Page 25 of Breakaway Goals

Six weeks later

Morgan had been through grueling stretches before.

The end of the season always felt like a grind.

Every Cup run felt like he was running on fumes, exhausted and worn to a shadow of his former self, at least until the puck dropped, and he found a new well of energy and drive—not just wanting to win, but needing to win.

This was not the same.

He was tired, but not sleeping. When he finally did manage to fall into a restless sleep, the dreams haunted him.

Hayes smiling, Hayes laughing, Hayes scoring unbelievable breakaway goals.

Hayes soft and tender next to him in bed.

But when Morgan woke up, he was always alone.

It was his own goddamn fault, so it was hard—no, impossible— to feel sorry for himself. He could only push through it, hoping that each morning when he woke up he felt less like death.

Less like calling up Hayes, fingers trembling as he gripped his phone, and begging for his forgiveness. For any pathetic crumb that Hayes felt like tossing his way.

Any time he felt like doing that, he called Danny instead.

Danny, who despite the fact that he had never liked that guy either on the ice or off it, had become a friend.

“I’m only doing this,” Danny had said the first time he’d called him, a week after Four Nations had ended, “because you are so fucking pathetic, and anyone with eyes can see you’re dying inside, even on the ice. ”

Morgan had wanted to deny it, but he saw the emptiness in his gaze in the mirror. “Guess I got you in the divorce,” he only said, hoping it came out light and funny, but instead it was flat and horrible, kind of how he felt inside.

“Yeah, and not because you deserve it. Hayes has people. That’s because he’s not a dick. You don’t have anyone. So I guess you’ve got me.”

Morgan had never told Danny how it had gone down. He hadn’t needed to; Danny had guessed. Something about the inevitability of Morgan reverting to his natural asshole state and fucking it up, in the end. Morgan hadn’t argued with this assessment because it was dangerously close to the truth.

They didn’t usually talk about it. They usually talked about anything else but Hayes. Danny was always good for the latest hockey gossip, who was pissed at whom, who was on a scoring streak, even who was hooking up and who they were doing it with. But they never usually talked about Hayes.

Which was why Morgan couldn’t even be pissed when Danny sounded completely fucking floored when he opened the conversation this morning with, “So, we’re playing the Mavs tonight. I’m going to have to see Hayes.”

“Shit, is it already that time?” Danny asked.

“Come on,” Morgan said, rolling his eyes. “You knew this was coming up. You probably had it circled on your calendar. Bandits versus Mavs. The night when Morgan Reynolds totally—”

“Totally melts down, falls to his knees on the ice, and proposes hot gay marriage to Hayes Montgomery? White picket fence and cute yappy dog and sappy brunch dates and all?”

“I hate you,” Morgan said between clenched teeth. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that. Except that he did desperately want Hayes Montgomery. The white picket fence and dog and brunch dates appealed less, but in the face of having Hayes, he’d have accepted a hell of a lot worse.

“No, you hate that I’m right.” Danny wasn’t exactly sympathetic on these calls, which was why Morgan could tolerate them. If Danny had been nice about it, if he’d made empathetic noises about how much this sucked, Morgan couldn’t have stomached it. He didn’t deserve that kind of gentle treatment.

Morgan made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “How am I supposed to—just—you know? See him? Face off against him?”

“Pretend that he’s someone else,” Danny said promptly. “Oh! Pretend he’s me.”

“He’s a lot better at faceoffs than you,” Morgan grumbled.

“I’m so glad that love hasn’t changed you; you’re still a massive asshole.”

“I’m . . .it’s not like that,” Morgan retorted weakly. Of course it was like that. Of course he loved Hayes. He’d known it the night of the championship game, when he’d looked at him and realized he never wanted to look at anything else.

When he’d have thrown it all away to never look away from him again.

Except that it turned out hockey was a bitch of a mistress.

“Bud, I thought you were depressed and pathetic, not stupid,” Danny said. “So are you gonna go see him? Tell him how good you think he is at faceoffs?”

“Shut up,” Morgan said.

“ Are you?”

Morgan hadn’t really thought about it. Lie .

He’d thought about it basically nonstop the last six weeks, alternately dreading and counting down the days like a little kid with a birthday party.

He wanted to just see Hayes, even if Hayes looked like he hated him.

Even if Hayes looked at him like nothing had ever happened between them.

It didn’t matter, he just wanted to see him.

And yes , he wanted to talk to him. To apologize. To try to explain. To beg his forgiveness. To make things right.

