Page 35 of Breakaway Goals

“Some of us manage to have hockey careers and a relationship,” Jacob said, but his voice was kind. Probably kinder than Morgan deserved. “You even did it.”

“Not well,” Morgan said. He knew what an asshole thing it was to say, but those were other players and I’m Morgan Reynolds. But that was the truth.

Jacob shrugged. “So you dumped him. Let me guess, he hates you now.”

Morgan thought back to the bathroom, a week ago.

The hardness in Hayes’ voice, in his green eyes, sharp like a cut emerald.

“Yeah. I think so. And I can’t even be pissed about that.

’Cause I’m the one who fucked up. But then I ask myself, did I even fuck up?

Would I go back and make a different decision? I don’t know. I got what I wanted.”

For a long moment, Jacob didn’t say anything, just looked at Morgan. Like he was really seeing him. Even all the ugly parts Morgan usually tried to hide under bluster and cockiness. “Did you, though?” he finally asked.

Morgan sighed. That was the million dollar fucking question. “I don’t know.” He’d thought he had. But seeing Hayes again had pulled all the old wounds back open, and now he was full of doubts, again.

“Something to think about,” Jacob said, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly. “You could always tell him that.”

“Yeah, right,” Morgan said, barking out a laugh. If he got too close to Hayes, he’d chop his balls off. Deservedly.

“I’m just saying, it’s never too late to try to make something right. Look at us,” Jacob said.

“It’s not the same. But I did think about it . . .once. I thought maybe after I retired, things had changed enough, I really considered pulling some epic romantic shit. Showing up at his doorstep, telling him I wanted him. That I’d never stopped wanting him.”

Jacob’s jaw dropped. Like he’d never expected epic romantic shit and Morgan Reynolds to exist in the same thought—and he’d be right. But Morgan had still been this close to doing it. He’d even bought the plane ticket. Had prepared a whole speech.

“Then what the fuck happened?” Jacob asked.

He’d been too late.

That had always probably been true, and regardless of who Hayes had been with, chances were he’d have slammed the door in Morgan’s face.

“He started dating someone. Or I found out he was dating someone. Pretty seriously. I wasn’t going to get in between that.

” And Morgan hadn’t had any faith that if he threw his hat in the ring, Hayes would ever pick him.

Maybe he was in love, but he was still Morgan Reynolds in love, and he wasn’t sure his ego would survive that kind of rejection.

“That really fucking sucks,” Jacob said.

It had. Morgan had crawled into bed and spent a solid week there, staring at the TV but not seeing a single image.

It hadn’t mattered that Hayes and his boyfriend broke up only a few months later. Morgan’s hope had died its final death that week and it wasn’t ever coming back.

Morgan shrugged, trying to do an imitation of it did suck, but I got over it , even though he never really had. “It was what it was. A reality check, of a sort.”

“No wonder you were a fucking mess when you showed up in Portland and found out Finn and I were dating.”

“It wasn’t . . .I wasn’t a mess . And that wasn’t why I was pissed.”

The corner of Jacob’s mouth quirked upwards. “No? Well, maybe not. I remember some long, drunken rant about how I was just using him to feel young again.” He paused. “So the guy was also younger than you, huh?”

“Yes,” Morgan said crisply, “but no , I was not using him to feel young.” I was just using him to feel , period.

“I get it, not everything is about your broken heart,” Jacob teased kindly.

Morgan wished that was actually true.

“And,” Jacob added, patting him again, “I want you to know I’m very deliberately not putting all the hints you keep dropping together and coming up with a name.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Thanks?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Jacob said.

There wasn’t a hockey player on earth that didn’t love a routine. Hayes knew he wasn’t the only one, but over the years in Tampa, he’d created a fairly detailed one.

Wake up. Breakfast from his meal service. Smoothie in his travel cup, head to the practice facility, and get his workout in early before practice started and the place was overrun with other players. He loved those guys, but they always distracted him.

Game days had other routines, but this was his standard non-game day routine.

Morgan Reynolds was not supposed to be part of the routine.

He was definitely not supposed to be in the gym, lifting weights in an old, decrepit New York Bandits T-shirt, the 20 faded on the shoulder, sweaty fabric clinging to him for dear life.

Hayes opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again, fingers tightening around his protein shake. Glued right to the floor just inside the doorway. Fucking staring as Morgan lifted weights like he was planning to take the ice tomorrow.

