50. Peyton
PEYTON
I wake up disoriented.
For one blissfully peaceful second, I don’t remember the nightmare.
Then I feel the warmth pressed solidly against my side.
My eyes blink open slowly... and land on Daltyn.
Oh no.
At some point during the night, I apparently fell asleep half on top of him like an emotionally unstable weighted blanket.
One of his massive arms is wrapped around my waist while my face is buried against his chest.
His warm chest smells like body wash, a hint of sweat, and safety.
Which honestly explains absolutely nothing about why I’m suddenly incapable of breathing normally.
My brain short-circuits when I realize my hand is wrapped around something hard. Very hard.
I glance down, realizing my hand is wrapped around his hard-on like I’m afraid he’ll disappear.
It’s mortifying .
I should let go.
And I will.
In a minute.
I carefully tilt my head upward, peering at him.
Daltyn’s still asleep. Dark lashes rest over his cheeks. His blond hair is messy. And his face is soft with sleep.
Unfortunately for me? Morning-stubbled goalie after emotional vulnerability last night might actually be my final cause of death.
I should move.
Right now.
And I should definitely let go of his hard-on.
Instead, I stare at him for another five full seconds like a creep.
Then his eyes open, locking with mine.
There goes my remaining dignity.
Neither of us moves.
His arm stays around my waist. Mine stays wrapped around him.
Something warm and dangerously quiet stretches between us in the early morning light.
“Morning,” he says roughly. The deep, sleepy rasp in his voice does genuinely terrible things to my nervous system.
“Morning,” I whisper back.
His eyes drift briefly downward to where my hand is curled around him like I never want to let go.
“Um... Peyton.”
Heat floods my face.
“I can explain.”
One dark blond brow lifts slightly.
“I had a nightmare. ”
“I remember. But that’s not an explanation for where your hand is.”
I finally snatch my hand away. “It was an accident.”
A smirk curls his lips. “You accidentally grabbed my cock?”
My face is an inferno. “I... uh... I can explain.”
“Really?”
“I’m not a creepy cock toucher. I swear.”
BANG. BANG. BANG.
We both jolt violently. My hand falls away from his dick.
“DALTYN!” Gram yells through the door. “OPEN UP! I brOUGHT EMOTIONAL SUPPORT MUFFINS!”
I close my eyes and groan.
Of course she did.
Daltyn drops his forehead briefly against my shoulder like he’s reconsidering every decision that led him here.
The knocking gets louder.
“IF YOU’RE HAVING MORNING SEX, JUST SAY THAT!”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Daltyn drags a hand down his face. “I’m gonna move to another country.”
“TOO LATE!” Gram yells through the door. “I ALREADY SAW YOUR SUV. I KNOW YOU’RE HERE!”
A muffled male voice follows. “Should I kick the door open?”
Oh no. Connor’s with her.
Daltyn goes completely still beside me. “Why is Connor here?”
“GRAM SAID THERE WERE MUFFINS!” he yells .
“I hate all of you,” Daltyn says toward the ceiling.
Another voice joins in. It’s Ford. “Connor, stop trying to shoulder-check the cabin.”
“I WANT THE MUFFINS.”
I make the mistake of laughing. Daltyn looks down at me. Something in his expression softens at the sound.
Which somehow embarrasses me more than lying on him. But not as much as grabbing his dick.
The pounding starts again.
“Daltyn!” Connor shouts. “Open this door before I tell Peyton about the time you cried during Homeward Bound!”
Daltyn looks horrified.
Gram gasps dramatically from outside. “HE CRIED? I’ve never seen the goalie show emotion.”
“EVERYBODY CRIED!” Daltyn roars back.
I’m laughing hard enough now that tears sting my eyes.
And just like that, some of the heaviness from last night finally starts to loosen.
“We’d better let them in,” Daltyn says. “We won’t get any peace otherwise.”
The second Daltyn opens the cabin door, the chaos floods inside.
Gram marches in first, carrying two paper bags, a tray of coffee balanced in one hand, and enough chaotic energy to power a small city. When she sets the paper bags and coffee on the island, I see the tote bag slung over her shoulder.
What in the world is in that?
Never mind.
I don’t want to know.
