford’s Gram...” I pause, not knowing her actual name. Everyone has always called her Gram.
“Lucinda.” Gram holds out her hand, and Thelma takes it .
“Hello, Ms. Lucinda. I’m Thelma. I work for Mr. Daltyn.”
“Oh, don’t give me that Ms. Lucinda nonsense. Makes me sound dead.” Gram points dramatically toward me. “Can you believe our goalie finally fell in love?”
I gape at Gram. OUR goalie?
Thelma smiles softly. “He does seem happier lately.”
I blink. “What?”
Gram nods vigorously. “Oh, absolutely. Before this? That man stomped around looking like a thundercloud with unresolved emotional trauma.”
“That’s because he’s a goalie,” I mutter.
“No,” Gram says. “That’s because he was lonely. Now, he’s in love... even if he’s still a bit emotionally constipated.”
I choke on air.
Thelma fully laughs this time.
“Stick with me, Thelma,” Gram says to her. “I know all the juicy gossip.”
“I’m sure,” Thelma says, looking uncomfortable.
“Let me fill you in.” Gram plants a hand on her chest proudly. “Daltyn Guyer has been one bad day away from a complete emotional breakdown since the moment Peyton walked into his life.”
I raise my brows. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”
Gram laughs. “Much better than a stoic goalie.”
My heart does a dangerous little flip.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I can’t do this right now.
“That’s dramatic,” I say instead.
“Oh, honey.” Gram pats my arm. “He bought you lingerie.”
My soul tries to leave my body for the second time today .
From behind me, Thelma says mildly, “The black lace was especially pretty.”
I freeze.
Gram’s eyes widen.
Slowly… dramatically… her head swivels toward me.
“He bought you lingerie?” she whispers.
Oh my God.
“No,” I repeat. “I mean, he did. But the panties Thelma is referring to are ones he stole... I mean?—”
Fuck. My face is on fire.
I stare at my feet, unable to look at Gram or Thelma.
“He stole your panties… then bought you more?” Gram repeats weakly, like she’s witnessing the greatest love story of her generation.
“I’m going to pass away,” I whisper.
Gram presses a hand to her chest. “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
Thelma is laughing so hard she has to lean against the counter.
I seriously consider throwing myself off the roof.