59. Daltyn
DALTYN
The drive back to the cabin is quiet.
Not awkward, just... heavy.
Peyton keeps her hand wrapped tightly in mine the entire way home like she’s afraid letting go might crack something fragile between us.
Maybe she’s right.
Streetlights blur across the windshield while silence settles softly through the SUV.
But for once? It doesn’t feel empty.
It feels full of things I don’t know how to say out loud.
When we finally pull into the driveway, neither of us moves.
I pull to a stop in my usual spot and cut the engine. It ticks softly in the darkness.
Peyton glances at me like she’s waiting to see if I’ll retreat again.
The realization twists painfully in my chest.
Fuck. I did that to her.
I squeeze her hand once before finally climbing out of the SUV. Then I come around and open her door, helping her out.
The cabin is quiet when we step inside.
Peyton automatically slips off her shoes near the door. “I’m gonna make tea,” she says softly.
I nod once. My throat feels too tight for words.
I watch her move quietly around the kitchen while I stand near the island, trying to figure out how the hell to say any of this without feeling like I’m peeling my own skin off.
Peyton reaches for mugs from the cabinet she now knows by memory. Then she turns the kettle on, moving around the kitchen like she’s been part of it forever.
Something inside my chest cracks wide open.
Because I want this too much now.
And maybe that’s the problem.
The kettle starts heating softly.
Peyton turns toward me, not saying anything. Just waiting.
I drag both hands down my face before finally speaking. “My father used to leave bruises where people couldn’t see them.”
The words fall heavily into the silence.
Peyton stills, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Her eyes are full of concern, but I don’t see pity.
Thank fucking God.
I stare down at the hardwood floor.
“It was easier that way.” My voice sounds flat. Detached. “Teachers didn’t ask questions if marks stayed covered.”
The kettle hums quietly in the background.
I keep talking.
Now that I’ve started, I’m not sure I can stop .
“He drank a lot.” I laugh once without humor. “Actually… no. He drank constantly.”
My jaw tightens.
“He’d get mean first.” My throat burns slightly. “Then loud. Then violent.” The words sound strangely calm coming out of me. Like I’m talking about somebody else’s life instead of my own.
Maybe that’s how I survived it.
Peyton stays silent behind me, hanging on my every word.
“I used to tell people I bruised easily,” I admit quietly. “Told coaches I fell during hockey practice. Told teachers I was clumsy.”
The memory makes nausea twist sharply in my stomach.
Because even back then?
Part of me knew nobody really wanted the truth.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
“When I saw Ethan yesterday…” My chest tightens violently. “I knew.” My voice roughens on the word. “Knew what that look meant. Knew why he got quiet the second his father walked over.”
Rage stirs hot beneath my ribs again. “Knew why he flinched.”
The cabin feels suffocatingly silent now.
Peyton’s eyes burn into me.
“You wanna know the worst part?” I ask quietly. I finally look at her.
“The second that guy grabbed him…” I shake my head once. “I wanted to hurt him.”
The confession hangs between us, ugly and raw.
“I looked at Ethan, and all I could think about was somebody should’ve stopped my father, too. ”
My throat closes up.
“And then all day today I kept thinking…” I laugh bitterly. “What kind of person reacts like that?”
Peyton’s expression breaks apart slowly.
It’s full of heartbreak. Understanding. Softness.
It wrecks me even worse.
“I saw that video today and completely lost my fucking mind.” My jaw clenches hard. “You were terrified. And yes, I was at training camp.” I hang my head. “But you wouldn’t have run out of here if I hadn’t been too busy hiding upstairs last night like some coward.”
“Daltyn—”
“What if he was right?” The words come out harsher than I intend. Broken.
Peyton freezes.
I force myself to say it anyway.
“What if I take after my father?” My chest aches violently now. “What if one day I stop fighting it?”
Silence crashes heavily through the cabin.
Then Peyton slowly crosses the kitchen until she stands directly in front of me. Close enough that I can feel her warmth.
Her hands slide up my chest and then to my jaw, holding me there. Making sure I look at her.
“Abusive men don’t spend their lives terrified of becoming abusive,” she says softly.
The words land like a physical blow.
I stare at her.
No one has ever said that to me before.
The words hit deep.
Peyton’s eyes shine with emotion. “Your father hurt people and slept just fine afterward,” she whispers. “You saw one scared little boy yesterday, and it destroyed you. ”
Something painful lodges hard in my throat.
“You protect people, Daltyn.” Her thumb brushes lightly across my jaw. “You protect me.”
The words hit somewhere deep and broken inside me.
All my life, I’ve been terrified of becoming dangerous. But Peyton looks at me like I’m the exact opposite.
“You notice fear because you survived it.” Her voice softens further. “Not because you’re dangerous.”
My chest caves inward so hard it physically hurts to breathe.
For the first time in my entire fucking life… someone sees all the darkness inside me. And stays anyway.
Something inside me quietly breaks like a crack spreading through years of concrete.
My breathing turns uneven.
Peyton’s hands stay on my face, grounding me there while her eyes search mine carefully.
There’s no fear. No hesitation. Just softness.
And somehow that’s the thing that finally undoes me.
Because nobody has ever looked at me and seen safety before.
Not when they knew the truth.
My throat tightens painfully. “I don’t know how to do this,” I admit roughly. “Nobody ever stayed long enough to teach me how.”
The confession scrapes something raw out of my chest.
Peyton’s expression softens even further. “Do what?”
I laugh once without humor.
“This.” I gesture weakly between us. “Let somebody this close.”
Emotion flickers across her face, understanding dawning. “You already are,” she whispers.
The words nearly knock me off balance.
Peyton’s arms slide slowly around my waist, like she’s giving me time to pull away if I need it.
I don’t.
I grab her, both arms wrapping around her hard enough to pull a soft sound from her lips as I bury my face against her neck.
And the second she tightens her arms around me? Years of tension finally snap loose inside my chest.
My eyes burn unexpectedly.
Fuck.
I tighten my grip on her instinctively.
Peyton lifts one hand, her fingers sliding slowly through my hair while she holds me there in the middle of the kitchen.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers softly.
The words nearly fucking destroy me.
Because that’s what I’ve been trying to be for everyone else my entire life. And suddenly someone is trying to be that for me instead.
My breathing turns rough against her throat.
Peyton’s fingers continue moving gently through my hair while silence settles softly around us. The kind of safe silence I never had growing up.
I don’t know how long we stand there like that.
But it’s long enough that my heartbeat slows.
Long enough for the shaking inside my chest to ease.
Long enough that when Peyton tilts her head back to look at me again, I realize I’ve never loved anything more than the way she’s looking at me right now.
Like I’m worth staying for.
My forehead drops against hers.
And for the first time in years… I don’t feel alone.