I look down at my coffee mug.
Of course, he noticed. He notices everything.
“I just don’t love strangers talking about Landon and me like they know anything.” The words come out softer than I intend.
Daltyn goes still. “They don’t know shit.”
“I know.”
“They don’t get to define what happened to you.”
My throat tightens. “I know.”
His hand closes into a fist on the counter before he forces it open again. The restraint is visible. Almost painful.
“I hate this,” he says quietly.
“Being public?”
“No.” His eyes meet mine. “That they’re putting your name anywhere near his.”
Oh.My chest squeezes hard enough to hurt.
For a second, I don’t know what to say.
Because that is the thing, isn’t it? Daltyn doesn’t care that the internet is calling him my boyfriend. He doesn’t care that his teammates are screaming. He doesn’t even really care that reporters are suddenly interested in him for something besides hockey.
He cares that my name is being dragged through a story I didn’t choose. A story I’ve been trying to survive.
And something about that realization makes my eyes sting.
“Daltyn,” I whisper.
He looks away, his jaw tight. “I’m sorry.”
“You already said that.”
“I’m still sorry.”
I stand slowly and round the island.
His gaze tracks me the whole way.
I stop beside him, close enough that my hip brushes his knee.
He turns slightly toward me. Still tense and angry, looking like he wants to physically stand between me and the entire internet.
Which is ridiculous.
And it may be the most heartbreakingly romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I admit.
His face tightens.
“But not because of you,” I add quickly.
He still doesn’t relax.
