33. Daltyn
DALTYN
Training camp officially starts today.
Which means my peaceful existence is over. Not that it’s been peaceful lately.
I pull into the player lot at Summit Arena while sports radio blares through my speakers.
Unfortunately for me?
They’re talking about me.
“—fans are losing their minds after Green Mountain Avalanche goalie Daltyn Guyer appeared to confirm his relationship with Peyton Sinclair during a live Zoom interview yesterday?—”
I shut the truck off before I have to hear another second of it.
I glare at the windshield. “I’m never speaking again,” I mutter to myself.
My jaw tightens.
Because I meant what I said, even though I shouldn’t have said it.
I exhale. I can’t have her. No matter how much I want her .
I scrub my hands over my face, replaying her words when we had coffee together this morning.
“I liked hearing you say it.” Her cheeks were pink as she repeated my words. “She’s with me.”
My entire brain short-circuited.
I just blinked at her, shocked and a little feral from her confession. It almost made me do something I’d regret later, like carry her to my loft, undress her slowly, and sink inside her until everything disappeared except her and me.
Before I can spiral further, movement catches my eye near the arena entrance. Connor points at me, a huge smile on his face.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “He’s starting already.”
Connor cups his hands around his mouth dramatically. “COME ON, LOVERBOY. QUIT LUSTING OVER YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND GET INSIDE.”
My soul leaves my body.
Jake appears beside him. “HE’S PROBABLY STALKING HER SOCIAL MEDIA AS WE SPEAK.”
“I’m not?—”
Connor points aggressively. “HE’S DENYING IT LESS NOW!”
Cole nearly folds in half laughing.
Ford walks up, carrying his coffee. “Can you idiots maybe wait until he actually gets out of the vehicle before acting feral?”
“No,” Connor answers.
I grab my hockey bag from the backseat, already knowing it’s going to be a long day.
Training camp smells like sharpened skates, fresh ice, sweat, and impending psychological damage.
The second I step into the locker room, chaos erupts. Jake has an amused smile on his face, eyes twinkling with devilish delight, which is never good.
I head to my locker and see the nameplate taped over my name. It says “Peyton’s Husband” on it.
I glare at Jake, who is now doubled over laughing. I yank it off and throw it on the floor. “So funny.”
Cole smirks from beside him. “I’m amused.”
I roll my eyes and grab my stick, trying to swat Jake with it.
When I turn back around, Connor is taping the nameplate back on my locker.
“Give me that.” I snatch it from his hand, open my locker, and toss it inside.
Connor slams his hand against a locker. “I thought it was clever.”
Jake points at me. “The goalie is a protective boyfriend!” He gyrates his hips. “Who would’ve thought you had it in you, Mr. Stoic?”
“Very funny.” I glare at them before muttering, “I hate all of you.”
Cole grins. “No you don’t.”
Unfortunately, that’s true.
But I should hate them.
I toss my bag into my stall and start gearing up while trying to ignore the idiots surrounding me.
That lasts approximately twelve seconds.
“Did you practice that line beforehand?” Connor asks.
“What line?”
Connor deepens his voice dramatically. “‘She’s with me.’ ”
The entire locker room erupts while I contemplate murder.
Ford sits beside me, calmly tying his skates. “To be fair, it was objectively romantic.”
I raise my brows. “Objectively romantic?”
He shrugs. “Harper expands my vocabulary.”
I shake my head, staring at my locker, wondering if I can climb inside. “It wasn’t romantic.”
“It sounded pretty romantic,” Jake argues. “I watched it.”
Cole nods solemnly. “Honestly, I ovulated a little.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ford mutters.
The locker room door opens again before I can respond. Coach Decker walks in. Instantly, the room goes silent.
That’s the effect he has.
Blunt. Mean. Former enforcer energy.
Allegedly, the man once got suspended for breaking somebody’s nose with a hockey stick.
His eyes sweep the room once before landing directly on me. “Well,” he says dryly. “Nice to know our goalie finally discovered women.”
The room explodes again. Even Ford laughs.
Traitorous bastards.
“Coach,” I warn.
Decker smirks slightly. “Relax, Guyer. Word of advice, though: stop glaring at reporters like you’re planning a homicide.”
Connor points dramatically. “He looked like he was.”
“I hate this team.”
“You ARE this team,” Jake reminds me.
