64. Daltyn
DALTYN
The first rays of dawn stream across her pale shoulder, making her seem ethereal as she lies in my arms, smiling up at me.
God. I never want that fucking smile to fade. Ever.
I stare into her eyes, feeling things I never imagined I could feel.
Her hand glides down my chest, and when her fingertips graze my scar, I flinch.
It’s time.
She needs to know all of it.
I grab her hand, holding it over the scar and tattoo.
“Peyton.” My tone is grave. “I have to tell you something.”
Her smile fades, and the air leaves my lungs.
I’ll make it up to her.
Unless she runs away.
My veins flood with ice as I picture her leaving. It would fucking shatter me.
But I push the doubt aside, fueled by the concern and love shining in her eyes .
“I... I survived the worst night of my life,” I say. “And this... is the end result.”
She stares at me, patiently waiting.
And then, I’m back there, in that place. That house I never want to see again.
The sounds of my mom’s cries and screams fill the house. I run from my bedroom, still smaller than my dad, though I’m older now. Still terrified of him, but no longer the scrawny kid I once was.
“Let her go,” I roar when I see him press her against the wall, his hands wrapping around her throat.
And then I’m behind him.
I grab his arm, yanking it free.
He whirls around, his fist catching me in the ribs.
A crack fills the air.
The hit is so unexpected. So painful.
I collapse onto the floor, gasping for air.
“Daltyn,” my mom whimpers.
I blink, the edges of my vision darkening as I blink up at her.
My dad steps over me, looming above like a harbinger of death. His face is contorted with such vile rage, I no longer recognize him.
“You think you’re a tough guy, huh? Just cause you’re bigger now.”
And then, he lifts his boot, pressing it against my ribs.
I scream, the pain a white-hot poker of agony coursing through me. And I don’t stop until I can’t scream anymore.
Suddenly, my mom’s voice breaks through the silence. “You hurt my son.”
There’s a flash of silver in her hand.
Despite the pain, hope fills me.
But it’s fleeting.
My dad spins around, grabs her wrist, and twists it.
For a moment, everything fades as I watch her face turn ashen.
Her wide eyes meet mine before she whispers, “Sorry.”
I glance down at the red blooming through her white shirt.
Panic fills me as I meet her eyes again.
“I love you,” she mouths.
“No,” I gasp, hot tears sliding down my face. “No.”
When she slides to the floor, too far for me to reach, it feels surreal. Like the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.
One I can never wake from.
Blank eyes stare into mine.
“No, mom,” I whisper. “You can’t...”
I don’t finish the words.
I physically can’t.
Don’t leave me , I silently beg.
But I already know she’s gone.
Through the agony, I feel my dad’s gaze boring into me.
He turns, the blade glistening in the sunlight streaming through the window.
It’s wrong.
Everything is wrong.
I glance at my mom’s prone figure on the floor.
Rage like I’ve never felt before bubbles up, blocking the pain.
When the knife comes down, I roll. The tip hits my throbbing rib, but my hand is closed around his, stopping it from going deeper.
I yank, fighting to get control of the knife.
My father jerks from the movement, his body pitching forward.
Wide eyes lock with mine as he falls, a groan leaving him as his heavy weight lands on me.
Jesus.
I can’t fucking breathe.
With one desperate heave, I push, managing to roll his body off mine.
And that’s when I see the knife sticking from his chest.
The world around me spins, images of the horror mixing with the agony flowing through my ribs.
I close my eyes, letting the darkness take me.
The last thing I hear is the sound of sirens in the distance.
“Oh my God, Daltyn.” Her sweet voice yanks me back to the present.
I blink, staring at the horror on Peyton’s face.
“I’m so damn sorry.” Warm hands caress my icy skin, bringing feeling back into it.
“When I turned eighteen, I had those words tattooed on my ribs. A reminder that I survived...”
“That you’re still here,” she says, her voice soft. “And thank God you are.”
She presses herself against me, holding me tight.
For a moment, I sink into her, breathing her in. Letting the pain and memories wash over me, knowing she has me.
Finally, I pull back.
“It’s not just about the tattoo. Though that’s one of the main reasons I told you about my past.” I cup her face, my thumbs wiping away her tears.
“After I lost control with Landon, I was horrified. Violence lives inside me, and I’ve seen what happens when it gets loose.” My eyes stay locked with hers. “Even with Ethan and the way I reacted... it concerned me.”
She shakes her head. “I understand why you feel that way.”
“Do you?” My voice is gruff. “I know how fast angry men become deadly.”
“You’re not him, Daltyn.”
“I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have darkness inside me, Peyton.” My throat works, trying to swallow around the lump filling it. “I fought back. I wanted to hurt him.”
“I don’t blame you, Daltyn. I would’ve done the same. I would’ve wanted him to hurt, too.”
I stare at her.
“Part of me was relieved he stopped moving.”
She nods again, her hands lifting to my face. “Understandable.”
I blow out a breath. “When I woke... I ached because my mom was dead.” My jaw clenches. “But my father ,” I say the word with disgust. “I didn’t feel enough horror that he was gone. Then... or ever.”
“He was an abusive bastard. You don’t owe him guilt. Horror. Regret.”
“But he was my father.”
“Just because he was, doesn’t mean he was a good person. Or that he loved you.”
Her words hit hard.
I spent most of my childhood and teenage years wondering if he gave a fuck if I lived or died.
I knew my mom loved me. Never doubted it for a minute .
But him? The only good thing I ever did in his eyes was play hockey.
I don’t realize I say those words out loud until Peyton says, “That explains why you’re so good. So driven. You took the one thing that was your escape, even if it was also an attempt to gain his approval, and threw yourself into it.”
“Wow.” I stare at the stunning woman in my bed, wondering how in the hell I ever got so lucky that she chose me. “No one has ever gotten that before.”
She presses her forehead to mine. “I do, Daltyn.” Her warm breath flows over my face. “I see you.”
And somehow that terrifies me more than anything else ever has.
“Just like you see me.”
Despite the heaviness inside me, I feel lighter, too. Like getting that out released a valve, easing some of the pressure and pain.
I stare into her watery blue eyes, emotion bubbling over.
And then I confess my worst fear.
“That’s why I was so afraid to get involved with you. To love you.” My throat tightens, but I force the words out. “Everyone I loved died in violence.”
She shakes her head. “Not me, Daltyn.”
She presses her lips against mine, a promise in her kiss.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”