54. Daltyn
DALTYN
The drive home from the charity event is too quiet.
Even though the radio is playing a classic rock station, the silence between us is loud. Charged.
Peyton’s eyes bore into my profile like she’s studying pieces of a puzzle, trying to put them together.
After about five minutes, she reaches over and turns the radio down.
While I’m aware she turned it down, I’m too distracted by Ethan’s face to focus on what I know is coming.
All I can see are the bruises on his wrist.
The way he flinched.
That tiny step he took toward me like some part of him already knew I was safer than the man holding his shoulder too hard.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel.
Beside me, Peyton shifts slightly. “You okay?”
“No.” The answer comes out automatically.
I clench my jaw, wishing I hadn’t let that slip out. Being too honest usually results in more questions.
Things I don’t want to answer .
Silence settles heavily inside the SUV after that.
Streetlights flash across the windshield while darkness swallows the mountain roads around us.
It’s as though Peyton knows me well enough not to ask questions, even though she’s desperate for answers. I can feel it in the curious stare still directed at me.
But instead of focusing on her, all I can hear is my father’s voice saying, “He bruises easily.”
It was bullshit.
Adults refused to look deeper to see the monster beneath the sheep’s clothing.
“You knew,” Peyton says quietly after a few minutes have passed.
I stare straight ahead. “Knew what?”
“That he was scared.”
Something sharp twists beneath my ribs.
She noticed that, too.
I exhale slowly through my nose. “You don’t forget what that looks like.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Not because Peyton will use it against me. Because I hate admitting any of this out loud.
The silence that follows feels different now. Heavier. More aware.
Peyton turns slightly toward me in her seat. “Daltyn?—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” The words come out colder than I intend.
I feel her recoil slightly beside me. Guilt slams into me.
But the problem is, if I start talking about this? I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
And I can’t fucking breathe right now as it is.
The rest of the drive passes in strained silence .
By the time we pull into the cabin driveway, my chest feels packed full of broken glass.
I barely remember parking.
Peyton unbuckles slowly beside me. “Do you want me to make coffee or something?”
Jesus Christ.
Even now, she’s trying to take care of me.
The realization nearly destroys what little control I have left.
“I’m fine.”
It’s a lie.
I’m fucking drowning.
I climb out of the SUV before she can say anything else.
Cold mountain air punches into my lungs as I stalk toward the cabin. My pulse pounds harder with every step.
The front door barely closes behind me before memories start crashing harder.
My father grabbing my arm hard enough to bruise.
My mother crying quietly in the bathroom.
Broken dishes littering the kitchen floor.
Fear permanently in my stomach, eating me from the inside out.
I hear Peyton following behind me, her footsteps soft and careful. Like she’s trying not to make too much noise. Trying not to upset me.
That somehow makes it worse.
Because she’s good.
Too fucking good.
But my biggest fear hounds me.
What if I become him anyway?
The thought hits hard enough to make nausea twist violently in my stomach.
I can’t be near anyone right now .
Especially not her.
Without looking back, I head for the stairs leading up to the loft.
“Daltyn?”
I stop for half a second, my hand tightening on the railing.
Don’t look at her.
Because if I do, I might break apart completely.
“I just need a minute.” My voice sounds rough. Wrong.
Then I keep walking.
I disappear into the loft without looking back, leaving Peyton standing alone downstairs while the silence swallows the cabin whole.