Page 3 of Breakaway Goals

“You make it sound like a date,” Hayes grumbled. It had been very much not a date. They’d talked about hockey basically the whole time. Besides, Morgan was one of those guys you just knew was straight, no question about it whatsoever.

“I mean, you said you were gonna do it and you did it. Give yourself a pat on the back for that one. Now Morgan Reynolds drinking coffee in front of you is gonna be a permanent part of your jerkoff routine.”

Hayes squawked. “I’m not that bad.”

“You totally fucking are.”

“Well, it got real awkward after I asked him, because he said sure, but only if I stopped falling to my knees around him—”

“Oh, shit,” Zach interrupted.

Hayes flopped down onto his partially made bed. He had ten minutes before he had to be back downstairs for team lunch. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, that wasn’t what he was meaning, but I, like a complete fucking idiot, thought that was exactly what he meant, and I freaked.”

“Please tell me you didn’t come out to Morgan Reynolds today.”

Hayes knew Zach wasn’t saying it like that because Morgan wouldn’t be understanding—more than once he and Zach had discussed how great he was about his son, Finn—but because with every person he told, the chances of it staying under wraps got smaller.

Hayes wasn’t against coming out of the closet. He wouldn’t be the first professional athlete to do that. Not by a long shot. But he wasn’t ready. He still wanted to imprint his legacy in the NHL, before he became known as the “gay one” instead of the “next one.”

“It was practically an accident,” Hayes said.

“You just wanted to see if he was going to fall to his knees and thank God ’cause he’s been wanting to get up on you forever ,” Zach teased.

It was impossible not to smile. “Like that would ever happen.”

“Exactly,” Zach said.

“It didn’t, by the way. He was cool about it, though. Especially considering how embarrassing the whole thing was.”

Zach hummed. “You do anything else humiliating that I missed?”

“Totally spaced that Morgan and Jacob Braun hate each other?”

“God, you’re really batting a thousand over there. Maybe I should’ve stowed away in your luggage. You need someone to keep you from tripping over your own goddamn skates at this point.”

Hayes sighed. “It was not my greatest moment. In a whole series of them, honestly.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” Zach didn’t sound like he really believed that was true, but at least he was saying it.

“I hope so.” Hayes took a deep breath. “They’re definitely putting us on a line together.”

“God, you and Morgan Reynolds. You’re gonna be on his wing. Try not to die of happiness or from a permanent hard-on.” Hayes didn’t need to see his best friend to see how hard he was smirking.

“Zachy—”

“Maybe something else to use when your coffee date jerkoff material gets old,” Zach teased.

“Contrary to popular believe, I do not jerk off to hockey highlights.”

“Maybe not to anyone else’s. But Morgan’s? Hell yes you do.”

Hayes really regretted that one time when he and Zach had gotten drunk, two or three years back, and Hayes had confessed how Morgan Reynolds did it for him in all kinds of ways. The hockey way, for sure, but the wished he was not as straight as he seemed way, too.

Morgan was just hot . On the ice, of course, with his soft hands and quick feet and unreal puck handling, sliding between defenders like they barely existed, muscling guys around like he was born to do it, and off it, too.

His eyes were more blue than green and sometimes even a deeply attractive hazel in certain lights, and his light brownish-red hair curled just right over his forehead when he went too long without cutting it.

Hayes had spent way too many nights imagining Morgan rubbing the caramel-colored scruff edging his perfect jawline all over Hayes’ body.

It was never going to happen, of course, but it was still a fantasy he couldn’t seem to help.

“I’m kind of pathetic, aren’t I?”

Zach scoffed. “No way. You’re Hayes Montgomery. You’re gonna be top line for Team USA and you’re gonna be playing on Morgan Reynolds’ wing. Kind of the last thing from pathetic.”

“Okay, chill out,” Hayes said, laughing. “My ego’s gonna grow out of control.”

“Not likely,” Zach said flatly.

“Morgan gave me shit about that too. Being too modest.”

“Did you shit yourself?”

“When he said I was really fucking good? Yeah. But I’d already embarrassed myself enough . . .”

“Yeah, you really did.”

