Page 225 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
The confession hangs heavily in the air.
Peyton’s face softens, concern and understanding lighting up in her eyes.
“It got bad after hockey took off,” I admit quietly. “More pressure. More stress. More attention.” My jaw tightens. “Sometimes I’d wake up feeling like I was back there again.”
I wince.
Back in that house, hearing shouting through the walls.
My chest tightens sharply.
Peyton instinctively reaches for my hand. The warmth of her fingers wrapping around mine nearly fucking undoes me.
“But lately…” I swallow hard. “The nightmares haven’t been as bad.”
Her eyes lift to mine slowly. “Because of me?” The question comes out so soft it almost hurts.
I nod once.
“Sometimes after one…” My throat tightens slightly. “I’d go downstairs.”
Peyton stills completely. “And?”
I stare at her for a long second before answering.
“I’d stand in your doorway like a fucking creep.”
To my surprise, Peyton huffs out the tiniest laugh.
The sound loosens something tight in my chest.
“I’d just…” I shake my head once. “Watch you sleep.”
I picture it even now, her breathing even, cheeks pink. She looked peaceful. Safe.
It grounded me.
“You calmed me,” I admit roughly.
Peyton’s fingers tighten around mine. “I did?”
I nod again.
“You quiet the nightmares.”
Silence settles softly through the loft after that.
Peyton stares at me like I’ve just handed her something fragile and sacred.
Maybe I have.
Then slowly—carefully—she steps closer until barely any space remains between us.
Her hand slides against my chest, over my heart.
“You don’t ever have to face them alone again,” she whispers.
Jesus Christ.
