65. Peyton
PEYTON
The first thing I notice when I wake up is warmth.
The second is Daltyn.
I’m tangled against him beneath heavy blankets in his bed, one of his massive arms wrapped tightly around my waist like he fell asleep afraid I’d disappear if he let go.
Afternoon sunlight spills through the windows. Leaves drift in the wind lazily outside.
And Daltyn is still asleep.
My chest aches as I stare at him.
There’s no tension in his face. No hard lines between his brows. No ragged breathing or restless movement.
Just peace.
Because after everything he told me last night... after all the darkness he’s carried alone for years… he slept through the night.
No nightmares. No panic attacks.
Just peacefully sleeping beside me.
Emotion swells painfully in my chest as I carefully brush my fingers through the dirty blond hair falling over his forehead.
His arm tightens. A rough, sleepy sound leaves him as he buries his face deeper against my neck.
“You’re awake,” he mutters. His voice is wrecked with sleep. It’s deep. Warm. Dangerously attractive.
“I am now,” I whisper.
“Mhm.”
I laugh softly, trying to shift enough to stretch.
Daltyn immediately drags me back against him.
“You’re crushing me,” I mumble against him.
“You’re warm.”
“That’s because you’re built like a human furnace.”
Another sleepy sound rumbles from his chest before he presses a lazy kiss against my shoulder.
“Stay anyway.”
Oh, I’m in trouble. Real trouble.
Because the terrifying, emotionally unavailable goalie who once glared at people for breathing too loudly is now half asleep, cuddling me like a giant, emotionally damaged teddy bear.
And somehow? That might be the hottest thing he’s ever done.
Hours later, I’m regretting every life decision that led me to wear ice skates.
“This is a mistake,” I announce while clinging to Daltyn’s arm for dear life.
“You’ve been skating for four minutes.”
I snort. “If you can call it that.” I wobble, gripping his arm harder. “I’ve almost died seven times,” I hiss.
“You’re dramatic.”
“I’m literally fighting for survival.”
Daltyn laughs. Not one of his low huffs. Real laughter.
The sound hits me right in the chest.
It’s warm. Easy. Happy.
And I realize with startling clarity that I would do almost anything to hear it again.
“You gonna let go of me at some point?” he asks.
“No.”
“Pey.”
“I’m serious.”
He grins. Grins.
Jesus Christ.
Who even is this man anymore?
“I’ve got you,” he says softly.
The words settle somewhere deep inside me.
Because he does. He always does.
Unfortunately, my body chooses that exact moment to betray me.
My skate slips. A shriek flies out of me as I pitch sideways.
Daltyn catches me around the waist before I can faceplant into the ice.
At the exact same moment, I hear the sound that makes me wish I could melt into the ice.
“HOLY SHIT,” Connor yells across the rink. “THE GOALIE’S EXPERIENCING JOY!”
I close my eyes in horror.
Of course they’re here.
Jake skates closer, openly staring at Daltyn like he’s witnessing a scientific breakthrough. “Somebody document this before he becomes emotionally unavailable again.”
Ford looks deeply disturbed. “He’s smiling. I’m uncomfortable.”
Cole points at me, hanging onto Daltyn .
“Look at her gripping him for survival,” he says, laughing. “She’s one missed step away from climbing him like a tree.”
“Cole,” I hiss.
Connor gasps dramatically. “Oh my God. They’re in LOVE love.”
I try to escape, which is impossible because ice is apparently Satan’s flooring choice.
My skate slips again.
Daltyn catches me against his chest before I fall. Again.
His hands settle automatically on my hips.
Comfortable. Instinctive. Possessive.
And what hits me hardest isn’t the touch.
It’s him.
Because he’s not guarded right now.
He’s laughing. Relaxed. Touching me openly.
Letting the chirping happen without threatening bodily harm.
For the first time since I met him, Daltyn looks happy enough not to care.
The realization settles softly into my chest.
Yeah. I can deal with the embarrassment of being a terrible skater.
As long as Daltyn keeps smiling like this.
Hours later, we finally make it back to the cabin.
My legs feel like overcooked noodles.
Daltyn is carrying his hockey bag, our skates, and my coat because, at some point, I handed it to him without thinking, and he took it without complaint.
Domesticity sneaks up on us in weird ways .
We’ve barely gotten settled inside when there’s a knock on the door.
The second Daltyn pulls it open, chaos greets us.
Thelma and Gram stand on the porch, big smiles on their faces. Their hands are full of bags and coffee.
“Oh, good,” Gram says with a big smile. “The lovebirds survived.”
I blink.
Thelma calmly smiles like this is completely normal.
Gram barges inside, Thelma behind her.
They head to the island, covering it with pastries, muffins, donuts, and enough coffee for an army.
“What’s happening?” I ask cautiously.
“We brought sustenance,” Thelma says warmly.
“We also came to investigate,” Gram adds.
Daltyn shuts the door and turns around slowly. “That sounds threatening.”
“It should,” I mutter.
Gram squints at both of us, then her eyes narrow. “Oh yeah,” she says knowingly. “You two had sex.”
“GRAM,” I choke.
Beside her, Thelma takes a peaceful sip of coffee. “She’s not wrong.”
Daltyn nearly dies. He coughs violently while grabbing the island for support.
I’m laughing too hard to save him.
This is our life now.
Later, after Gram wanders off to aggressively reorganize the pantry “because your snack placement lacks sensuality,” Thelma quietly watches Daltyn from across the island. Something soft crosses her expression.
“Haven’t seen you this happy... well, ever.”
The room goes still.
Daltyn pauses mid-sip. His eyes flick toward her briefly, then away... before meeting mine.
Because I think the truth is, I don’t think he’s ever been truly happy.
Until now.
And somehow, the fact that a twenty-three-year-old goalie has never been happy makes my chest ache.
Especially because it’s him.
The goalie with a heart of gold.
That night, leaves steadily shake in the breeze outside the cabin windows while I lie curled against Daltyn on the couch beneath a blanket.
One of his hands drifts lazily along my arm while the TV plays something neither of us is really watching.
His body feels loose against mine. Relaxed. Grounded.
He’s not drowning or fighting himself.
Just… here.
Truly present.
Warmth fills my chest as I tilt my head to look at him.
“So,” I say softly. “Big week ahead.”
Daltyn hums quietly.
“Practice all week. Media Thursday.” He presses a kiss against my forehead. “Opening game Saturday night.”
Excitement flickers through me. “My first official hockey girlfriend appearance?”
His mouth twitches. “You already survived the skating portion of the job.”
I groan. “Barely.”
He chuckles. “You screamed every time you moved.”
“In my defense, ice is slippery.”
A full laugh escapes him.
God. I love that sound.
Daltyn’s fingers slide gently beneath my chin as his expression softens while looking down at me.
And suddenly I realize something that makes my chest ache.
He’s happy.
Not pretending. Not forcing it.
Actually happy.
The kind of happiness that looks fragile because he’s still learning how to hold it.
His lips softly graze mine.
When we pull apart, we just stare at each other. Breathing together. Existing quietly in the moment.
And maybe the most beautiful part?
I think he’s finally letting himself be.