Page 40 of Breakaway Goals

Maybe he could even start to soften Hayes up.

More receptive to Morgan’s groveling, anyway.

Morgan tried to remember the speech he’d composed the last time he was going to do this, but couldn’t.

Maybe that was better anyway. That time felt so dismal and brutal he tried not to think about it.

He couldn’t say he’d ever hated himself, but he’d come damn close those weeks.

“I don’t know.” Morgan hesitated as they walked out towards the player parking lot.

Finn smacked him in the arm. “Seriously?”

“It’s for your team—”

“And the families of the team. All the WAGs are gonna be there.”

“Too bad Jacob won’t be then.” It usually filled him with some kind of amusement that Jacob Braun was now a WAG, but could he even make fun of Jacob for that now? When he wanted to be one, too?

Correction: he’d considered being one for awhile now. He was just contemplating actually doing something about it now.

Finn smacked him again. “That’s mean. And that term is ridiculously outdated.”

“They come up with another one yet?”

Finn shook his head. “But they should. Anyway, you should come.”

Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to ask if Hayes had invited him specifically.

Obviously, Hayes kept Morgan’s name out of his mouth unless he had a very good reason to say it.

“I—”

“Don’t say you don’t know. You’re coming,” Finn announced.

“I always wondered how you wore Jacob’s good intentions down. This is how you did it, isn’t it?” Morgan grumbled as Finn grabbed his keys from his hand.

Finn just laughed. “I thought you never wanted to know the details.”

“I don’t,” Morgan said, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, sort of. It’s not like you don’t know how to be persistent about something,” Finn said, shooting him a sideways look.

There was a certifiably insane part of Morgan that considered telling Finn at least part of the story on the way to Hayes’ house. But he hadn’t been sure he’d work up the nerve during an entire three course steak dinner. It was never going to happen on a short drive.

“True,” Morgan agreed. “It’s sort of a Reynolds trademark.” It was. Why had he forgotten that? He’d never let anyone tell him no, not when it came to something he wanted. Of course, those things had all been hockey related.

“Exactly,” Finn said, shooting him a grin. “Jacob didn’t stand a chance.”

It was an even shorter drive than he’d anticipated, and way less time than he’d needed, to work up the determination to not let Hayes just brush him off again.

Less than ten minutes later, Finn was pulling the SUV down a side street lined with palm trees and gates.

Discreet outdoor lighting, shining on impressive Spanish-inspired facades and spotless landscaping.

One gate was open. A few cars had already parked on the street. But there was one spot left on the big driveway. Finn pulled in and parked. Turned off the car.

Turned to Morgan, who was really trying not to panic.

Was showing up uninvited the best way to begin getting on Hayes’ good side? Morgan was suddenly unsure.

His fingers twitched, nearly reaching for his phone. He could ask Danny, but Danny would tell him to just go for it, probably with a hundred exclamation points.

“Come on,” Finn said, shooting him a look that said, very clearly, what the fuck is your problem?

Morgan wanted to laugh. Maybe cry. But he followed Finn into Hayes’ house, anyway.

He’d been to enough of these that the kitchen full of rowdy hockey players, joking and jostling as they descended on the pizza boxes laid across the countertop, didn’t faze him. Hayes stood in front of an enormous stainless steel refrigerator, handing out bottles of water and beer and laughing.

He hung back, letting Finn go ahead and greet Hayes. Grab a few slices of pizza. But then after he’d done that there was nothing in the way, no reason for them not to look at each other.

Morgan knew the moment their eyes met, and he wanted to pretend he imagined the complicated look that crossed Hayes face, before it was wiped clean. But he didn’t think he had.

“Hey,” Morgan said, shoving his hands into his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch. “I . . .uh . . .Finn said I should come.”

Hayes looked at him, his eyes annoyingly opaque, not giving anything away. “You want something to drink? I’ve got some beer. Water. Um. Gatorade?”

“A beer’s fine.”

“Lars will be around in a minute. He stopped by his house for more supplies. I don’t drink much in the season.” Hayes pulled a beer out of the fridge and then swiped a hand through his loose, damp hair.

Morgan’s fingers tingled. He’d done that once. Remembered, too well, tangling his hand in Hayes’ hair. With desire and desperation. And with fondness.

“Smart.” Guys today were so much smarter than they’d been even fifteen years ago.

“Em—Lars’ wife—helps me out a lot. Since you know .

. .” Hayes made a face. Another one of those complicated looks passed over his face.

