Page 37 of Breakaway Goals

It never occurred to Hayes that when, on the way back from a game in the Midwest, he’d texted Barty back and agreed to a late afternoon tee time the next day after practice, that Barty might feel inspired to bring guests.

Hayes tried not to gape as Barty walked up to where he was standing, golf bag in front of him, with Jacob Braun.

He liked Jacob—he’d always liked him, even when Morgan had hated him, probably especially because Morgan hated him—and he’d gotten a chance to know him in the last two months as more than just the Vezina-winning goalie he’d been and more as Jacob, Finn’s boyfriend. That had been cool.

What was probably not cool was that it seemed inevitable that a half a step or two behind the pair of them, Morgan was probably lurking somewhere.

Could he not even golf in fucking peace?

“Hey,” Hayes said, as Barty pulled him into his signature half-handshake, half-hug.

That done, Hayes turned towards Jacob and offered him a quick handshake.

“Barty, you didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend.

” He paused. Tried to be subtle about how he was craning his neck around Jacob’s bulk, attempting to figure out if Morgan was around without having to flat-out ask. “Friends?”

Jacob had the nerve to laugh. Did he know? Hayes didn’t think there was any way he did, because Finn clearly didn’t know. “Don’t worry, I didn’t bring any Reynolds with me,” he said.

“Nope, you insisted that you didn’t want their help,” Barty said, sounding smugger than Hayes would expect, considering how their last conversation about Morgan had gone.

“I don’t,” Hayes said firmly.

“Our cart’s over here. They were just getting it stocked up,” Barty said, gesturing over to where, no big surprise, there was a golf cart with a cooler strapped to the back, taking up half of the rear seat.

He strode over and talked to the attendant, glancing in the cooler and peeling off a few bills from his clip as a tip for the guy after he’d finished loading their bags.

“So,” Jacob said, gaze opaque behind his sunglasses, but Hayes swore there was a knowing edge to his voice.

There was no way he could know the truth, but it seemed that somehow, impossibly, he knew something .

“So,” Hayes parroted back. He should be working harder at being friendly.

Jacob was a good guy and one of his rookies’ partners.

They’d played each other a number of times.

This should be easier, but faced with a guy who, if all things had gone radically different, would’ve ended up as an in-law of sorts, Hayes couldn’t seem to dredge up even the most basic of small talk.

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “You any good?” he asked, gesturing towards the flawless emerald green course spreading out in front of them.

“Not really,” Hayes admitted. “I only said yes because if I said no, Barty would harass me into doing something worse.”

“I’m pretty good these days.” Jacob’s expression did something complicated. “Got more time on my hands to practice and walking the course tends to keep my hip pretty loose.”

Barty, finished with the attendant and climbing into the cart’s driver’s seat, beckoned them on. It was kind of a tight fit, but he and Jacob were both hockey players. They were used to close quarters.

“I didn’t know Barty was your agent, too,” Hayes said, still trying to dredge up another topic of conversation. They’d covered their golf skills and skipped the weather—it was Florida and even though it was November it was still way too fucking hot.

“Barty’s actually my agent’s partner,” Jacob said dryly. “Mark Clifford is my agent. Mark works with him.”

“And I’m still annoyed you picked Cliffy over me,” Barty complained. “My ego might never recover.”

Hayes didn’t have to see behind his sunglasses to know Jacob was rolling his eyes. “I think your ego’s plenty inflated,” Jacob muttered under his breath.

“It was too bad Mo couldn’t come,” Barty said as he pulled the cart alongside the first hole.

“He had some ESPN commitments,” Jacob said. He shot a glance in Hayes’ direction, then added, “He was real sorry to miss it.”

“Barty,” Hayes said with exasperation, “I told you I didn’t want to go that direction.”

“And he’s not here, is he?” Barty said in a tone full of faux-innocence. “Just Braun.”

Hayes didn’t even bother rolling his eyes because it wouldn’t have done any good.

“What direction is that?” Jacob asked Hayes as Barty strode out onto the green with driver in hand.

Hayes didn’t particularly want to tell Jacob all of this.

He’d tried to keep his contract negotiations away from the team, and Jacob, while not technically a member of the Sentinels, was as good as one these days.

But he was out of small talk subjects, and he didn’t know how to shut Jacob down without sounding like a real asshole.

“We’re negotiating my extension, and the Sentinels lowballed Barty. He had some brilliant idea that Morgan could go on ESPN and talk me up. Sway public opinion to convince them to settle this early and not force us onto the open market.”

