Page 39 of Breakaway Goals

Morgan had learned, pretty early on in the season, that if he sat in the regular stands or too far to the front of the management’s box, he would spend half the game worrying that the camera would catch him at the worst possible moment—or that the media would spend the whole game trying to interpret every single one of his expressions.

Now he hid deep in the box. The view wasn’t as good, but it was better for the whole fucking world not to see every single one of Morgan’s lovestruck expressions as Hayes continued to play like he was ten years younger, out-skating and out-shooting and just plain fucking out -thinking everyone else on the ice.

Six years ago, he’d been reluctantly in awe of Hayes’ hockey.

Now, he couldn’t miss it.

“Dad, you don’t have to come tonight,” Finn told him very seriously as he’d caught a ride with his son to the arena. Jacob was in LA for a few days, doing some work for his foundation, so Morgan would be on his own tonight. “I’m not starting.”

Morgan knew that was true. He didn’t need to be here, but it was even better watching Hayes in person, even if he had to do it from the back of the box.

But he couldn’t tell his son that.

“What if Silov gets hurt? What if he gets pulled?” Morgan questioned.

Finn only made a face. “Then I go out there without you or Jacob watching in person. It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“You’ve also won five in a row,” Morgan pointed out. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not even the longest win streak in the league this season,” Finn said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Morgan said. “I’m around, and besides, what am I gonna do instead? Sit at home and watch the game?”

The look Finn shot him was concerned. “Dad, you don’t have to completely change your life to be here. To support me. You know that, right?”

Morgan wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry, too. Embarrassing that his son actually thought he’d had a life in New York. “I know.”

But when Finn shot him an even harder look, Morgan caved. “If I was in New York, you know what I’d be doing?”

“No?” Finn pulled into the player section of the parking garage and turned off the car.

“Staying in and watching probably two to three games on TV.”

“Dad,” Finn chided, meeting his resigned expression with one of his own. “You could date, you know. You don’t have to be alone. Mom moved on. I don’t mind if you do, too. In fact, it would make you look less pathetic if you did.”

Ha. Moving on . That was a fucking joke. “I know,” Morgan said testily.

“You’re not that old, and you still look good for your age,” Finn pointed out more softly this time, like this whole conversation didn’t make Morgan wish he had stayed home.

“Not that old,” Morgan muttered. “God, it’s a good thing I have a decently sized ego, still.”

“Hey, it’s a compliment,” Finn retorted, because he was twenty-three and everyone who was forty was practically ancient. “I’m sure that a lot of women would go for you. Not just because you’re Morgan Reynolds, either.”

It would be nice if that was true, but even post-divorce and pre-Hayes, Morgan had discovered that was a pipe dream. One of a very long list of reasons why Hayes had been so perfect for him. He hadn’t cared who Morgan was—or he had , but only the parts that Morgan actually liked being wanted for.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Morgan said dryly.

As he made his way to the box, stopping to talk to a few of the arena staff that he’d gotten to know over the last two months, he wondered, not for the first time, if it would ever be worth telling Finn the truth.

He couldn’t see himself confessing the whole story, not if Hayes stayed Finn’s captain, and with the way he was playing, the Sentinels would be really fucking stupid to get rid of him now.

But maybe he could tell Finn part of the truth. At least enough that he’d stop nudging him towards only women, who were all invariably interested, who he then had to extricate himself from. But mostly so he’d stop making noise about how Morgan wasn’t quite dead yet.

It was a five p.m. game tonight. Maybe he’d take Finn out for a late dinner, to his favorite steakhouse in Tampa, and explain enough of the story that it got Finn off his back.

Jacob knew, and as much as that stuck in his craw, he didn’t want to keep Finn in the dark forever or force Jacob to keep all of Morgan’s secrets.

Morgan settled in the suite, not happy about the plan, necessarily, because it was hard to imagine that Finn wouldn’t push just as hard, if not harder, than Jacob, to find out the mysterious ex’s identity.

But it was time. It was probably long time.

If Finn hadn’t been drafted to Tampa, Morgan imagined he might have actually confessed the truth sooner.

As always though, Hayes was there, inserting himself, making it impossible for Morgan to move on, impossible for Morgan to do anything but pine hopelessly over him.

Wish things had been different six years ago. Wish things were different now.