Morgan wanted to tell him it was okay. That nobody cared if Hayes didn’t have a partner to take on the traditional head WAG duties.

“Since I’ve been single basically forever. ”

Hayes’ voice was wry. Almost pained. He opened the beer and slid it over the counter towards Morgan.

“You weren’t once.” God, they weren’t going to talk about this now, were they? With half a hockey team ten feet away, including his son, eating through a small pizzeria’s worth of takeout?

Apparently yes.

“Yeah, that didn’t exactly work out the way I hoped.” Hayes pushed his hair back again and sighed.

“If he wasn’t willing to stick around when it was hard, he wasn’t worth you.”

Hayes looked shocked. “Are you really—no, actually, I can believe you’d be the one saying this.”

Morgan shrugged, picking up the beer. If he was using his own rubric, then he didn’t deserve to be within a hundred feet of Hayes. But he could be better. He would be better.

Yes, he’d fucked up, but he was smart enough to realize he’d done it, and he was going to make it right. That asshole who’d dumped Hayes hadn’t been bright enough to realize what he’d lost.

Morgan had spent every moment of the last six years knowing.

“You’re unbelievable,” Hayes said, not even sounding mad.

“He was an idiot.” Morgan lowered his voice. “I was also an idiot.”

Hayes stared at him, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A second later, he turned back towards the fridge and pulled out a second beer. Opened it, took a very long drink.

“I thought you didn’t typically drink during the season,” Morgan said.

Hayes’ gaze was hot. With anger? With something else? Morgan didn’t know. But it was still better than that flat expression Morgan couldn’t interpret. “I decided to make an exception.”

Morgan nodded, like it all made sense. Like he was used to driving people to drink.

Danny would have told him right now that he should be.

Jacob would’ve agreed with him.

God, why did all his friends suck?

“Makes . . .uh . . .sense,” Morgan said.

Hayes wet his bottom lip. Just a flicker of his pink tongue, and it made Morgan hot all over.

He wished that he could remember even a line from the groveling speech he’d planned, but all coherent thought was wiped clean from his brain with just that glimpse of Hayes’ tongue. Besides, he wasn’t going to be able to deliver any of it here. Not right now, anyway.

“You used to be more contrary,” Hayes observed neutrally.

“I know,” Morgan said.

He’d been kind of an asshole most of his career—most of his life, honestly. But this was part of trying . To keep to the sideline. To the back of the suite. To not waltz into the locker room like he still owned hockey. He was mostly doing it for Finn. But also for Hayes.

Hayes didn’t deserve to be overshadowed on his own goddamn team.

“It’s weird.” Hayes’ nose crinkled, adorably. “I don’t know if I like it.”

“Oh.” Clearly Hayes didn’t see it as Morgan proving his loyalty. His affection. His endless fucking love. But in so many ways, that was what it was.

Fucking figures.

Before Morgan could correct him, Lars and a petite blond woman Morgan recognized from seeing her around the facility walked in, carrying boxes. “Hey, guys,” Emily called out, “a little help, please?”

And there was no question she was in charge, because half the team leaped up, filing out the front door to help her bring more boxes of booze in.

“Guess it’s good we’ve got an off day tomorrow,” Hayes said, shrugging. He met Morgan’s eyes and then he looked away.

Hayes was in heaven and in hell.

Morgan was here. In his house.

In his house.

Drinking his beer. Eating pizza he’d bought.

Chatting with Jasper and Lars and Em, with Finn and Silov, rotating around to several of the groups of players. Laughing with them. Not being Morgan Reynolds, the chosen one, but someone else.

Someone Hayes wasn’t sure he quite recognized anymore.

Hayes tried to distract himself. Did his usual captain routine. Made sure when he did his own rounds, he went the opposite direction of Morgan. Always kept at least one group in between them at all times.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake of the bar bathroom. When he did have to pee, several beers and a tequila shot in, he retreated to his suite, going to the bathroom and splashing cold water on his face, giving himself a pep talk in the mirror.

It didn’t really work. He still felt flushed. Partly from the booze, sure, but also because it felt like Morgan was slotting into his life, into this team, gently and insistently, like he was meant to be there.

They’d agreed that they’d do what they needed for Finn.

But this didn’t feel like it was for Finn. Not when every few minutes, Hayes would feel a particular burning between his shoulder blades, and when he’d look back, his gaze would intercept Morgan’s.

It felt too much like it had been in Toronto.

Like they were both just biding their time before they got to be alone again, finally.

This night isn’t ending that way, though.