29. Daltyn
DALTYN
I wake slowly.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am. Or what’s going on.
And then I remember the nightmare.
The blood.
The knife.
My mother’s voice.
My inability to breathe.
Panic clawed me awake last night, my heart thumping and my pulse racing.
But this morning feels different. Warmth and soft blankets surround me. Steady breathing fills my ears. The faint scent of vanilla and coconut wrapped around me like a comfort I'd never known I needed.
Peyton.
The realization hits before I even open my eyes.
My entire body goes still.
Oh, fuck.
My eyes fly open .
I’m in her bed.
My head rests against her chest, one of her legs tangled loosely with mine. At some point during the night, my arm wrapped around her waist, like my subconscious refused to let her go.
And she let me.
For one brief second, I consider slipping out of bed before she wakes up. Before the panic returns. Before I ruin this.
But then, soft fingers drift through my hair.
My breath catches.
“You’re thinking too much,” Peyton murmurs sleepily.
My chest tightens painfully.
I slowly lift my head just enough to look at her.
Morning light spills softly across her face. Her hair’s a mess around the pillow, blue eyes still heavy with sleep. She looks warm. Soft. Safe.
And somehow, she’s calm.
No fear. No awkwardness. No regret.
Like waking up with me wrapped around her is the most natural thing in the world.
That realization nearly undoes me.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
No. Not even remotely.
Because nothing has ever felt this good before. And that’s exactly the fucking problem.
My thumb brushes unconsciously against her waist beneath her oversized T-shirt.
“I shouldn’t have come in here last night,” I say roughly.
Her brows pull together slightly. “Do you regret it?”
“No.” The answer comes out too fast. Honest.
Something warm flickers across her expression.
I swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of how tangled together we are. How close she is. How easy it would be to stay right here. Dangerously easy.
My eyes drift briefly to her mouth.
Her lips part slightly.
The air between us shifts, heavy and quiet.
My pulse starts pounding harder against my ribs.
Her hand slides slowly down my arm, fingertips brushing over my skin lightly enough to completely wreck me.
“Did you sleep okay after?” she asks softly.
I stare at her for a second before answering. “Better than I have in years.”
The confession hangs between us, raw and real.
Peyton’s expression softens so much it physically hurts to look at her.
And suddenly I understand something that terrifies me more than the nightmares ever could.
I could get addicted to this. To her. To waking up feeling human instead of haunted.
My jaw tightens slightly.
This is dangerous. So fucking dangerous.
But when Peyton’s fingers slide through my hair again, my eyes close briefly anyway.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember…
I let myself enjoy being held.