The puck drops.
Connor cuts left.
Jake drives the net.
Easton takes the pass and snaps a quick shot high blocker side.
I stop it cleanly this time.
But even as the puck hits my glove, something ugly twists low in my stomach.
Because Coach is right. I need to lock the fuck in.
This never happens to me. Not on the ice.
Hockey has always been the one place I could shut everything else out. The nightmares. The anger. The memories. The fear. None of it mattered once I stepped onto the ice.
But now? All I can think about is Peyton alone back at the cabin. Wondering if she’s reading comments online. Whether the media is digging into her life. Whether hearing Landon’s name everywhere is hurting her. Whether she’s overwhelmed.
If she regrets any of this. If she regretsme.
The thought hits hard enough to throw me off balance for half a second.
And that scares the hell out of me.
Hockey has always been controlled. Predictable. Safe.
Peyton Sinclair just became the first thing powerful enough to break through all of it.
34
PEYTON
I do ankle circles clockwise, then counterclockwise. So far, the first day without the medical boot is off to a great start.
A long sigh comes out of me.
Really? This is what you’re focusing on?
Daltyn left for training camp over an hour ago, and so far, all I’ve done is rinse our coffee mugs, load the dishwasher, then sit on the sectional and do some calf raises and ankle circles.
Pathetic.
Still, it’s distracting enough that I’m not looking at social media, which is a huge plus. Every time I get on my socials, I end up spiraling. The number of posts and videos I've been tagged in nearly makes my head spin around like I'm starring inThe Exorcist.
It’s exhausting.
I should check my emails to see if there are any updates about my job. But I’m afraid of what might be in there.
Hockey fans are relentless. Especially female fans. Half of them keep telling me how lucky I am and asking when we’re getting engaged, while the other half is sending medeath threats because I “locked down the most eligible goalie in the NHL.”
A key rattles in the lock, then Thelma steps inside. Daltyn told me she’d be arriving at ten. I had no idea the morning had been going so fast... even though I haven’t done much of anything.
“Morning, Ms. Peyton,” Thelma says with a smile. “I see you’re not wearing the boot anymore.”
I glance down at my sneaker-clad feet. “It feels wonderful to have matching shoes. And the best news? So far, no pain or swelling.”
“Oh, that is great news.” She sets her purse on the island. “I’m going to start on the laundry. Let me know if there’s anything you want washed.”
