God. I love that sound.
Daltyn’s fingers slide gently beneath my chin as his expression softens while looking down at me.
And suddenly I realize something that makes my chest ache.
He’s happy.
Not pretending. Not forcing it.
Actually happy.
The kind of happiness that looks fragile because he’s still learning how to hold it.
His lips softly graze mine.
When we pull apart, we just stare at each other. Breathing together. Existing quietly in the moment.
And maybe the most beautiful part?
I think he’s finally letting himself be.
66
PEYTON
I’ve never understood hockey.
Not really.
I understand men skate around with sticks trying to hit a puck into a net.
But standing in the tunnel beneath the arena while opening night roars above us? I finally get it.
The energy is electric.
Fans scream somewhere beyond the concrete walls.
Music pounds through the arena.
Players move around us in controlled chaos.
And beside me? Daltyn stands in full gear, looking like every fantasy a female hockey fan has ever had.
Broad shoulders. Massive frame. A dark focus in his eyes.
He’s terrifyingly beautiful.
And all mine.
My chest squeezes painfully at the thought.
His gloved hand brushes lightly against my hip as he leans closer. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “Just overwhelmed.”
His expression softens beneath the intensity.
Then he reaches up and gently adjusts his Avalanche jersey hanging off my shoulders.
