69. Daltyn
DALTYN
The Blue Line Diner smells like coffee, syrup, and fried food.
Connor once claimed it was the spiritual heartbeat of Vermont.
He was also once kicked out for trying to recreate a body check by the jukebox, so his credibility is questionable at best.
Still… Peyton likes it here.
And honestly? I like watching her be happy.
Sunlight spills through the diner windows, catching in her golden hair while she laughs at something Gram texted her ten seconds ago.
“She sent a selfie,” Peyton says, horrified.
I sip my coffee slowly. “That doesn’t sound concerning enough.”
Her eyes widen. “She’s wearing leopard print spandex.”
“That still feels survivable.”
“She’s holding a margarita.”
“It’s ten in the morning. ”
“She captioned it: Brunch is temporary, but being hot is forever .”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Peyton points at me. “There it is.”
I lean back in the booth. “What?”
“That smile.”
My mouth twitches.
“You look happier lately.”
Something warm settles heavily in my chest.
She says it so casually.
Like it’s obvious.
Like happiness belongs to me now.
“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “I think your teammates might actually be worse than Gram.”
“That’s objectively false.”
“Connor told a reporter you became emotionally available because of my vagina.”
I nearly choke to death on coffee. “What?”
“He said—and I quote—” she raises her fingers dramatically, “Peyton Sinclair performed emotional CPR on our goalie with her vagina.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“I’m killing him.”
“You say that every day.”
“Because every day he earns it.”
She laughs again.
God. I love that sound.
My chest tightens painfully around the realization.
No fear this time. Something softer. Terrifying in an entirely different way.
The waitress drops off our food with a smile.
Peyton steals bacon off my plate like the tiny menace she is .
“You ordered your own.”
“Yours tastes better.”
“It’s the same bacon.”
“Debatable.”
I shake my head, fighting another smile.
This right here? This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.
Not hockey.
Not fame.
Not winning.
This.
Coffee across from Peyton. Her foot brushing mine beneath the table. The way she smiles at me like I’m something worth loving instead of something broken.
And maybe that’s why the second her phone rings, something inside me shifts. An innate sense that everything is about to change.
Peyton frowns, reaching for it beside her coffee. “I don’t recognize the number.”
I shrug lightly. “Answer it.”
She hits the button, putting it on speakerphone, then answers.
“Hello?”
“Peyton?”
The second I hear a man’s voice, something sharp twists low in my stomach.
It’s professional. Older. Confident.
Peyton straightens slightly. “Yes?”
“Hey, it’s Mark Donahue from Sandstone Publishing. I’m John Martin’s boss.”
“My boss’s boss,” she mouths to me.
Everything inside me goes still .
“Oh my God.” Peyton’s eyes widen. “Yes, I know who you are.”
The man laughs warmly. “I’m calling with some good news. We finally got infrastructure back enough to start rebuilding properly. We’ve been trying to reach several displaced employees.”
My grip tightens slowly around my coffee mug.
Peyton glances at me briefly before looking away again. “Okay…”
“We’d love to have you back.”
The words slam into me harder than any hit I’ve taken on the ice.
My heartbeat slows strangely. Like my body doesn’t know how to function correctly.
“We know you went through hell after the hurricane,” Mark continues. “But honestly? Your work before the storm was incredible. And your social media engagement numbers were some of the highest in the company.”
Peyton blinks rapidly. “Oh.”
“We’re restructuring the department, and we want to offer you a promotion.”
Something cold slides quietly beneath my ribs.
Promotion.
Florida.
Leaving me.
My lungs suddenly feel too tight. Too small.
Peyton stares down at the table silently.
“We’d increase your salary significantly,” he continues. “And we’d help with relocation costs, considering the circumstances.”
Relocation.
Jesus Christ .
I force my face to stay neutral. Force my breathing to be steady.
Because the panic rising inside me feels ugly. Selfish. Wrong.
Peyton finally speaks softly. “That’s… wow.”
“You don’t need to answer right now,” Mark says kindly. “But we’d love to have you back, Peyton. Everyone here misses you.”
Back.
The word slices straight through my chest.
All I can think about is her side of the bed, empty.
Her coffee mug sitting on the shelf, unused.
The silence inside the cabin.
No laughter.
No warm body tangled with mine at night.
No Peyton.
Something dark and terrified twists violently in my chest.
Not again.
Not when I finally found something good.
Not when she became my home.
Peyton glances at me again.
And I hate myself a little for the fear she notices on my face.
“Can I think about it?” she asks quietly.
“Of course,” Mark says warmly. “Take your time.”
The call ends.
Silence crashes down around the booth.
The diner noise fades strangely into the background.
Neither of us speaks for a second.
Finally, she says softly, “Daltyn…”
I force myself to look at her .
And the worst part? I already know what I’m supposed to say.
What a good man would say. What someone who loves her correctly would say.
Even if it destroys me.
“You should do what’s best for you, baby.” The words scrape their way out of my throat like broken glass.
And judging by the heartbreak that flashes across Peyton’s face, she hears every lie buried inside them.