“What are they gonna ask?” she asks carefully.
I hold her gaze for a second too long.
“Questions... about you.”
Her smile fades slightly.
Guilt claws through my chest.
Fuck.
I step closer without thinking, my hand instinctively settling against her waist. “I’m not gonna let them turn you into some headline,” I say quietly.
Something shifts in her expression, her eyes softening as she stares at me like I’m her hero.
And that somehow scares me more than the media ever could.
Ten minutesbefore the Zoom meeting starts, I’m already irritated.
Peyton sits across from me at the kitchen island, sipping coffee while I glare at my laptop like it personally offends me.
“You look homicidal,” she informs me.
“I feel like I am.”
“That’s probably frowned upon during interviews.”
I grunt.
The Zoom connects, and my screen fills with too many faces. PR people. Reporters. And Brent. All staring at me like I’m a bomb they’re hoping won’t explode.
Brent adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. “Everybody ready?”
No. Absolutely not.
But I nod, knowing nobody gives a shit that I’m not remotely ready for this.
“Okay,” Brent says professionally. “We’re just doing a few quick questions regarding offseason coverage before training camp begins.”
One reporter smiles too widely. “Daltyn, thanks for joining us.”
I nod once.
“Fans have been very interested in the recent photos circulating online. Particularly the woman you were seen leaving Burlington International Airport with.”
My jaw tightens.
Keep it together.
“She’s a friend,” I say evenly. “She’s staying with me temporarily after her apartment building was destroyed during the hurricane in Florida.”
Another reporter cuts in quickly. “And that friend would be Peyton Sinclair?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting,” the first reporter says. “There have also been rumors linking Ms. Sinclair to former NHL player Landon Cross. Given Cross’s recent arrest, are those rumors accurate?”
My pulse spikes. “No.”
