55. Daltyn
DALTYN
I don’t sleep.
I try.
God, I try.
But every time I close my eyes, I see Ethan flinch.
I hear my father’s voice.
I feel bruises aching beneath my skin that disappeared years ago.
The loft feels too small tonight. Too quiet.
I sit on the edge of the bed with my elbows braced against my knees while darkness presses heavily around me.
The cabin creaks softly beneath the mountain wind outside.
Normally, I like the quiet.
Tonight it feels like I’m drowning.
My jaw tightens as I drag both hands down my face.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The question loops endlessly through my head.
Because the second I saw those bruises, rage took over so fast it scared me.
Not anger. Rage .
The kind that blackens vision and sharpens instincts and whispers violence into your bloodstream.
The same kind my father carried.
Nausea twists violently in my stomach.
I shove upright and pace the loft, restless and agitated.
I want to crawl out of my own skin.
The worst part? Some dark, broken piece of me still wishes I had hit that guy.
The thought burns like acid in my chest.
Jesus Christ.
I stop near the loft railing overlooking the lower level of the cabin.
Everything downstairs is dark now except for the faint kitchen light Peyton left on.
The sight of it hurts unexpectedly.
She always leaves a light on now.
She’s turned this place into something alive without even realizing it.
And all I can think is that I’m going to ruin it.
The thought follows me everywhere now.
You’ll ruin her, too.
My chest tightens hard enough to ache.
Before I can stop myself, I head downstairs quietly. The cabin floor creaks beneath my bare feet as I move toward the hallway. Toward her room.
I tell myself I’m only checking to make sure she isn’t having another nightmare.
That’s all this is.
Nothing more.
But deep down?
I know that’s bullshit.
Because the truth is—I just need to see her.
Need to know she’s okay .
Need to know something good still exists tonight.
The bedroom door is partially open.
Soft moonlight spills across the floor.
I stop in the doorway, forgetting how to breathe.
Peyton sleeps curled beneath the blankets, wearing one of my sweatshirts. Her hair fans across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
She looks peaceful. Soft. Safe.
The sight hits me like a punch straight to the ribs.
She looks so fucking innocent lying there. Not weak. Just untouched by the ugliness inside me. Untainted by darkness and ghosts.
Suddenly, all I can think about is the difference between us.
Peyton brings warmth into rooms without trying.
People gravitate toward her. Smile around her. Trust her.
Meanwhile, I spend entire charity events trying not to put someone through a fucking wall because they grabbed a kid too hard.
The image of his hand on Ethan's shoulder slices through me. It was a warning not to tell. A promise of even worse abuse if he dared open his mouth.
I know it all too well.
The contrast makes something ugly twist beneath my ribs.
She stirs slightly, a soft sound coming from her lips before she quiets.
I stare at the angel lying on the bed, her blonde hair turned silver by the moonlight glowing through the window.
Something sharp twists inside my chest, like a blade through my heart .
You’re not good enough for her. The thought is cold. Absolute.
You never will be.
I stare at her for too long.
Long enough that my chest physically hurts from it.
Because I want impossible things now.
I want mornings with her.
Coffee together.
The sound of her laughter floating through my kitchen.
Movie nights on the couch.
Her legs tangled with mine beneath the blanket.
I want her woven into every quiet part of my life so deeply that the idea of losing her already feels unbearable.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
Because men like me don’t get soft things.
Men like me destroy them.
My throat tightens painfully.
Peyton shifts slightly, rolling onto her back. Her lips part, a soft sigh escaping before she settles deeper beneath the blankets.
My entire body relaxes at the sound.
The realization nearly fucking wrecks me.
I shouldn’t be here.
I definitely shouldn’t be standing in her doorway at two in the morning staring at her like she’s the only thing keeping me human.
Because maybe she is.
But I can’t make myself leave yet.
Not when this might be the closest I ever get to something this good.