Jacob nodded. Like most goalies, he had a great poker face, but the corner of his mouth tilted up. “And you said no.”

“It’s . . .no. I mean, yes , I said no. I told Barty no.” Hayes might’ve been surprised he’d tripped over his words when discussing this, but he wasn’t. Nothing about Morgan surprised him anymore. “For good reasons,” he added.

“Not because you thought Mo would turn you down,” Jacob guessed.

Hayes watched as Barty took a practice swing and then another. He was absolute shit at golf, but it almost didn’t matter, because he always played like he had both the lowest handicap and the biggest dick on the course.

“I don’t know if he would or not,” Hayes answered honestly. He had given up understanding Morgan Reynolds a long time ago, and he couldn’t claim, even after their conversation three days ago, that he’d gotten any additional clarity.

“Seriously?” Jacob asked.

Hayes looked over at him. “I mean, yeah . We’re not friends, Braun. I can’t say we’re enemies, like you two were, but it’s not . . .we’re not close.”

Barty took a big swing and his ball sailed off wide right, landing on the far edge of a sand trap. He shrugged and headed back to the cart, grabbing a hard seltzer out of the cooler then motioning to the pair of them. “Who’s up next?”

“I’ll go,” Hayes said. If Jacob was as good as he’d hinted at, he didn’t want to go last.

He was just going through the motions, brain still stuck on the conversation he’d been having with Jacob.

He couldn’t figure out Jacob’s surprise—or what he knew.

And he sure as fuck couldn’t ask him. Hayes swung and his ball soared along the fairway, straighter than Barty’s, and avoided the sand trap.

“Great job,” Barty exclaimed, patting Hayes enthusiastically on the back as he and Jacob switched places. Hayes rooted around in the cooler, finally settling on a plastic bottle of unsweet tea.

Jacob was true to his word and his shot was by far the best of their trio. His putting game, both long and short, was solid, too.

“Not a lot going on down here in Florida. Didn’t get to golf much in the winter in Portland,” Jacob admitted with an easy shrug, referring to the Pacific Northwest city he’d lived in after retiring. Where he’d ended up meeting Finn, who’d been playing college hockey.

“Much better setup here,” Barty enthused on the third hole.

Hayes was half-focused on the game and half-worried that Jacob would bring up Morgan again.

He should’ve known Jacob was just biding his time, in typical goalie fashion.

Jacob struck on the ninth hole.

“You two were pretty cozy at Four Nations,” he said, nudging Hayes, as they watched Barty hit his ball out of another sand trap.

“Me and who?” Hayes asked, pretending ignorance even though he knew perfectly well who Jacob was talking about.

Pushing up his sunglasses, Jacob shot him a look. “You and Morgan.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course. Um. Yeah, I suppose.”

“And he’s been around quite a bit since the season started. He’s only had good things—great things, really—to say about you and the way you’ve mentored Finn during his rookie season.”

“I didn’t have to do much,” Hayes protested. “He has you, and he has his father. I’m just here as a last resort.”

“Not true,” Jacob said steadily.

“Alright, well, it’s what I’d do for any rookie on this team.

Not just rookies with famous hockey players as fathers.

” Did he sound a little bitter? Hayes thought it was possible, but he couldn’t help it, not entirely.

Besides, what could Jacob possibly extrapolate from some bitterness?

Maybe he’d guess that Hayes was actually bitter that all the stupid talking heads kept saying that he was a really, really good hockey player but that he’d never be Morgan Reynolds’ caliber.

Lots of people would be plenty pissed about that. Nevermind everything else.

“I get it, you know? Morgan can be a total dick,” Jacob said in a low voice as Barty crushed his third White Claw and tossed the empty into the trash.

Hayes had a feeling he was going to have to confiscate Barty’s keys if he kept up this pace.

“But his heart’s in the right place. If you needed help—he’d help you out. ”

Hayes’ tongue felt too big for his mouth. What would he even say to that? Maybe it was true. But it would kill Hayes’ pride to ask.

“We don’t need him,” Hayes said firmly.

Jacob nodded. “Sucks that they’re low-balling you,” he said. “That’s bullshit, honestly. You’re wonderful for this team. A great player and a great leader. I told Finn the other day you’re going to win him a Cup.”

“Finn’s gonna be part of that,” Hayes said honestly. They’d needed goalie help last year. But Finn was putting together a Calder-worthy season for a rookie goalie, and that hadn’t happened since Dustin Wolf.

“I sure hope so,” Jacob said with a nod.