Peyton’s smile fades. “Daltyn?”
I shake my head, already opening every social app I’ve ignored for days.
Mentions.
Tags.
Hockey forums.
Fan edits.
TikTok clips.
The photos have spread everywhere.
Slow-motion edits set to music.
Comment threads dissecting every look between us.
Thousands of likes. Shares. The internet feeds on it like blood in the water.
My pulse pounds harder with every swipe. All I can think is that I should’ve been watching. I should’ve been paying attention.
My stomach twists harder as I stare at the airport photo that’s been going viral while I was oblivious.
Jesus Christ. The way I’m looking at her.
I look possessive. Protective. Completely gone for her.
The comments blur beneath the photo.
He’s obsessed with her.
That man is in LOVE.
He looks at her like she’s the only person in the world.
My chest goes tight enough to hurt. Because they’re not seeing something casual. They’re seeing exactly what I’ve spent my entire life trying not to become.
My father used to look at my mother like that. Like she belonged to him. Like he needed her to breathe. Like loving someone meant consuming them whole.
And I swore as a kid, while listening to them screamthrough thin apartment walls, that I would never become that man.
Never need someone enough to destroy myself over them. Never let a woman become the center of my goddamn world.
But staring at this photo… I already know I’m fucked.
Rage hits me so hard, my vision turns red.
Not because of the internet. Or the fans.
I’m mad at myself.
Like a trainwreck that I can’t look away from, I continue scrolling until...oh fuck.
My thumb freezes over the screen.
One account already tagged her.
