25. Daltyn
DALTYN
I should’ve known something was wrong the second Connor started typing in all caps.
That man only uses full capitalization for three things: goals, fights, and absolute bullshit.
Unfortunately for me… this falls into the third category.
I stare down at my phone as messages continue to flood the screen.
Connor: LOOK AT THE WAY HE’S LOOKING AT HER
Jake: Bro’s carrying shopping bags like a husband!
Cole: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!
Ford: I’m going to need everyone to calm down.
Connor: NO OUR GOALIE’S IN LOVE !
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, trying not to shift into full-panic mode.
I swallow hard. There’s a buzzing in my ears, and my stomach plummets.
Shit just got real.
“I need to get up,” I say to her.
She glances over her shoulder at me, blue eyes wide.
I lift her, setting her onto the sectional, then begin pacing.
I jab at the screen harder than necessary. The panic courses through me like shockwaves.
Me: Delete this chat!
Connor: Already screenshotted it. For memories
I swear I’m going to kill him.
He has no idea the problem this causes. No fucking clue about my past... which just rammed face-first into a viral relationship.
I open the article. The second the page loads, my stomach drops.
There I am outside the lingerie store. Wearing a black hoodie with my ball cap pulled low. Peyton’s shopping bags are clenched in my fist like I’m preparing for war instead of carrying lace and silk through downtown Vermont.
And Peyton is looking up at me, that smile that only I can put on her face. She’s laughing at my reaction to being in the lingerie shop with her.
And me... I swallow over the lump in my throat. It doesn’t move.
I'm staring at her like a man with real feelings for her .
Any fucking fool with eyes can see it. Plain as day.
The headline blares across the top.
GREEN MOUNTAIN AVALANCHE GOALIE DALTYN GUYER SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY WOMAN
Fuck.
I scroll.
Big mistake.
The comments are already unhinged.
That’s his girlfriend. No way he carries bags for just anyone.
He looks so in love. Sigh!
Why is that hot, though?
Goalie’s gone soft
“Soft?” I mutter darkly.
Peyton snorts beside me.
Connor sends another message.
Connor: Check Hockey Hub. It gets worse.
My eyes narrow. “That sentence should never exist.”
But I open it anyway. Big mistake. My blood pressure spikes.
The screen fills with another photo.
This one is older. I recognize the scenery. It was taken outside the airport. The day I brought Peyton to Vermont to stay with me.
I blink at the image.
My arms are locked around Peyton as I carry her across the parking lot toward my SUV after she twisted her ankle.
Her face was buried against my neck.
My expression murderous. Possessive. Protective.
The article headline sits beneath it.
WHO’S THE MYSTERY GIRL IN THE ELUSIVE GOALIE’S ARMS?
My stomach twists.
Suddenly, I realize something that makes this whole situation infinitely worse.
I haven’t been paying attention. Not the way I normally do.
I’ve barely looked at media coverage lately. Barely checked social chatter. Barely monitored fan accounts.
Usually, I notice everything. It comes with the territory.
Especially as a goalie.
People watch goalies differently. Analyze us in ways they don’t with our teammates.
We’re expected to stay controlled. Locked down. Careful.
And lately? I’ve been so consumed by Peyton that I stopped paying attention to the outside world entirely.
A cold feeling crawls down my spine.
Because if random hockey accounts found these photos… Who else has?
My grip tightens around the phone.
If this keeps spreading and Landon finds out... fuck.
Landon pleaded out and is awaiting sentencing. I know he’s likely going away.
But now, with the coverage, a million questions swirl in my mind.
Could something change?
Could his lawyers find a way to use this?
I stiffen, my jaw clenching so hard I’m surprised I don’t hear my molars crack.
Peyton’s smile fades. “Daltyn?”
I shake my head, already opening every social app I’ve ignored for days.
Mentions.
Tags.
Hockey forums.
Fan edits.
TikTok clips.
The photos have spread everywhere.
Slow-motion edits set to music.
Comment threads dissecting every look between us.
Thousands of likes. Shares. The internet feeds on it like blood in the water.
My pulse pounds harder with every swipe. All I can think is that I should’ve been watching. I should’ve been paying attention.
My stomach twists harder as I stare at the airport photo that’s been going viral while I was oblivious.
Jesus Christ. The way I’m looking at her.
I look possessive. Protective. Completely gone for her.
The comments blur beneath the photo.
He’s obsessed with her.
That man is in LOVE.
He looks at her like she’s the only person in the world.
My chest goes tight enough to hurt. Because they’re not seeing something casual. They’re seeing exactly what I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become.
My father used to look at my mother like that. Like she belonged to him. Like he needed her to breathe. Like loving someone meant consuming them whole.
And I swore as a kid, while listening to them scream through thin apartment walls, that I would never become that man.
Never need someone enough to destroy myself over them. Never let a woman become the center of my goddamn world.
But staring at this photo… I already know I’m fucked.
Rage hits me so hard, my vision turns red.
Not because of the internet. Or the fans.
I’m mad at myself.
Like a trainwreck that I can’t look away from, I continue scrolling until... oh fuck.
My thumb freezes over the screen.
One account already tagged her.
A cold wave rolls through my chest.
The comments underneath are multiplying by the second.
“Does anyone know who she is?”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Wait—isn’t she the woman from Vegas?”
My pulse spikes.
Vegas. Where it all began.
I open the replies.
Most are bullshit. Speculation. Jokes.
But it only takes one person. One article. One tagged photo. One idiot trying to play internet detective.
Landon’s locked up, awaiting trial. But prison doesn’t stop people from hearing things. Doesn’t stop the obsession. Doesn’t stop a man like him from learning her name is suddenly attached to mine across every hockey account online.
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache.
Before me? Peyton could quietly disappear.
Now she’s becoming visible .
And somehow that realization terrifies me almost as much as the look on my own face in that photo.
Like I’d burn the world down before I let anyone touch her.
Like I already belong to her.