Page 26 of Breakaway Goals

"If you ask me one more time if I’m okay, I’m going to break your nose,” Hayes said to Zach under his breath during warmups.

“You’re not looking over there.”

“No shit,” Hayes huffed out. “I’m not going to. I can’t .”

“You’re not going to be able to pretend he doesn’t exist the whole game. The faceoffs—”

“I’m going to pretend that it’s seven weeks ago, and I barely even know the guy,” Hayes said between clenched teeth.

It was the only way he thought he could get through this.

He’d woken up this morning in New York sick to his stomach. Yearning to see Morgan so badly he’d have traded everything for just one glimpse and also dreading that first look so epically it was a wonder he’d even managed to make it out of bed.

“That’s smart. So smart,” Zach said.

The problem is that Zach didn’t sound convinced. Like he wasn’t sure Hayes could actually pull it off, and maybe he couldn’t.

“I’m trying to be reasonable about this,” Hayes said, even though his heart was screaming out for the least reasonable course of action. “I’m expecting you’re gonna be reasonable about this, too.”

They’d touched on this subject a handful of times in the last week, Zach shrugging him off every single time.

But Hayes was not going to stand by and let Zach go after Morgan like he was his knight in shining armor and Hayes was a ruined maiden.

Hayes had gone into the hookup with his eyes wide open. Sure, the whole thing had gone sideways, but he’d known, he’d known , that it was probably not going to be some big epic love story.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love; it had just happened. Almost by accident. That wasn’t anyone’s fault. Morgan didn’t deserve to have his ass kicked on the ice just because Hayes hadn’t been able to keep his feelings under control.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Zach muttered, flicking a puck over to Hayes, who shot it back.

“I want a promise that you’re not gonna do something stupid, just because you feel like you should.”

“He hurt you,” Zach said, jaw jutting out.

“Yeah, he did.” Somehow it hurt even more to admit that was true. “But he never promised me anything—”

“He ghosted you, Monty.”

Hayes pressed his lips together. “Yeah. He did. That was not his finest moment, for sure. But it was kind of inevitable he was going to freak out, wasn’t it? I can’t blame him for something that’s absolutely in line with his personality.”

“You sure fucking can,” Zach argued.

“Zachy,” Hayes said with resignation. “Please. It’s going to be hard enough to face him out there. But if he knows how much he hurt me—if he knew . . .I don’t know if I could handle it. Leave him alone, okay?”

Zach sighed. “Fine. He doesn’t deserve it, but I’ll leave his face unpunched.”

“Think of it this way—losing this game will probably piss him off more than anything else, so let’s win it, okay?”

Zach grinned at him. “Now you’re talking like the Hayes I know. Go out and show him what he’s missing, Monty.”

Hayes repeated his pep talk over and over, as the Sentinels finished up their warmups and headed back into the locker room.

Then they were back out on the ice, the words a constant chant in the back of his head.

Show him what he’s missing. Show him what he’s missing. Show him what he’s missing.

But the moment he skated over to the center of the ice and looked right at Morgan, right into those warm hazel eyes, it changed.

Show him how much you missed him.

But then Morgan looked right at him, but it was like he couldn’t see him at all. His gaze was where it should be, but it was like he didn’t see him. The hazel wasn’t warm at all, but cold.

Like he was looking at a stranger.

Hayes’ heart ached.

It was over. It was really fucking over.

He leaned in and let his focus engulf him. Hockey he could do; it was so much easier than feeling.

Hayes won the faceoff.

Scored a goal on his second shift by picking a puck right off Morgan’s tape and taking it the other way.

Scored another goal before the end of the first period.

Each and every time they faced off, Morgan looked more and more pissed, but that could also be the score. First it was 2-0, then it was 3-0, and by the end of the second it was 5-0, and Morgan looked infuriated as he skated off.

But his gaze still slid right over Hayes like he didn’t even exist.

A three point night already—two goals and an assist—and it was like he was still just another hockey player for Morgan.

That’s all you’re ever going to be to him, now.

Before tonight, Hayes had known that was probably true, but his heart was having trouble recalibrating.

It wanted what it wanted, no matter how much of an unfeeling asshole Morgan had turned out to be.

It couldn’t forget those perfect intimate moments they’d shared; he’d been there and he couldn’t believe they were a lie, even if it would’ve been so much easier.

He slunk into the locker room, collapsing on the bench in front of his stall, dragging his jersey off and grabbing a towel to wipe his face.