Hayes laughed. He’d felt weird and apprehensive about this whole tournament. He didn’t often blend well with other hockey guys, other than Zach and a handful on the Mavs—who weren’t going to be here. “Don’t hold back.”

“You’re damn good. You’re already a star, and you’re gonna be a superstar,” Zach said solemnly. “Now remember that when you go out there this afternoon with Reynolds, okay?”

Hayes said he would, tucked his phone in his pocket. Checked and then fixed his hair in the mirror, flicking the dark brown strands around—not that he thought it made any difference, because it wasn’t like he was going to be picking up here — and went down to lunch.

Calvin and Noah were there—they’d played together at the USA development program—and it was easy to sit with them and let their bullshit and snark flow over him.

Morgan was at a table with the coaching staff and the other goalie on the roster, Bram Jones.

Jacob Braun was on the other side of the room, laughing with some of the older guys.

Then they headed to practice, taking a bus to the arena.

It wasn’t the first time he’d played for Team USA; Hayes had won medals at the U18s and at World Juniors. The Mavs had gone deep enough into the playoffs the last few years that he hadn’t had a chance to play at senior Worlds.

Still, it didn’t get old to tug his jersey on, feel the fabric settle over his gear.

He went through his normal warmup routine on the ice, not hurrying, just eyeing the different groups forming around the ice—the goalies on one end, the defensive core on the other, the forwards fanning out around the middle of the rink.

Hayes was just finishing up his stretches when Morgan skated up to him. “We’re gonna run some plays,” he said. “Danny’s gonna play left wing.”

Matt Daniels—better known to everyone as Danny—had played with Hayes in the development program. He was a powerhouse center, had won the Cup last year, and had a rep for being aggressive on the ice and outrageous off it.

“Sure,” Hayes said. His style was a little more finesse than that, but if Morgan thought he and Danny could gel together, he wasn’t going to argue.

Except, they didn’t gel together at all.

“When I’m fucking calling for the puck, you gotta pass it to me, Monty,” Danny complained after he’d taken another bad shot.

Like his stomach wasn’t already crawling with shame for letting Morgan down.

For taking such a shitty angle in front of him.

He was better than this, he knew he was, but Danny was pushing him, not speed wise, but too close, not letting him have the space to work he was used to, and it was throwing him off.

“Give him a break,” Morgan threw out offhandedly.

Danny made a scoffing noise. “You never give anyone a fucking break, Mo.”

“Maybe you fucked it up,” Morgan retorted. “Let’s try it again.”

They did. Over and over again, until Hayes was dripping sweat, the exhaustion on his face mirrored on Danny’s.

“Better,” Morgan finally said. He turned to Danny. “You gotta skate as fast as Monty does, or you’re never gonna find me.”

“Good luck with that,” Hayes muttered under his breath, but it must’ve been loud enough that Danny heard, because he made a face.

“Not my fault that the next one is so fucking fast,” Danny said, wiping the perspiration off his forehead.

Hayes wanted to tell him not to call him that, that he hated being called that, but he’d learned the hard way that if he hated something to never let anyone know, because he’d never get away from it. Hockey players were generally a good-natured group but they were also relentless.

“Don’t call him that,” Morgan snapped.

“Hey, it’s not me that made it up,” Danny said.

“It’s bullshit. There’s no chosen one . No next on e. We’re all just doing our fucking best.” Morgan shot Danny a hard look. “Or we should be doing our fucking best.”

“Hey that’s cold, man,” Danny said, apparently unbothered by Morgan’s lecture. Hayes wished he could be that relaxed about it, but he wasn’t.

It was probably the way Morgan had been featuring in his fantasies since he was old enough to start jerking off.

Hayes didn’t know how he felt about Morgan speaking up for him. If it made him want to worship Morgan even fucking harder, or make him shy away from it, embarrassed at needing to be protected.

“Is it cold if it’s true?” Morgan asked as he picked up his water bottle, squirting some into his mouth.

“Ouch,” Hayes said.

Danny elbowed him in the side. “If I gotta skate faster, you gotta push harder into the corners. Be aggressive, Monty.”

“I can be aggressive.”

Danny’s eyebrows skated up under his visor. “When?”

“Kids,” Morgan broke in. “Let’s run it again.”