To hug him and kiss him and touch him— no . Morgan cut that thought off hard and fast. If he showed up at Hayes’ room and fucked him, it would destroy him.

But then, he was already halfway there. What was a little more destruction?

“I don’t know,” Morgan said slowly. “I shouldn’t, right?”

“You ever want to get over this?”

“You know I do,” Morgan bit off.

But that wasn’t entirely true either, because as absolutely fucking miserable as he felt, not having that misery lodged tight under his breastbone, right up against his heart, meant that it was over. Really fucking over.

That actually sounded worse.

He didn’t want to be the guy who’d fucked and left Hayes Montgomery. But he really didn’t want to be the guy who just got over Hayes Montgomery like it was nothing, either.

“Then you gotta be strong, man,” Danny advised.

That was a whole fucking trip. Danny advising .

“You’re an idiot,” Morgan said. “I can’t believe I’m even considering taking suggestions from you.”

“Hey, I’m a catch,” Danny protested.

“Yeah, in that women catch you and then throw you back when they realize you’re a fucking lunatic.”

“And how is that any different than you and Hayes?”

It wasn’t. Except he’d thrown himself away, because he’d already fucked up one marriage and that was when they’d lived together, in the same state, in the same house .

“Maybe if I see him, it’ll be like closure or something.”

“Yeah, okay, Dr. Phil,” Danny said sarcastically. “That’s not an excuse to like . . .fuck him one last time, or something?”

“Or something,” Morgan admitted.

“Yeah, I’m going to go on record saying that’s a bad idea. Don’t try to see him after the game. They’re probably not even staying in New York.” Danny paused and when Morgan didn’t answer, he made a frustrated noise. “Fuck, dude, don’t tell me you figured out if they were sleeping over.”

Morgan had already emailed their traveling coordinator, under the flimsiest pretext known to man, wondering if the Mavs would be staying over after the game or immediately leaving.

Turned out they weren’t leaving until the next day, because they were only heading up to Buffalo. Morgan regretted sending the email the moment he’d gotten the answer he’d wanted.

“I . . .I might’ve asked.” It was easier to lie to himself than to Danny. Morgan thought a therapist would probably have a field day with that particular realization.

“Dude,” Danny said. “You cannot go see him.”

“I should apologize. I ghosted him, Matt. I just fucking . . . left .” Morgan hated the way his throat was choking him.

“And he’s probably really fucking pissed at you for that. You want him to punch you in the face?”

If Hayes did, he’d feel something again. Something besides this all-consuming regret.

“Scratch that,” Danny continued. “You’d probably love that, you sick fuck.”

“I’m not that sick,” Morgan protested.

“Not because you normally like anyone punching you in the face, but if that was all you could get from Monty? You’d take it, and you’d like it.”

“I would not.” It was embarrassing how right Danny was.

“Now that I’m thinking about it,” Danny continued like he hadn’t even spoken, “if you let him win all the faceoffs just because he’s Hayes, and you’re crazy about him—maybe just full-on crazy at this point—I’m flying to New York and personally beating some sense into you.”

“I would not,” Morgan repeated but firmer this time. Because yeah, if Morgan went to see him after the game, and Hayes was angry and justifiably punched him in the face, he’d probably take it. But he was not going to let Hayes win anything on the ice, just because he was Hayes.

“Okay, there’s Morgan again. Remember that, okay? Remember who you are. You’re Morgan fucking Reynolds.”

He was. And Hayes was Hayes Montgomery.

It was important to remember that. Maybe if he did, if he reminded himself over and over again of their roles, not who they really were, underneath, but of the parts they played in the NHL, he could get through this game.

“Okay,” Morgan said.

“Is that an okay, you’re an idiot and I’m going to see him anyway, fuck common sense, or an okay, yes, you’re so right, Danny, thank you for always being a beacon of reason ?”

Morgan scoffed under his breath. “Neither, actually. I’m never gonna think you’re a beacon of reason.”

“That’s fair. But still, don’t go see him, Mo. Don’t do it. Don’t do him, either.”

“That right there is why you’re not a beacon of reason,” Morgan retorted.

But he knew no matter what he said, Danny had a point.

If he went to see Hayes, even if he told himself he was only going to apologize, no matter how pissed Hayes was, they would probably end up doing something Morgan would only pretend to regret.

Something that would make this whole mess even messier.

“I mean it,” Danny semi-threatened. “I’m gonna be watching. Put your game face on, Mo.”

“Got it,” Morgan said, and hoped to God that he actually could.