66. Peyton
PEYTON
I’ve never understood hockey.
Not really.
I understand men skate around with sticks trying to hit a puck into a net.
But standing in the tunnel beneath the arena while opening night roars above us? I finally get it.
The energy is electric.
Fans scream somewhere beyond the concrete walls.
Music pounds through the arena.
Players move around us in controlled chaos.
And beside me? Daltyn stands in full gear, looking like every fantasy a female hockey fan has ever had.
Broad shoulders. Massive frame. A dark focus in his eyes.
He’s terrifyingly beautiful.
And all mine.
My chest squeezes painfully at the thought.
His gloved hand brushes lightly against my hip as he leans closer. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “Just overwhelmed. ”
His expression softens beneath the intensity.
Then he reaches up and gently adjusts his Avalanche jersey hanging off my shoulders.
A delicious thrill goes through me, knowing his last name and number are stretched across my back.
Somehow, wearing it tonight feels bigger than hockey. Bigger than a game.
It feels like belonging.
Daltyn’s eyes drag over me slowly before settling back on my face. “You look good in my jersey.” A smirk curls his lips. “Especially with my name on your back.”
Oh.
Oh, that should be illegal.
Heat floods my cheeks.
Behind us, Connor makes a choking sound. “I’m going to throw myself directly onto the ice.”
Ford nods solemnly. “That was disgustingly romantic.”
Jake points at us. “You two are becoming unbearable.”
Cole squints at Daltyn suspiciously. “What happened to the emotionally unavailable cryptid who used to glare at us in silence?”
Daltyn doesn’t even look away from me. “She killed him.”
My heart stumbles violently.
Connor clutches his chest dramatically. “HE’S STILL SAYING ROMANTIC THINGS. SOMEBODY SEDATE ME.”
I’m laughing so hard I barely notice when Daltyn’s fingers curl gently around my wrist.
His touch grounds me.
That’s the thing about him now. He touches me constantly, like his body seeks mine before his brain even realizes it .
And tonight? There’s no tension in him. No spiraling. No shadows to swallow him whole.
Just focus and calm confidence. Like he finally feels emotionally grounded.
The realization makes my throat tighten.
An arena worker suddenly pokes his head into the hallway. “Two minutes!”
Chaos erupts around us.
Players start moving toward the ice.
Connor points at Daltyn while backing away dramatically. “If you prevent the other team from scoring tonight, I expect a forehead kiss at center ice.”
“You’re an idiot,” Daltyn says flatly.
Connor pauses. “I’ve been told that before.”
Ford grabs Connor by the jersey and drags him away before Daltyn murders him.
“Love you, Pey!” Connor yells.
Jake points at me next. “If he gets emotional, just throw snacks at him.”
Cole nods seriously. “Works on bears, too.”
I laugh. “Noted.”
Then suddenly it’s just us again.
The arena shakes with noise overhead.
Daltyn turns toward me fully. And the look in his eyes nearly steals the air from my lungs.
Gone is the guarded emptiness he used to wear like armor.
Now there’s only love.
Raw, terrifying, honest love.
His hand slides gently along my jaw. “You’ll stay where security can see you?”
Emotion catches painfully in my chest because even now, even while happy, he worries about protecting me .
“I’ll be with Allie and Harper.”
At the look he gives me, I add, “I promise.”
He studies my face for another second before leaning down and pressing his forehead softly against mine, making sure the mask on top of his head doesn’t bump me.
The world around us fades.
“You know what’s weird?” he murmurs quietly.
“What?”
“I used to hate opening nights.”
I blink in surprise. “You hated them?”
“Too loud. Too many people. Too much pressure.” His thumb brushes lightly beneath my jaw. “Felt like drowning half the time.”
My chest aches.
It makes sense.
I picture a younger Daltyn, carrying unbearable weight alone, pretending he wasn’t terrified. Believing survival and isolation were the same thing.
But tonight? He looks peaceful. Grounded. Present.
“Now?” I whisper softly.
A slow smile spreads across his face.
And God. I think happy Daltyn might be my favorite version of him.
“Now I get to look for you in the crowd.”
Emotion hits so hard my knees nearly buckle.
Before I can recover enough to respond, he kisses me softly.
Slow. Certain. Reverent.
Then he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Wish me luck, baby.”
I smile shakily. “You won’t need it.” But I reach my finger up and press it against his lips. “Good luck, baby.”
His eyes warm at the confidence in my voice.
Then, the goalie mask lowers into place.
And just like that, my soft, sleepy, emotionally vulnerable boyfriend transforms into something terrifying.
The crowd absolutely erupts as Daltyn skates onto the ice.
Gram slides into the seat beside me, holding a giant pretzel. “When he fights someone,” she says calmly, “I’m recording it.”
“Where did you come from?” I stare at her. “You appeared out of nowhere.”
“Like Batman,” she says proudly.
The lights dim across the arena.
The Avalanche team explodes onto the ice.
Our eyes lock, and Daltyn smiles before skating past me. Like no matter how loud the arena gets… he still found me first.
As thousands of fans scream around me, one thing settles quietly and completely inside my chest.
I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life.