Page 5 of Breakaway Goals

It was hardly the first time that had ever happened.

He was rich and famous and successful and hardly ugly on the eyes, either.

But this was Hayes , who was all those things too and was still looking at him like there was something worthy deep down inside Morgan, something he’d lost sight of a long time ago.

“They were okay,” Hayes said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. “You’re really an asshole, you know?”

Morgan knew. “I’m gonna remind you of that fact when Danny’s being a dick. In fact, maybe we should move Danny to center, you can make some plays for him.”

Hayes made a face. “Don’t.”

“Then fucking play better,” Morgan said.

Hayes didn’t know whether he was burning with anger or embarrassment.

Or something else, entirely.

He still didn’t know what the fuck had happened during the second intermission.

Morgan had dragged him off to this abandoned section of the arena, where it was only the two of them.

At first Hayes had been sure that Morgan was trying to let him down easy, give him some privacy when he kicked him off his line.

But instead he’d been earnest and then cocky, something burning between them that Hayes still couldn’t explain.

He only knew his breath had come short, his mouth had dried out entirely, his tongue feeling too big in his mouth.

Then Morgan had touched him and teased him and held him accountable.

It shouldn’t have been hot.

He should still be feeling humiliated that Morgan had correctly guessed that he’d starred in way too many of Hayes’ wet dreams, and there was definitely a bit of that.

But there was more, too.

“Morgan,” Coach Thompson barked, and he and Morgan and Danny went over the boards for their next shift.

He’d known he was fucking this up. But he couldn’t get the thought out of his head that this was Morgan Reynolds and he was supposed to pass him the puck, make him a play that was equal to his skill and would only buff his glory to an additional shine.

The thought hadn’t seemed so overwhelming when he’d been warming up, but the moment the puck dropped, he’d lost the thread, the pressure climbing up him, all the way up to his throat, until he felt like he was drowning.

“Come on,” Morgan yelled, skating hard towards their end of the ice, and Hayes pushed away the embarrassment, the worries, everything , focusing hard instead on the annoyance. How dare Morgan Reynolds act like he was nothing? Maybe he was Morgan Reynolds, but he was Hayes Montgomery.

He’d won the Calder and the Rocket twice, and the Mavs had gone to game seven in the conference finals last year. Maybe he hadn’t won a Cup yet, but everyone talked about how it was only a matter of time. You know it’s only a matter of time.

He followed and then skated past him, taking the puck when Danny passed it to him, and he went hard around the back of the net, coming out the other side, surveying the way the players were arranged around the zone.

Morgan had a defender glued to him and so did Danny, but Morgan was Morgan, and if anyone could get open, it was going to be him.

Hayes dug his blades in and turned abruptly, hoping that Morgan would mirror him, and sure enough he moved with him, just enough that he shook his guy free.

Make a play. That’s what you’re here for.

And he did, shooting the puck between the defender’s legs.

It hit Morgan’s tape and he barely held it for a second, before he shot it, going top shelf.

The puck hit the net above the goalie’s left shoulder.

“Sick play!” Danny yelled as they crashed together in celebration, Morgan joining them, his elated smile tinged with something knowing when he knocked his helmet against Hayes’.

“Great pass,” Morgan said.

It had been a great pass and an even better play.

And he knew he’d only been able to pull it off because he’d gotten out of his own head. Played up to the skill he knew he possessed instead of focusing too hard on the pressure, on the player that everyone else expected him to be.

The additional goal had been exactly what the team needed because the Swedes slipped one more in, right at the end of the game, after they’d pulled their goalie.

But a win was a win, and as Morgan said, none of these teams were going to go down easy.

“That pass was absolutely filthy,” Danny said after, when they were stripping down to their base layers, sweat congealing on Hayes’ skin.

“Thanks,” Hayes said, nodding as he leaned down and began to unlace his skates.

“Good team win,” Coach Thompson said, striding into the locker room, clapping his hands. “That last goal—that’s what I want to see. Good passes, good plays.”

Hayes flushed, tucking his head down. He’d gotten the main assist sure, and he’d made the play happen, but Morgan had been the one to take the shot. He’d barely even had a split second to consider the multiple factors before he’d just done it.

But then that was what made Morgan so good. He didn’t need to hesitate. He just knew .

“Come on,” Danny said, wrapping his arm around Hayes, apparently not caring how gross he was. “I think you deserve a drink for that.”

Hayes shucked his arm off—not smiling, but not frowning either. “I didn’t even score the goal.”

