Page 220 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Streetlights blur across the windshield while silence settles softly through the SUV.
But for once? It doesn’t feel empty.
It feels full of things I don’t know how to say out loud.
When we finally pull into the driveway, neither of us moves.
I pull to a stop in my usual spot and cut the engine. It ticks softly in the darkness.
Peyton glances at me like she’s waiting to see if I’ll retreat again.
The realization twists painfully in my chest.
Fuck.I did that to her.
I squeeze her hand once before finally climbingout of the SUV. Then I come around and open her door, helping her out.
The cabin is quiet when we step inside.
Peyton automatically slips off her shoes near the door. “I’m gonna make tea,” she says softly.
I nod once. My throat feels too tight for words.
I watch her move quietly around the kitchen while I stand near the island, trying to figure out how the hell to say any of this without feeling like I’m peeling my own skin off.
Peyton reaches for mugs from the cabinet she now knows by memory. Then she turns the kettle on, moving around the kitchen like she’s been part of it forever.
Something inside my chest cracks wide open.
Because I want this too much now.
And maybe that’s the problem.
The kettle starts heating softly.
Peyton turns toward me, not saying anything. Just waiting.
I drag both hands down my face before finally speaking. “My father used to leave bruises where people couldn’t see them.”
The words fall heavily into the silence.
Peyton stills, but she doesn’t interrupt.
Her eyes are full of concern, but I don’t see pity.
Thank fucking God.
I stare down at the hardwood floor.
“It was easier that way.” My voice sounds flat. Detached. “Teachers didn’t ask questions if marks stayed covered.”
The kettle hums quietly in the background.
I keep talking.
Now that I’ve started, I’m not sure I can stop.
“He drank a lot.” I laugh once without humor. “Actually… no. He drank constantly.”