Connor follows directly behind her, holding what appears to be an entire box of muffins against his chest like a hostage situation.
Ford trails in last, looking deeply exhausted already.
“Why do you all travel in packs?” I ask weakly.
“For safety,” Ford says dryly.
“Against what?” I ask.
He points at Connor and Gram simultaneously.
Honestly? Fair.
Gram stops dead the second she sees me standing near the couch, wearing Daltyn’s oversized T-shirt.
Oh no.
Her eyes slowly widen.
Then they narrow.
Then widen again.
“Oh my God.”
Daltyn steps in front of me like he’s trying to block a sniper shot. “Gram.”
“She’s wearing his shirt.”
Connor gasps so loudly I physically flinch. “Holy shit. Did you two?—"
“I’m leaving,” Daltyn mutters.
“No one’s leaving,” Gram says firmly. “We’re unpacking this.”
“There’s nothing to unpack,” I say quickly.
All four of them just stare at me.
Connor points dramatically between Daltyn and me. “You slept in his shirt.”
“I had a nightmare,” I say defensively.
Connor lowers the muffin box slightly. “Oh.” Instant guilt flashes across his face.
Gram’s expression softens.
Then, because she’s still Gram, she reaches into the tote bag and pulls out a giant fuzzy blanket covered in cartoon moose.
“I brought an emergency comfort blanket.” A wide smile is on her face. “Told you I have ESP.”
Dear God.
“Gram,” I say, trying to avoid looking at the blanket. “You didn’t need to?—"
“It heals emotional distress,” Gram says seriously.
“That’s not medically accurate,” Daltyn says.
“Neither was disco, but I survived the seventies.”
Connor nods solemnly, like this makes perfect sense.
Ford looks dead inside.
Gram bustles toward me and wraps the blanket around my shoulders before I can protest.
“There,” she says proudly. “Now you look emotionally fortified.”
I don’t even know what that means.
Then Connor squints at Daltyn. “Wait.”
Daltyn looks suspicious.
Connor points accusingly. “Did she sleep in your bed?”
Silence.
Daltyn drags a hand down his face. “That’s none of your business.”
Connor’s jaw drops.
Gram clutches her chest.
Ford whispers, “Dear God.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I blurt out. “He slept in mine.”
Daltyn’s head slowly turns toward me.
I realize my mistake immediately.
Connor looks moments away from cardiac arrest. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “I knew it. Ford, you owe me a hundred bucks.”
“We’re not—” I start .
“I gave her my shirt because of the nightmare,” Daltyn says flatly.
“I’ll bet you did.” Connor grins. “You were cuddling in her bed, weren’t you?” He wiggles his brows. “Was this after some hot sex?”
“I’m jumping off the balcony,” I announce.
“T’ll join you,” Ford says tiredly.
Gram wipes fake tears from her eyes. “This is the most beautiful morning of my life.”
Daltyn looks genuinely murderous now.
Unfortunately, that only encourages Connor.
“Brother,” he says emotionally. “You’re basically a Hallmark movie with anger issues.”
“We didn’t have sex,” Daltyn hisses, clearly losing his patience.
“He’s right. We didn’t.”
Gram peers at me, and my face burns when I see the twinkle in her eyes. “No... but something happened.”
“Nothing happened.” I take a step back, bumping into the sectional. “Really. Other than I accidentally grabbed his cock.”
Oh God.
Why the hell did I say that?
Gram starts laughing and pumps her fist in the air. “Atta girl.”
Daltyn folds his arms over his chest, smirking.
Connor stares at me before bursting out laughing. “You accidentally grabbed him? How do you accidentally?—”
“I was asleep. I woke?—”
“Oh, fuck. We interrupted them,” Ford says. “Told you this was a bad idea.”
Connor is doubled over, laughing. “We cock blocked her. ”
Gram shakes her head. “Sadly, it appears we did.”
“It’s your fault,” Ford points at her. “You were following us on our run in those damn pink spandex tights. And a shirt that said, ‘Older and more experienced.’”
"Which is true," Gram says, pointing a finger at him. "I don't know why you made me change."
And somehow—despite the embarrassment, the teasing, and the fact that I may never emotionally recover from this conversation—I realize something terrifying.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m where I belong.