56. Peyton
PEYTON
When I wake up the next morning, the cabin feels different.
For one disoriented second, I stare at the ceiling, trying to remember why my chest already aches.
Then I remember the charity event.
The little boy named Ethan. The bruises on his wrist.
Daltyn disappearing upstairs afterward like he was running from something chasing him inside his own head.
My stomach twists uneasily.
I sit up slowly, listening.
Nothing.
No footsteps upstairs. No coffee brewing. No sounds of movement or life.
A strange heaviness settles over me.
I’m used to him being here with me in the morning. And that realization feels terrifyingly intimate.
I throw on his sweatshirt before padding quietly into the kitchen. Even though he bought me my own, his is more comfortable. It smells like him. And it feels like safety.
The cabin is empty .
A sticky note sits beside the coffee maker in Daltyn’s rough handwriting.
Early practice.
Lock the door behind you.
My chest tightens painfully at how distant even the note feels.
It doesn’t say Morning, Pey or Don’t burn the garlic bread again.
This note is a wall between us. A distance that wasn’t there until last night.
I stare at it for a second too long before forcing myself to make coffee.
The cabin remains painfully silent while the machine brews.
Usually, I turn on some music. Listen to the sound of his footsteps as he moves around the kitchen. The low rumble of his voice as he chats with me.
Now there’s just emptiness.
And I hate it.
I wrap both hands around my coffee mug before sitting at the island.
But I don’t drink it.
My appetite disappeared somewhere around the moment Ethan flinched, and Daltyn became distant.
The memory of what happened yesterday hits hard.
Daltyn crouched in front of him slowly, speaking to him in hushed tones. Like he knew exactly how to approach a frightened child.
Then the father appeared.
And everything changed .
I close my eyes briefly.
At the time, I thought Daltyn was angry because he hates cruelty.
But now? Now I understand it was something deeper. More personal.
I saw his face when Ethan’s father grabbed him.
There was anger there.
But more importantly, there was recognition.
All the pieces start falling into place so fast it makes my chest hurt.
The hyper-awareness.
The emotional control.
The constant scanning of rooms.
Noticing when I’m overwhelmed before I even say anything.
The way he carefully watches people.
The way rage flashes so quickly beneath his calm exterior.
The nightmares.
The fear in his eyes afterward.
The withdrawal.
Oh my God.
Understanding slams into me so hard my lungs stop working for a second.
He didn’t just recognize Ethan.
He was Ethan.
Emotion swells painfully inside me.
Now I understand Daltyn in a way I didn’t before.
Not just the possessiveness or the protectiveness. But the fear underneath it all. The terrified little boy still living somewhere inside him.
The boy nobody protected.
The boy who learned to survive .
My throat closes up.
His behavior last night doesn’t feel cold anymore. It feels scared.
The realization absolutely wrecks me.
I realize he wasn’t pushing me away out of anger.
He was pulling away because he thinks there’s something wrong with him.
Tears sting unexpectedly behind my eyes.
I stare down into my untouched coffee.
And for the first time since meeting Daltyn, I realize something terrifying.
I’m not falling for him despite the darkness inside him.
I’m falling for him because of how hard he fights it every single day.
But the question remains: Will he ever let me in?
Or will he continue to push me away?