57. Peyton
PEYTON
By noon, the silence inside the cabin starts clawing at my skin.
I try to distract myself.
I clean the kitchen. Organize the clothing in my closet. Scroll social media for exactly thirty seconds before seeing the hockey social media account posting photos of Daltyn from the charity event yesterday. Including one of me standing beside him, smiling up at him like an idiot.
Fantastic.
My chest aches harder after that.
Now all I can think about is the distance between us. The silence.
The way he looked at Ethan like he was reliving his own childhood.
I need air. Space.
Something besides my own thoughts.
I need to get out of here.
Twenty minutes later, I’m climbing out of an Uber near the center of Burlington while cold mountain air brushes against my face.
For five seconds, this feels like exactly what I need.
Until the Uber drives away and I see people staring at me, recognition and interest on their faces.
Several do double-takes before they start whispering.
A teenage girl walking past suddenly grabs her friend’s arm.
“Oh my God,” she hisses loudly. “That’s her. ”
My spine stiffens.
Her.
Not Peyton.
The woman connected to Daltyn Guyer.
Heat crawls uncomfortably up my neck as I shove my hands deeper into the sleeves of Daltyn’s sweatshirt and start walking faster down the sidewalk.
I should’ve worn something else. But I wasn’t thinking clearly when I left.
“Excuse me?”
I glance over. A woman around my age smiles brightly while holding her phone. “You’re dating Daltyn Guyer, right?”
“I—”
“He’s my favorite player,” she rushes out excitedly. “Can I get a picture with you?”
My brain short-circuits completely.
“With me?”
She laughs. “You’re basically hockey famous now.”
Panic flutters low in my stomach.
I force a polite smile anyway because apparently my survival instinct includes emotional self-destruction .
I nod, smiling awkwardly beside her as she wraps an arm around me.
After the picture, I start walking faster.
But now more people recognize me. Questions are firing at me from every direction.
“ The goalie’s girl!”
“You guys are adorable!”
“Where’s Guyer?”
My chest knots, and my hands start shaking. There are too many voices. Too many eyes.
My pulse kicks wildly out of rhythm.
I need coffee.
That’ll make me feel better.
Pine & Steam appears half a block ahead like a beacon of emotional support and caffeine.
Relief floods through me.
Then someone shouts, “There she is!”
A woman holding a microphone rushes toward me while a cameraman follows directly behind her.
Flashbulbs explode.
My stomach drops.
“What’s your relationship status with Daltyn Guyer?”
I freeze.
More cameras seemingly appear out of nowhere.
Questions slam into me rapid-fire.
“How long have you been living together?”
“Are wedding bells next?”
“Did you move to Vermont for him?”
My pulse spikes violently.
It’s too loud.
They’re too close.
The cameraman steps into my path, accidentally blocking me in. Panic crashes through me hard and fast .
“Excuse me,” I say shakily. “I need?—”
The reporter grabs my arm, rattling off more questions.
But I don’t hear her.
My body stops recognizing the difference between now and before.
Flashbacks hit hard.
Landon grabbing my wrist.
Being trapped with nowhere to go.
Losing control.
Panic swallows my lungs whole.
“I just need a quick statement?—”
“Let go of me,” I choke out. The words come out thinner than I intend. They’re shaky from the fear gripping me like a vice.
The cameras keep flashing.
Questions overlap like everyone is firing them at me.
I can’t breathe.
My chest tightens violently as adrenaline crashes through my bloodstream.
People are staring now.
The sidewalk suddenly feels too crowded. Too small.
Still, I manage to say, “I said let go.”
“Hey.” A male voice cuts cleanly through the chaos, his voice sharp and controlled.
The reporter startles slightly as someone steps between the cameraman and me, then proceeds to pull the reporter’s hand from my arm.
I look up, relief nearly making my knees buckle.
Tony.
The Pine & Steam barista plants himself calmly in front of me, broad shoulders blocking the cameras.
“She said back up. ”
The reporter bristles. “We’re just asking a few?—”
“And she said no.” Tony’s voice never rises, which somehow makes it more effective. “She’s clearly uncomfortable.”
The cameraman hesitates.
Tony glances at me briefly, his expression softening. “You okay?”
No. I’m absolutely not.
But I nod because words currently feel impossible.
Tony notices right away.
“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get inside.”
He guides me carefully toward Pine & Steam while physically shielding me from the cameras still trying to follow.
My breathing stays uneven the entire way.
The second we step inside the coffee shop, warmth and the scent of espresso hit me all at once.
The noise outside cuts off behind the door.
My legs feel weak.
“Whoa—hey.” His hand lightly steadies my elbow. “Easy.”
Humiliation burns hot behind my ribs.
“I’m okay,” I whisper automatically.
It’s obviously a lie.
My hands are shaking. My breathing still sounds wrong.
Tony’s expression shifts subtly as realization dawns in his eyes.
It’s as though he understands what happened outside wasn’t just overwhelming. Something deeper got triggered.
“You wanna sit in the back for a minute?” he asks quietly.
I nod once .
As I let him guide me to the back, a realization washes over me.
All I want is Daltyn.
And that realization terrifies me almost as much as the cameras did.