Page 209 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
Because men like me don’t get soft things.
Men like me destroy them.
My throat tightens painfully.
Peyton shifts slightly, rolling onto her back. Her lips part, a soft sigh escaping before she settles deeper beneath the blankets.
My entire body relaxes at the sound.
The realization nearly fucking wrecks me.
I shouldn’t be here.
I definitely shouldn’t be standing in her doorway at two in the morning staring at her like she’s the only thing keeping me human.
Because maybe she is.
But I can’t make myself leave yet.
Not when this might be the closest I ever get to something this good.
56
PEYTON
When I wake up the next morning, the cabin feels different.
For one disoriented second, I stare at the ceiling, trying to remember why my chest already aches.
Then I remember the charity event.
The little boy named Ethan. The bruises on his wrist.
Daltyn disappearing upstairs afterward like he was running from something chasing him inside his own head.
My stomach twists uneasily.
I sit up slowly, listening.
Nothing.
No footsteps upstairs. No coffee brewing. No sounds of movement or life.
A strange heaviness settles over me.
I’m used to him being here with me in the morning. And that realization feels terrifyingly intimate.
I throw on his sweatshirt before padding quietly into the kitchen. Even though he bought me my own, his is more comfortable. It smells like him. And it feels like safety.
The cabin is empty.
A sticky note sits beside the coffee maker in Daltyn’s rough handwriting.
Early practice.
Lock the door behind you.