“You good?” Zach asked as he walked by.

“Yeah,” Hayes said, because that was the only choice.

“Killin’ it out there,” Michael said, slumping down next to him.

“Yeah, dude, that last goal was freaking poetry,” Zach agreed with him.

“We gotta stay focused no matter what the score is. Can’t forget who we’re playing,” Hayes said, raising his voice. He wasn’t the captain of the Mavericks, not yet, but he knew he was the heir apparent, and Gabriel, the captain of the Mavs, gave him an approving nod at his leadership.

“Hat trick watch,” Zach murmured, nudging him as they headed down the tunnel for the third period.

“Don’t,” Hayes said sharply. Let him believe it was pure superstition. But it was something else entirely. The agony of knowing that no matter what he did out here, it wouldn’t matter. Morgan still wouldn’t see him.

The recalibration after having every insecure, every anxious, every unsure, part of him acknowledged and shared was brutal, but there was nothing Hayes could do but just accept it.

He couldn’t force Morgan to love him.

He couldn’t force Morgan to accept he loved him.

They met on the faceoff dot again. Hayes won that one, too, and flicked the pass behind him, to Michael, and they were off and running again. Setting up a play and then another play.

Hayes scored again and, since they were in New York, only a handful of hats rained down.

The game finally ended 6-1, and Hayes knew he should’ve felt better.

He did not feel better.

It turned out it didn’t matter how many brilliant goals he scored, Morgan was never going to look at him like that again. It was over, and it was time for Hayes to accept it.

Since they were staying overnight before heading up to Buffalo, some of the guys tried to get up a group to go out and celebrate the win and Hayes’ hat trick, but he had never felt less like celebrating.

Hayes shot Zach a look, but he probably didn’t even have to. Zach spoke up for both of them, offhandedly mentioning this show they were watching.

They weren’t watching anything particular right now, but clearly Zach knew he was not in the mood to go out.

They returned to the hotel. Zach nudged him in the elevator, but Hayes only shot him a tired smile. “You’ll be okay,” Zach said as they got off on their floor.

Would he? He imagined that yes, eventually, he’d find his way back to okay but right now he’d misplaced the map.

“Yeah,” Hayes said, because that was easier than confessing the truth.

“Great game, though. Really. You were fucking amazing out there,” Zach said. Hayes knew he was right, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck.

“Thanks.”

Zach paused as Hayes stopped at his door and dug into his pocket for his key card. “If you need anything . . .”

“I promise you. I’m going to order dinner, collapse into bed, and sleep until morning,” Hayes said.

“Okay.” Zach sounded worried, like he knew that was a lie, but at least he didn’t call Hayes on it.

He opened the door and heard it shut behind him.

Then he was finally alone. Hayes felt his knees give out as he dropped to the edge of the bed.

He wanted to cry, because that might make him feel better—at least it might exorcise some of the nauseating pain rolling around inside him—but he couldn’t.

For a long time he just sat there, looking at the room, but not seeing anything. It was the same kind of hotel room they always stayed in. He’d been in hundreds over the years. The ones he and Morgan had ended up sharing in Toronto had been just like this.

If he closed his eyes he could picture them. Could imagine that he was back there and everything was different.

But when he opened his eyes, he was still alone.

He’d just decided he should get up and get something to eat when a knock on the door echoed through the room.

Probably a teammate or a coach, wanting him to go out even though he’d made it clear he really didn’t want to.

Groaning a little at how stiff he’d gotten, Hayes stood and after toeing his shoes off on the way to the door pulled it open.

He was wrong.

It was not a teammate or a coach.

Morgan stood in the doorway, a sheepish, ashamed look on his face, still in his suit, though he’d loosened his tie.

Hayes stared, shock tangling up his vocal cords.

“Hey,” Morgan said, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. “Can I . . .uh . . .”

Hayes wanted very badly to shut the door in his stupid fucking face, but he didn’t.

“Sure,” he said, which really ? He couldn’t believe he’d just agreed and stepped back so that Morgan could walk right in.

Hayes didn’t know who he hated more right now: Morgan for daring to show his face tonight or himself, for just letting him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Morgan said earnestly.

“Oh, now you want to talk?” Hayes retorted.

Morgan’s face fell. “Yeah. About that.”

“About that?” Hayes prompted.

“I shouldn’t have left like that. I . . .I sort of freaked out.”

“Really,” Hayes said, with faux-surprise.

“You’re pissed.” Morgan had the fucking nerve to sigh with resignation.