Coach claps loudly once. “Enough. Gear up. New blood’s joining us this season, and if any of you embarrass me today, I’ll bag skate you until you cry. ”
The locker room collectively groans.
Then the door opens again. A tall guy walks in carrying a Seattle Vengeance gear bag. He has dark hair, a sharp jaw, and a confident posture.
I recognize him right away.
Easton Wilde. The right winger recently drafted from Seattle.
And unfortunately for him, former teammate of Landon Cross.
My mood darkens.
Easton glances around the room before his eyes land on me. Recognition flashes in them. “Guyer.”
“Wilde.”
Connor’s eyes dart between us. “Ohhhhhh,” he whispers.
I flash Connor a look. For once, he listens and shuts his big mouth.
Easton drops his bag into the empty stall beside Jake’s. “Good to finally be here.”
Coach points toward him. “Wilde played top-line minutes in Seattle. Fast hands. Good instincts. Try not to corrupt him.”
“No promises,” Cole says.
Easton smirks slightly, then looks back at me. “Didn’t expect your offseason to become national entertainment.”
Connor starts choking.
Jake makes a wounded noise.
Ford physically turns away to hide his laughter.
I stare at Easton. “Careful. You’re not off to a good start with me.”
His brows lift slightly. Not challenging, just surprised.
I realize how insane I probably sound. But when it comes to Peyton, I can’t help myself .
Easton studies me for another second before understanding flickers across his face.
Oh. He knows exactly why I reacted. And somehow that irritates me even more.
He leans against his stall casually. “Cross was a nightmare in Seattle.”
The room stills.
My jaw tightens.
Easton continues calmly. “Nobody liked him.”
Something cold twists through my chest. Because hearing someone else confirm it makes everything Peyton survived feel even more real somehow.
Connor’s expression shifts subtly, too, becoming more serious.
Easton glances toward me carefully. “For what it’s worth… she seems happier here.”
My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Before I can answer, Coach Decker blows his whistle sharply.
“Enough social hour. Move your asses.”
Everyone starts filing toward the ice.
I grab my mask and gloves before following them out.
But the second I step onto the ice, my eyes automatically lift toward the stands where Peyton sat with Harper and Allie the last time we were here.
I’m so distracted, I’m not paying any attention to what I should be.
“Guyer!” Coach Decker’s voice cracks across the rink.
I snap my attention forward. But it’s too late.
A puck rockets past my blocker and slams into the back of the net.
The entire rink goes quiet.
Coach stares at me from center ice. “You planning on playing hockey today,” he yells, “or are you gonna spend the whole fucking season distracted by your girlfriend?”
The entire team erupts.
Embarrassment washes over me.
This never happens to me.
When I’m on the ice, I’m focused on hockey. Nothing else.
I square my shoulders. “I’m playing, Coach,” I yell back, determination in my voice.
Coach Decker points toward the crease with his whistle. “Then lock the fuck in, Guyer.”
“Yes, Coach.”
The guys are still laughing as they reset for the drill.
Connor skates past me, grinning like an asshole. “Love really is beautiful.”
“Shut up.”
Jake points his stick at me. “You used to glare at us for breathing too loudly. Now you’re daydreaming on the ice.”
“I wasn’t daydreaming.”
“You were staring into the stands like a man waiting for his wife to return from war,” Cole says.
“I hate all of you.”
“Get your head in the game, Guyer,” Ford calls. He nods at me, the look on his face saying he understands what I’m going through. At least, as far as being distracted by a woman is concerned.
I skate backward into the crease, resetting my stance while Coach blows the whistle again.
Focus.
That’s all I need to do.
Focus.
The puck drops.
Connor cuts left .
Jake drives the net.
Easton takes the pass and snaps a quick shot high blocker side.
I stop it cleanly this time.
But even as the puck hits my glove, something ugly twists low in my stomach.
Because Coach is right. I need to lock the fuck in.
This never happens to me. Not on the ice.
Hockey has always been the one place I could shut everything else out. The nightmares. The anger. The memories. The fear. None of it mattered once I stepped onto the ice.
But now? All I can think about is Peyton alone back at the cabin. Wondering if she’s reading comments online. Whether the media is digging into her life. Whether hearing Landon’s name everywhere is hurting her. Whether she’s overwhelmed.
If she regrets any of this. If she regrets me.
The thought hits hard enough to throw me off balance for half a second.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Hockey has always been controlled. Predictable. Safe.
Peyton Sinclair just became the first thing powerful enough to break through all of it.