43. Daltyn
DALTYN
The gravel crunches beneath our boots as Peyton and I walk slowly down one of the trails winding through the back of my property.
The mountains are exploding with color. Orange. Gold. Deep red.
Leaves drift lazily through the chilly afternoon air while the scent of pine and damp earth settles around us. Somewhere deeper in the trees, water rushes softly through the creek cutting across the edge of the property.
Peyton tips her head back slightly, staring up through the canopy of trees. “It’s ridiculously pretty here.”
I glance over at her.
The cold turned her cheeks pink twenty minutes ago.
Now she looks like something out of one of those stupid autumn Pinterest posts women obsess over online. Especially wearing my flannel.
“It’s quieter this far back,” I tell her.
“I can see why you like it.”
The problem is, I liked the isolation before Peyton .
Now? The silence only feels right when she’s standing beside me.
Which is deeply fucking concerning.
We continue down the trail slowly while fallen leaves crunch beneath our boots.
Peyton nudges my shoulder lightly. “You’ve been staring at me all morning.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You absolutely have.”
I glance at her.
She raises her brows knowingly. The smile she gives me hits me square in the chest.
A grin tugs briefly at my mouth before I look away.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
A gust of cold wind cuts through the trees suddenly.
Peyton shivers.
Before I can think better of it, I reach over and tug her closer against my side.
Peyton slowly looks up at me.
Fuck.
I clear my throat roughly. “It’s cold.”
“Right,” she says softly.
Neither of us moves apart.
Probably another terrible decision.
I keep making those around her.
We walk a little farther before I finally say, “So next week gets busier.”
Peyton glances over. “With training camp?”
“Scrimmages. Preseason stuff. Media crap.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Especially now. Because hockey used to be the only thing taking up space in my head. Now Peyton somehow lives there rent-free like an emotionally devastating little squatter.
“There’s a scrimmage Wednesday,” I continue. “Then a preseason game Friday.”
She nods slowly while kicking a leaf off the trail. “Oh.”
Something about her tone makes my chest tighten slightly.
“You don’t have to come,” I say quickly.
Peyton’s eyes flick toward me briefly. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”
The tension in my shoulders loosens before I can stop it. It’s fucking embarrassing.
“I just…” She tucks her hands deeper into the sleeves of my flannel. “I don’t really know how all of that works.”
God. That shouldn’t be cute.
“There’s family seating near the tunnel,” I explain. “Harper and Allie usually sit there.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake.
Peyton’s expression softens like she noticed something I didn’t mean to say out loud.
Shit.
I keep talking anyway.
“We’ll have to get there early because traffic around the arena gets stupid before games.”
We’ll.
Peyton definitely notices that, too. Her mouth twitches slightly. “You keep saying we.”
I go completely still.
The woods suddenly feel quiet. A leaf drifts slowly between us before landing near Peyton’s boot.
Abort mission .
“I mean?—”
“You don’t have to explain it,” she says softly. But she’s smiling. And somehow that’s worse.
My chest feels too tight.
We continue walking slowly along the trail.
After a minute, Peyton bumps her shoulder lightly against mine again.
“So,” she says casually. “I’m excited to watch you terrorize innocent hockey players.”
A strange warmth spreads through my chest. Because the question sounds less like an obligation and more like she wants to be there.
“You’ll have a good view.” I grab her hand, helping her over a log so she doesn’t hurt herself or her ankle.
“The family section’s near the tunnel,” I tell her. “Close enough that Connor can still be annoying between periods.”
Peyton laughs softly beside me. The sound settles low in my chest in a way that’s becoming dangerously familiar.
A breeze cuts through the trees again, sending red and gold leaves skittering across the trail.
Without thinking, I adjust her scarf.
She looks up at me, her eyes soft. That should probably concern me more than it does.
“So I’d be in the family section with Allie and Harper?” she asks after a second.
I glance down at her. “Yes.” The answer comes naturally. Like I’ve already decided she belongs there.
Peyton notices. I can tell by the way her lips part slightly before she looks away toward the mountains.
“And you’d be okay with that?” she asks quietly.
The question catches me off guard.
Because she sounds genuinely unsure. Like the idea of being attached to me publicly still feels fragile. Temporary .
Something sharp twists in my chest.
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want you there.”
A heavy, warm silence settles between us again.
Leaves crunch beneath our boots while we continue down the trail.
“You know,” Peyton says lightly after a minute, “most people ease into relationships.”
I nearly trip over a tree root.
Relationship.
Jesus Christ.
“We accidentally hard-launched ours through social media and bathroom scandals.”
I stare straight ahead. “Yeah.”
“And now we’re discussing hockey seating arrangements like an old married couple.”
“That feels dramatic.”
Peyton snorts. “Gram literally asked when we’re getting married during yoga.”
A deep groan leaves me. “Don’t remind me.”
“She’s looking at leopard print bridesmaid dresses.”
“I’m moving to another country.”
That finally earns a real laugh out of her.
God. I’d do almost anything to keep hearing that sound.
The realization hits hard enough to make my chest feel tight again.
We reach the overlook near the edge of the property a few minutes later.
The mountains stretch endlessly before us beneath the bright autumn sky, while orange and crimson trees cover the valleys below.
Peyton slowly steps closer to the wooden railing. “It’s beautiful. ”
I should be looking at the view, but I’m not. I’m looking at her.
The cold wind catches strands of her hair while sunlight filters through the trees behind her.
Something deep in my chest settles. Like this moment belongs to something permanent.
My brain immediately rejects the thought.
This is temporary.
Except… nothing about us feels temporary anymore.
Peyton glances over suddenly, catching me staring. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like I’m more interesting than the mountains.”
I should deny it.
Instead, I hear myself say, “You are.”