60. Daltyn
DALTYN
The tea Peyton made sits forgotten on the counter while we move quietly around each other inside the cabin. Like we both understand something changed tonight. Something permanent.
Peyton disappears into the bathroom first.
When she comes back out twenty minutes later wearing leggings and one of my old Avalanche shirts, my entire brain short-circuits.
Her damp hair falls over her shoulders. Her cheeks are still pink from the shower.
She looks so comfortable here, it physically hurts.
I stare too long.
“What?” she asks.
My throat tightens. “Nothing.”
It’s a lie, and after what I just told her, I can’t do it anymore.
“You look beautiful.”
She stares at me, her face softening.
“Thanks,” she whispers. Her cheeks turn pink, and her lips part slightly .
No one has ever looked like they belonged in my space before. And that thought terrifies me almost as much as it heals me.
Peyton brushes her teeth beside me a few minutes later while I stand at the other sink pretending I’m functioning normally.
I’m not. Not even close.
Every small thing tonight feels unbearably intimate. Her shampoo filling the bathroom. Her bare foot brushing mine accidentally. Her sleepy little yawn.
“Tired?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. I think I’m going to go to bed.”
I nod.
She moves closer and gently brushes her lips against my cheek. “Nite.”
When she pulls back and starts to turn, I grab her wrist. She looks over her shoulder at me in surprise.
“Come upstairs with me.”
She blinks a few times, like she’s having trouble comprehending my words. I give her a soft smile, tugging her toward the stairs.
When we step into the loft, Peyton’s face is full of wonder. She pauses near the bed, her eyes drifting around slowly, taking in everything. The dark wooden beams. The oversized bed. The low lighting. The chair shoved near the window where I usually sit after nightmares.
A strange tension crawls through my chest. Because this space has always been mine alone.
No hookups. No women. Nobody.
Just me and the ghosts in my head.
Peyton glances back at me carefully. “You okay?”
I lean against the dresser, then force myself to tell her the truth. “No one’s ever been up here before. ”
Her expression shifts. She looks … honored.
It wrecks me a little.
“You mean in the loft?”
I nod once.
“In the bed, either.”
Silence settles softly between us.
Peyton steps closer, like she understands the weight behind what I’m admitting.
“This is your safe place,” she says quietly.
I laugh once without humor. “Safe-ish.”
Her brows pull together slightly.
I drag a hand through my hair before looking away. “It’s also where the nightmares happen.”
The confession hangs heavily in the air.
Peyton’s face softens, concern and understanding lighting up in her eyes.
“It got bad after hockey took off,” I admit quietly. “More pressure. More stress. More attention.” My jaw tightens. “Sometimes I’d wake up feeling like I was back there again.”
I wince.
Back in that house, hearing shouting through the walls.
My chest tightens sharply.
Peyton instinctively reaches for my hand. The warmth of her fingers wrapping around mine nearly fucking undoes me.
“But lately…” I swallow hard. “The nightmares haven’t been as bad.”
Her eyes lift to mine slowly. “Because of me?” The question comes out so soft it almost hurts.
I nod once.
“Sometimes after one…” My throat tightens slightly. “I’d go downstairs.”
Peyton stills completely. “And? ”
I stare at her for a long second before answering.
“I’d stand in your doorway like a fucking creep.”
To my surprise, Peyton huffs out the tiniest laugh.
The sound loosens something tight in my chest.
“I’d just…” I shake my head once. “Watch you sleep.”
I picture it even now, her breathing even, cheeks pink. She looked peaceful. Safe.
It grounded me.
“You calmed me,” I admit roughly.
Peyton’s fingers tighten around mine. “I did?”
I nod again.
“You quiet the nightmares.”
Silence settles softly through the loft after that.
Peyton stares at me like I’ve just handed her something fragile and sacred.
Maybe I have.
Then slowly—carefully—she steps closer until barely any space remains between us.
Her hand slides against my chest, over my heart.
“You don’t ever have to face them alone again,” she whispers.
Jesus Christ.
My chest aches so hard it’s almost unbearable.
All my life, I’ve survived things alone.
Pain. Fear. Nightmares.
And suddenly, this woman stands in my loft looking at me like sharing the weight is the easiest thing in the world.
Emotion lodges thickly in my throat.
I pull her gently into bed with me before I can overthink it.
The blankets shift around us as Peyton curls instinctively against my side, fitting perfectly against me.
My arms wrap around her automatically, protective and possessive.
Peyton rests her head against my chest while silence settles softly around us.
My fingers slide slowly through her hair while mountain wind rattles faintly outside the cabin windows.
Her breathing evens out, and she sighs softly in her sleep. Her fingers curl lightly into my shirt, like even when unconscious, she wants to stay close to me.
I press my lips against the top of her head.
The gesture feels terrifyingly natural.
This feels dangerously close to love.