Me: Yes, sir.
Shit. Why did I call him that?
He responds a few seconds later.
Daltyn: Sir, huh? Stop that. I’m getting worked up.
I like the thought of that more than I should.
Me: Sorry. It just came out. Thanks again for all you’ve done.
I grab the remote and start searching for something to watch.
My phone beeps. I lift it, already feeling giddy from him being so responsive. Landon could take three to five business days to respond.
Daltyn: Always, Peyton.
Why does that line seem like a promise heintends to keep?
I returnfrom the bathroom to a knock on the door. Fear coils through me. I’m out here, alone in a cabin in the woods with an injured ankle. And I’ve seen far too many horror movies.
“Yoohoo. Is anyone home?”
Oh shit. Gram.
I move to the door, unlock it, and pull it open. She stands on the step, holding a pan of something. She’s still wearing the leopard and pink outfit I saw her in at the shoe store.
“Hi, Gram.” I move aside so she can come in.
“Hi, sweet cheeks.” She looks at my ankle. “I hate those damn things. Sprained my ankle once and was in that thing for three weeks.”
I gesture to the sectional. “Have a seat. I’ve just been watching a movie.”
“Where’s Mr. Broody?”
“Grocery store.”
“Ah. He’s a good one, that Daltyn. I love to tease your uptight goalie. His face turns red.” She busies herself opening the container. The delicious aroma of cinnamon buns wafts out.
“He’s not mine,” I say, already salivating over the decadent pastry in the pan.
She side eyes me. “Denial isn’t a good look on you, honey.”
“I’m not in denial.” I point. “You brought everything. Plates. Napkins. Plastic forks.”
“Wasn’t sure what the goalie had. Thought I’d be prepared.” She hands me a slice, then gives me a look. “Daltyn’s a complicated man. Has some kind of trauma he never talks about.”
I barely suppress the groan as I chew the bite of cinnamon roll in my mouth.
“Trauma? What kind of trauma?”
She shrugs. “Don’t know. Ford and Connor have mentioned that sometimes he shows up to practice looking exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes. Extremely quiet. And those times... he played with an intensity that shocked them at first. But now they’re used to it.” She hands me a napkin. “Like he’s trying to work out his ghosts.”
The bite of the cinnamon roll I’d eaten feels heavy in my stomach. “Poor guy. I wonder what he’s been through?”
I don’t tell her I’ve noticed some things in my time around him. The way he can be surrounded by his teammates and still appear lonely. The distant look I’ve seen in his eyes at times. And the exhaustion lining his face.
Although I blamed Landon stalking me and Daltyn trying to keep me safe, now I wonder if it’s more than that.
