Page 27 of Breakaway Goals

“Kinda think I’ve got the right here,” Hayes said bluntly.

There was a part of him who really wanted to fold like a soft hand of cards.

To tell Morgan he understood. That he’d been afraid too.

Terrified, really. What did this whole thing mean, anyway?

They hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t known how.

That wasn’t just on Morgan; Hayes hadn’t managed to find the words, either.

But then he thought about how Morgan had looked right through him only a few hours ago, like he wasn’t the guy he’d shared his body and his bed and his heart with.

Like he wasn’t even Hayes Montgomery, who he’d shared ice and a line and a team with, less than two months ago.

When he remembered that, it was easy to stay angry.

“You do. I fucked it up. I really fucked up.” Morgan ran a hand through his hair.

“So that’s why you’re here? To apologize?”

“Yeah. Apologize. For sure. And to uh . . .” Morgan shot him a look, and suddenly his eyes weren’t cold anymore. They were molten and full of heat.

Oh, he was serious, wasn’t he? He really thought he could show up here, to Hayes’ hotel room, after ghosting him for six weeks, and think Hayes was going to let him touch him?

“Are you fucking joking?”

Morgan had the nerve to take a step closer, like Hayes hadn’t even said anything at all.

“Monty,” he said, his voice low. “I know I fucked up. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I should’ve talked to you.”

“So you’re apologizing now cause you want me to suck your dick? Is that how it is?” Hayes demanded archly.

“What? No. I just . . .we’re both here and you’re here overnight and . . .”

“We should just fuck because we’re both here?

I don’t think so.” Hayes shook his head emphatically.

Not just for Morgan’s benefit but for his own.

There was a very vocal part of him clamoring to just give in.

It would be so good. Maybe he wouldn’t get confused this time, because now, he knew exactly what the score was.

Whenever they saw each other, they’d hook up. His heart would stay out of it.

But no matter how much he might be tempted, Hayes couldn’t, because his heart was already in it.

“You’re telling me you really don’t want to.” Morgan sounded surprised, like of course Hayes should want him. Should want to take advantage of this opportunity.

Hayes rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to. I’m not so pathetic I’m waiting around for whatever scraps you throw my way.”

He was, actually, but the last thing Hayes wanted was for Morgan to realize that.

This whole thing was infuriating and humiliating enough as it was.

Morgan pulled himself up to his full height.

“I’m not trying to throw you a scrap ,” Morgan said, and he had the fucking nerve to sound offended. “I came to apologize.”

It had been a shitty apology. Hayes wanted to tell him that. He’d only even bothered because he’d ghosted and nobody on the fucking planet, not even Hayes, who’d been freaking obsessed with Morgan, was going to get on their knees without one. Not necessarily because he really meant it.

“Yeah, you tried,” Hayes said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. Wishing he’d never opened the door. Let Morgan stand outside and rot .

“I did .” Morgan sounded almost desperate now, which should’ve felt better than it did, kind of like the hat trick he’d scored tonight. “I really feel bad about the way we left things—”

“The way you left things,” Hayes corrected.

“Why are you being so pissy? What happened to the Hayes who apologized every other sentence?”

“You killed him off,” Hayes retorted. “He’s dead.”

“Oh come on,” Morgan said.

“No, you don’t get to show up here and decide that you want me when it was clear you didn’t.

” Righteous anger was bubbling inside him now.

Morgan had hurt him, had hurt him over and over, the last six weeks, every moment of silence a knife to the gut, and now he just wanted to say he was sorry and that made it all okay? Fuck no.

“I was . . .fuck, baby, you know this is a lot for me. I’m . . .”

“Didn’t seem a lot to you when we were doing it.” Hayes was not going to listen. If he listened, he might be tempted to believe Morgan. Maybe he really had freaked out; maybe fear really had gotten the better of him.

“It was easy, you were there—”

But Hayes didn’t want to hear it. “No. I was there that morning too. I was right fucking there, Morgan, and you just left . I was there at breakfast, when you wouldn’t even look at me.

I was there, the whole goddamn time, and you just walked away like it was nothing.

” He hated how his voice broke at the end. “Like I was nothing.”

Morgan froze. “No, no, no , baby, you’re not nothing, you’re . . .” But he didn’t finish the sentence. Like he couldn’t.

And maybe Hayes might’ve listened, might’ve really listened, if he had. But he didn’t.

He left it unsaid. Again.

“I know I’m not nothing,” Hayes said in a hard voice. “I proved it tonight. And I’ll prove it to you over and over again. I’m never going to stop. Never .”

Morgan looked broken. Like Hayes had broken him. And that felt fair. Because he’d broken Hayes first.

“Baby—”

“Don’t you fucking call me that. Not ever again,” Hayes spit out. Anger was easier than bitter disappointment. Than realizing the man he’d thought Morgan was had never really existed. Had only been a figment of his imagination.

Morgan looked at him, really looked at him, and there was that warmth, again, but this time it was mixed with devastation. Even worse: it was a devastation Hayes recognized.

And maybe, maybe , there was still that Morgan inside him, the one that Hayes’ heart had brushed up against and just known , but what was the point if Morgan fought against it so hard?

If they spent eight to ten months apart every year?

Hayes would never even have a chance to find that Morgan again, if he really did exist.

“So that’s it, then?” Morgan asked quietly.

“That’s it,” Hayes said. He dug his fingernails into his palm so he wouldn’t reach for Morgan at the last moment, as he turned away, towards the door.

“Alright,” Morgan said, and a moment later, the door shut behind him.

Later, so much later, years and years later, Hayes couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if he’d actually let himself reach out for him.

If he hadn’t been so full of bitter indignation and humiliation at being ignored.

If they hadn’t played for teams on the opposite coasts.

But Hayes never knew the answer, because that was the last time Morgan ever really looked at him.

Every game for the two years after that—before Morgan retired—he didn’t talk to Hayes. Didn’t look at him. When he had no choice, he stared right through him like he didn’t exist.

Maybe he didn’t, Hayes would think. Maybe that Hayes, the one who had loved Morgan and then lost him, had never been real to begin with.

But if that was true, Hayes knew he’d have hurt a hell of a lot less.