Ford nods. “She does.”
“And women generally don’t move their emotional support systems across state lines for fun,” Jake adds.
A reluctant huff escapes me.
Connor grins. “There it is.” He pauses dramatically. “Hope.”
I shake my head, grabbing my bag.
For the first time all day, I can breathe a little easier.
Which is probablywhy when I get home after practice and step inside the cabin, the sight waiting for me nearly wrecks me completely.
Peyton stands barefoot in the kitchen, wearing my hoodie while stirring something on the stove. Soft music plays while she cooks.
She looks comfortable. Domestic.
Like she’s home.
She looks up the second I walk in, and smiles.
Just like that, every terrifying thought in my head crashes painfully against one brutal realization.
I am completely, hopelessly in love with this woman.
And if she leaves, I don’t know how I’ll survive it.
71
PEYTON
Daltyn is trying so hard to hide it.
That’s the worst part.
He still kisses me goodbye before practice. Still reaches for my hand automatically. Still pulls me against him at night.
But something quieter lives beneath it now.
Fear.
Constant fear.
I notice it in the way his eyes flick toward me sometimes when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s already preparing himself to lose me.
And honestly? That hurts worse than if he’d begged me to stay.
Instead of making this about himself, he keeps trying to love me the right way.
Even if it’s killing him.
Which is exactlyhow I end up standing in thekitchen three nights later, staring at the email draft open on my laptop while my heart pounds violently in my chest.
The cabin is quiet except for soft music playing in the kitchen.
Daltyn is in the living room watching game footage. Or pretending to. I caught him rewinding the same play three times.
I glance back at the screen.
