Page 164 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
I glance toward the ice at the net that used to make sense before Peyton crashed into my life.
“No,” I finally admit.
Connor blinks. Probably shocked that I admitted something real for once.
My grip tightens around my stick. “Everything’s different now.”
Connor studies me for a long moment.
Then unexpectedly says, “Yeah, it is.”
No jokes. No chirping. No teasing.
Just understanding.
Which somehow feels worse than the mocking.
Deep down? I know exactly what happened.
Everything changed because of her.
42
PEYTON
By noon the next day, I’m officially restless.
I’ve reorganized the kitchen drawers. Folded laundry. Checked my email. Scrolled social media until I almost threw my phone into the fireplace after seeing another edit of Daltyn glaring at Tony like a homicidal lumberjack.
Now I’m pacing the cabin in leggings and one of Daltyn’s sweatshirts like a feral Victorian widow waiting for her husband to return from war.
Which is ridiculous. Training camp is twenty minutes away.
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Allie: Emergency yoga session. You, me, Harper. We’ll come rescue you from the cabin before you emotionally spiral into the forest.
My lips twitch.
Me: Too late. I’m already halfway there mentally.
Harper: We’re picking you up in twenty.
Thank God.
Because if I watch one more slow-motion TikTok edit of Daltyn calling me his girlfriend, I may genuinely lose my mind.
By the time Allie’s SUV pulls into the driveway, I’ve changed into black leggings and a fitted long-sleeve top. My hair is twisted into a messy bun while I shove my phone into my bag and walk down the porch steps carefully.
Allie rolls down the passenger-side window. “Wow. You look like the emotionally conflicted heroine in a hockey romance novel.”
I stick my tongue out at them. “I hate you bitches.”
Harper snorts from the driver’s seat. “No, you don’t. Now get in.”
Unfortunately, she’s right.
The second I climb into the SUV, the chaos begins.
