Page 101 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
His eyes flash. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Tell the truth?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re right. I don’t.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “Because you won’t tell me. You just keep pulling me close and then shoving me away like I did something wrong.”
Pain flickers across his face.
I look away before it softens me.
But it’s too late. I’m already soft for him. That’s the problem.
He drags a hand through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why does it feel like I did?”
His throat works.
For a second, he doesn’t answer.
And that silence hurts so much worse than anger.
I laugh, but it sounds broken. “Exactly.”
I turn toward the door.
His hand catches my wrist. “Peyton.”
I freeze.
His voice is different now. Stripped raw.
I don’t look back. “Let go.”
“I can’t.”
My heart stops.
Daltyn’s hand is wrapped around my wrist like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
“What?” I whisper.
He steps closer. His chest brushes my back.
“I can’t,” he repeats, voice low and wrecked. “That’s the whole fucking problem.”
My breath catches.
Then his hands are on my waist.
He turns me around, and the second I see his face, I lose every word I had left.
Because he looks ruined. Furious. Terrified. Desperate. Like he’s been fighting himself all week and finally lost.
“I’m trying to do the right thing,” he says roughly.
I swallow hard. “By hurting me?”