“Yeah, but Mo wouldn’t have even got a chance at it if you hadn’t made that play.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He wasn’t going to argue Morgan’s brilliance with Danny.

Danny grinned. “I’m not debating this unless it’s over a beer. Come on. Shower. Get dressed. Team’s going out.”

Hayes was going to do those things anyway, but when he finished, Morgan appeared by his stall.

“You coming?” Morgan asked, raising an eyebrow.

Part of Hayes wanted to go back to his room, crawl into bed, order room service, and watch some particularly trashy reality TV, but he knew he should go out and be social with his teammates.

Hayes hesitated just long enough that Morgan leaned in.

“Come on,” Morgan said a little impatiently. “Don’t go all bashful shrinking violet on me. That guy wouldn’t have made that play or gotten me the puck the way he did.”

“You asked me to do it,” Hayes muttered.

“I asked you to remember what you’re fucking capable of.” Morgan met his eyes with a challenging look. “And you did.”

That much was true.

“Yeah,” Hayes agreed. Kind of hoping—and not hoping—that Morgan might give him another pep talk. Might call himself “just a man” again, like Hayes had ever needed that reminder—but if Morgan wanted to give it to him, wanted to show him, he wasn’t going to argue.

“Celebrate with us then,” Morgan said. “I owe you a drink for that pass.”

“Hey, you took the shot,” Hayes said.

He’d asked Hayes to be a playmaker, and he’d done it.

“Sure,” Morgan said, smiling now. “Maybe you owe me a drink, then.”

Hayes thought this was ridiculous. They both made a hell of a lot of money. What did it matter?

But half an hour later, he found himself in a bar, buried in the back of a big booth, pressed next to Danny on one side and Noah and Calvin on his right, Bram lounging with his hip pressed against the exposed side of the table.

Everyone was shooting the shit, discussing the game they’d just played and what the next game—against Finland—might bring.

Morgan rolled up to the table, four bottles of beer dangling from one hand.

Hayes’ pulse accelerated at the thought of those big competent hands.

It wasn’t like his hands were really any bigger than Calvin’s or Bram’s, or even, God forbid, Danny’s, but somehow it was only Morgan’s that made his heart stutter and fall right at his feet.

It was that childhood hero worship, for sure, but it was more too. The way Morgan met his eyes and nodded slightly, just a dip of his chin, and the look in his eyes. Like he could see right through Hayes.

There weren’t many first overall draft picks, tasked as the savior to a whole franchise, who carried that burden and the burden of all of hockey’s expectations.

Part of Hayes wanted to ask him how he’d done it. The other part of him didn’t want to talk at all. Only wanted to tuck his head into the sinful curve between Morgan’s chin and his neck and suck a mark there until everyone knew that Morgan didn’t belong to anyone else but Hayes.

It was really stupid.

Hayes knew it and felt it anyway.

“Here,” Morgan said, sliding one of the beers right at Hayes. “You deserve this.”

“What about me?” Danny squawked. “I set him up with the puck.”

Morgan slid a look towards Danny. “Like you could’ve ever made that play. Not at that speed.”

Danny made an annoyed noise, but he was still grinning.

Hayes wondered if that was the secret: not being good at everything and getting used to acknowledging it.

But Hayes—and Morgan—had always been considered full skill players, without any obvious holes, and so when one cropped up, everyone micro-focused on it, until Hayes wanted to scream.

“He kept up,” Hayes said, on one hand hoping to reward Danny for being so fucking honest about his own shortcomings, and on the other hand kind of envious that he could admit it so easy, as easy as breathing.

“Barely,” Morgan muttered.

“You’re such an asshole,” Bram said, but he was laughing. So was Danny. Calvin and Noah, too.

Danny elbowed Hayes. “God, you’re so starstruck. It’s cute.”

“Is it?” Morgan wondered before Hayes could deny it.

Hayes took a long drink of his beer. Kind of hoping that everyone might forget that he was sitting right here.

It wasn’t cute. It was embarrassing as hell.

“He’s got it under control, right, Monty?” Danny teased, elbowing him again.

“Maybe you’re the asshole, Danny,” Hayes said in his most unimpressed voice. He couldn’t let Danny sense the blood in the water; he was a pest on and off the ice.

Morgan smiled and Danny cackled.

“Baby’s got claws,” Danny said.

His eyes met Morgan’s again.

“’Course he does,” Morgan said. “You think being a first overall’s a breeze, Daniels?”

Danny looked surprised for the first time.

“That’s what I thought,” Morgan retorted.