He could work out in the same gym as Morgan. He could do it. You can do it , he repeated to himself weakly.

Despite the pep talk, he still didn’t move. Seriously considered turning on his heel and marching right back out again.

But the routine .

Of course, before Hayes could decide which was worse—continuing to watch this wet dream torture or skipping the routine, or God forbid, making a new routine—Morgan spotted him.

The bar with its weight clanged down on its holder and Morgan lifted his T-shirt, wiping his face. Hayes flushed hot, tongue too big, too clumsy in his mouth. How did he look even better than he had six years ago?

Fuck Hayes’ life. Fuck everything .

“Hey,” Morgan said casually. Like Hayes wasn’t a surprise interloper in Morgan’s gym routine. Like he’d actually expected him to show up.

That was a thought Hayes shoved away, hard and fast. Morgan wasn’t here because he knew Hayes would be here, too. That would be . . .well, stalking first off, and second off, definitely not hot. Not at all.

“You’re here,” Hayes said very stupidly.

“Oh yeah. Well, Roger told me I could drop by whenever I wanted.” Morgan flashed him a little grin as he referred to the Sentinels’ GM. “I’ve got credentials and everything. Wanna see them?”

Morgan pretending that Hayes didn’t recognize him was not cute. Hayes was not endeared.

“No,” Hayes said. “I . . .I trust you.” He didn’t. Not at all. But had Roger told him he could work out in the Sentinels’ gym? Probably. Because apparently not only was he going to lowball Barty on the contract negotiations, he wanted to make Hayes’ life as difficult as possible, too.

Morgan’s smile widened. “Yeah? Good.”

“Not like—I didn’t mean—”

“Chill, Monty. I get it. You hate me on sight, you wish I was a thousand miles away. I know.”

But Hayes didn’t like that either. How easily Morgan accepted those things as the truth. Should they be true? Probably, but they didn’t feel that way.

Morgan re-racked the weights and wiped down the machine, moving onto the treadmill as Hayes set down his shake next to the leg press. Tried to get his shit together as he prepared for his workout.

Even though Morgan clearly didn’t agree, turning away from him like the conversation was over, Hayes couldn’t shake the persistent thought that Morgan’s comment deserved some kind of answer, but fuck if he knew what it was.

He agonized over it and every moment they were in the same gym, breathing the same goddamn recycled air, doing his utmost to ignore the sweat dripping down the side of Morgan’s face. How it soaked into the collar of his ancient T-shirt. Made the curls at his temples darker.

Hayes finished his leg reps and was profoundly annoyed he hadn’t managed to use his normal focus and the physical exertion to block Morgan out.

Tugging his ear pods out, he finished his protein shake and turned to Morgan.

“I’m only thinking about how you being around so much impacts Finn,” Hayes finally said. Ignoring how Finn himself had told him only a week ago that he was okay having Morgan around.

Morgan hit a button on the treadmill and slowed to a steady jog. Shot him a dubious look, which smarted somewhere deep inside Hayes. He’d thought he’d done a fairly decent job at not seeming that bothered by Morgan’s presence in Florida.

“That’s all it is? You’re worried about Finn?”

“Of course,” Hayes said self-righteously.

“I’m not trying to be in your hair,” Morgan said apologetically. “Or in Finn’s hair.” And what the fuck. What the fuck.

Morgan had never even sounded apologetic in his whole life. Why was he starting now? And could Hayes erase it from it from his brain so he wouldn’t over-obsess about what it meant during his next sleepless night?

He said he was trying.

Hayes pushed that thought right the fuck out before it could take root any further.

“You’re doing a very good job of acting like a real human father,” Hayes muttered.

That was kind of shitty but he was feeling kind of shitty.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants?” Morgan retorted dryly.

“It isn’t you ,” Hayes burst out.

“Well, you said it yourself. You don’t know me anymore,” Morgan said mildly. Like the fact of it didn’t hit Hayes right where it hurt.

Hayes shoved a hand through his damp hair.

Maybe this conversation was inevitable. They’d only had half of it in the bathroom at the bar.

Morgan had left before they could do anything more than bristle at each other.

At the time, that had seemed like the smartest idea, but from Hayes’ years as a captain, he’d learned that leaving shit unsaid only guaranteed that it would fester and then infect everyone.

They could not afford for this cold war to affect Finn.

Not when Hayes wanted a new contract and another Cup. Not just for him, but for every guy on this team.

“Listen, I’m glad you’re here for Finn.”