Page 94 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Training camp is coming up.
Sponsors.
Interviews.
Questions.
How the hell do I protect Peyton from this?
I drag a hand over my face before shoving out of bed.
The cabin is quiet as I head downstairs.
She’s still asleep on the couch, tangled in the blanket I threw over her sometime around two in the morning after I caught myself checking to make sure she was warm.
My chest tightens painfully.
Jesus Christ. She’s been through too much already.
I force myself to look away.
Then I head back upstairs, throw on a hoodie, and go for a run.
Normally,running clears my head. Today it just gives my thoughts more room to destroy me.
The cool Vermont air burns in my lungs as I follow the trail near the lake, my shoes pounding against dirt and gravel.
But all I can think is that Peyton is visible now.
Because of me.
By the time I get back to the cabin, sweat dampens the back of my shirt, and my pulse still hasn’t settled.
Inside, I find Peyton standing in the kitchen wearing one of my sweatshirts and soft gray leggings.
My fucking sweatshirt.
Her hair is messy from sleep. Coffee brews behind her. Sunlight spills across the hardwood floors.
And for one dangerous second… it feels domestic. Real. The kind of thing I swore I’d never let myself have.
“Morning,” she says softly.
My throat tightens. “Morning.”
She studies me for a second too long. Probably noticing the exhaustion. The tension. The fact that I haven’t relaxed once since last night.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
No.Not even remotely.
“Yeah.” The lie comes automatically.
Her eyebrows pull together slightly, like she knows I’m full of shit.
I move toward the coffee maker instead of toward her. Because I don’t trust myself enough.
She’s quiet while I pour a cup.
