47. Peyton
PEYTON
I’m starting to think the Green Mountain Avalanche might actually be a cult. That’s the only explanation for this level of enthusiasm.
Thousands of people flood toward Summit Arena, wearing navy and white jerseys, as music blares from speakers outside the entrance. Someone nearby is already chugging beer even though it’s barely six o’clock.
“It’s preseason,” I say weakly as Daltyn guides me through the crowd beside him.
A little girl wearing a tiny Avalanche jersey gasps loudly when she sees him. “Oh my God,” she whispers to her dad. “It’s Guyer.”
Daltyn gives her a small nod without slowing down.
The child looks moments away from passing out.
I stare after her. “You have fans.”
His hand settles automatically against my lower back as we approach the arena entrance. “Unfortunately.”
The warmth of his palm burns straight through the sweatshirt I’m wearing .
His sweatshirt. The one I voluntarily put on because mine needed washing. And because it smells like him.
At this point, I should probably seek medical attention.
“You wore it again.” He sounds dangerously satisfied.
“I was cold,” I lie. “And mine’s in the hamper.”
Daltyn looks unconvinced.
Beside us, Connor appears seemingly out of nowhere. “Is that your sweatshirt?” he asks Daltyn, as if it were a scientific breakthrough.
“Connor,” Daltyn says flatly.
“That’s psychological attachment, brother.”
Ford walks beside him, carrying a duffel bag. “Please stop talking.”
“No, because this is important.”
I can literally feel the heat climbing into my face.
Unfortunately, Connor notices that too. “Oh my God,” he gasps dramatically. “She’s blushing.”
“I hate this team,” I mutter.
Harper snorts behind me while Allie outright laughs.
Daltyn’s mouth twitches slightly beside me.
Traitor.
We move through a restricted hallway beneath the arena while staff members nod at players passing by.
The farther inside we go, the louder the arena gets. The sound vibrates through the concrete floors beneath my shoes.
“This is insane,” I whisper.
Daltyn glances down at me, his expression shifting slightly like he’s checking for panic. “You okay?”
There it is again. That automatic protectiveness.
The terrifying part? I’m starting to expect it.
“I’m okay,” I promise softly .
His eyes hold mine for one extra second before he nods once.
And somehow that tiny moment affects me more than the screaming crowd outside.
A staff member appears near the tunnel entrance. “Five minutes, guys.”
Connor claps Daltyn hard on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he says solemnly. “I’ll make sure your girl survives the game.”
My soul leaves my body.
Daltyn goes completely still beside me.
Connor grins.
Ford closes his eyes like he’s exhausted.
“All right,” Allie says. “I’m putting him down.”
Connor dodges away, laughing before Allie can smack him.
I stare at the floor because if I look at Daltyn right now, I might actually burst into flames.
Then his fingers brush lightly against mine. Tentative. Questioning.
My breath catches.
When I finally glance up, his eyes are already focused on me, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll pull away.
I don’t.
Something unreadable shifts across his face.
Then he slowly hooks one finger through mine.
The arena roars beyond the tunnel entrance. Music thrums through the walls. Players move around us.
But suddenly, all I can focus on is the massive goalie beside me holding my hand as if it matters.
And maybe the scariest part of all?
I think it does.