Warmups started. Jacob wasn’t here, and the rest of the box was mostly empty, and for once, nobody was actually paying attention to him, so he could stare goopily at Hayes as he rotated around the ice, checking in with his players and warming himself up.

Finn was over with Silov at the Sentinels’ bench, and every so often, Morgan would glance over at them, but it was honestly hard to tear his eyes off Hayes.

Maybe he should be ashamed or even humiliated that he was still stuck on this.

Hayes had told him, without really mincing words, that he’d missed his chance. I don’t want you around, but I’m going to have to accept it, for Finn.

That had hurt, but in a way that at least Morgan expected, and it was better than if Hayes had been totally unmoved and apathetic about Morgan’s presence in Tampa.

Morgan could imagine both Jacob and Finn ganging up on him if he actually admitted Hayes’ hate was better than nothing. Danny, too.

They’d tell him he was pathetic. Check .

They’d tell him to get his head out of his ass. I’ve fucking tried.

They’d definitely tell him it was time to get over it. Don’t you know if I could have, I would have?

The Bandits did have a game tonight, but they were on a west coast roadie, so Morgan pulled his phone out and sent Danny a text.

Am I pathetic?

Danny texted back almost immediately. Woooo boy!!! Don’t tempt me with a good time, Mo. And then before Morgan could even get pissed, Kinda, sorta, but it’s okay because the rest of the world thinks you’re really fucking cool. HAHAAHAHA!!!!!

Morgan groaned under his breath.

Thanks for the brutal honesty.

You’re welcome!!!!!

Morgan generally ignored Danny’s exclamation point addiction. He couldn’t ignore the next message that came in.

You know, crazy AND wild thought, you could DO something about it.

Like what?

Like get him back, you idiot.

It wasn’t like Morgan hadn’t considered that once or twice or a hundred times.

He hates me now. How would that even work?

You really are an idiot. It’s called groveling, dipshit.

Morgan didn’t know what to say to that. He just stared at the screen, at Danny’s blunt words. He’d thought about it. Of course he’d thought about it. Never thought it could work, so why bother?

Since you don’t seem to get it, I’m gonna do you a solid and tell you: he wouldn’t hate you still if he didn’t give a crap.

Warmups ended with Morgan still staring at his phone. Only when the game started did he put it away, sliding it into his pocket, wishing that he could forget Danny’s advice that easily.

But it haunted him throughout the game.

Every time Hayes went over the boards, his line coming onto the ice, Morgan thought, what if he was mine? What if the name and the number on my back were his? What if when he did something fucking amazing I didn’t have to hide my awe? What if, after the game, I knew he’d be coming home to me?

Morgan’s heart clenched.

It would be hard. Hayes was angry and had no reason to trust Morgan.

And that was just getting him to consider it. Nevermind what came after.

In Toronto six years ago, they’d never had a chance to have a real relationship. In some ways, even though he’d been married and had a child, Morgan wasn’t sure if he’d had a real relationship. But Hayes wouldn’t accept less. Hayes didn’t deserve less.

Morgan wasn’t delusional; he couldn’t imagine even wanting to try for anyone else, but this was Hayes. He was special, not just to the rest of hockey, but specifically to Morgan.

Hayes scored midway through the third, a beauty of a goal, sealing the Sentinels’ two goal lead and the win.

The video scoreboard flashed out, Sentinels win!!! Six in a row!!!!

Clearly, the operator knew Danny and they shared an affection for exclamation points.

Morgan tried to avoid going into the locker room, even though Finn had told him before that he was always welcome. But now he tended to linger in the hallway just down from the door.

Finn hadn’t played, so he didn’t get pulled for media, and he was out of the room, tie loosely slung around his neck, shirt partially unbuttoned, fairly quickly after the game ended.

“Hey, I was thinking we could grab dinner. That steakhouse you like so much.” Morgan didn’t say, because Jacob’s out of town and you might actually have time for your pathetic dad, but he was thinking it.

They included him—enough, that he really shouldn’t complain—but when the three of them were together, it was hard to shake that third wheel feeling.

“Actually,” Finn said, “Monty’s hosting a win streak thing at his house tonight.”

“Oh.” It made sense. Six games.

“You should come,” Finn said.

Hayes would definitely not want him to be there. Morgan knew that without him ever telling him. But Morgan wanted to go. Wanted to see Hayes’ house. Wanted to see Hayes not just on the ice.