Page 7 of Breakaway Goals

His son’s voice was bright and easy in his ear. The brightness was normal, but Morgan couldn’t say that the ease of it was routine.

And whose fault is that?

Morgan shoved the voice away and focused on Finn.

He was sixteen and thought he knew everything.

“Braun was so good last night,” Finn said, and the teasing lilt in his tone meant he knew exactly how annoyed that would make Morgan.

But teasing was good. Teasing was better than the alternative, which was sullen frustration—or worse, silence.

“I hope you’re taking notes,” Morgan said, focusing on the one positive of Braun’s performance, besides the obvious one, which was that it had helped them win the game. “He’s got skills.”

“And you hate him for them,” Finn said slyly.

“I’m sure you’re going to end up playing against some guys who wish you weren’t so good in the net,” Morgan reminded him.

Knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because Finn went dead quiet for a long second.

It was a difficult line to walk with Finn—impossible, actually—between praising his developing goalie skills and heaping too much pressure on him to have a successful future.

As a Reynolds it was hard to avoid; the pressure came with the last name.

But Morgan knew he could be a total fucking idiot too, and lay it on too thick.

He meant well, but sometimes it felt like all he could talk about with Finn was hockey.

It wasn’t his fault that hockey was loaded for his son, but he ended up taking the brunt of it, sometimes with his foot in his mouth to boot.

Not surprisingly, Finn changed the subject. “So, how’s it playing with Monty? You guys looked a little off to start the game, but then the third period? Jesus, it was like it all clicked.”

Morgan told himself to be normal. To say something fucking normal but then, “I . . .uh . . .yeah,” came out instead.

Finn, not an idiot, focused in on his dad’s obvious discomfort.

“It’s not good?”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re lying.”

He was. Probably even to himself.

Morgan steeled his resolve. He’d called Finn, not just to check in on him, but also for . . .well, maybe some advice that only Finn could give.

“I’ve got a friend,” he said, and Finn probably assumed he was changing the subject. But he wasn’t.

“You have a friend?” Finn faux-gasped.

“Shut up,” Morgan grumbled. “You know I do. People like me.”

“No. People are afraid of you,” Finn said succinctly.

Some deep, painful part of Morgan wanted to ask if Finn was one of them, but he wasn’t sure he could hear the answer. Besides, this wasn’t supposed to be about the sometimes fraught relationship he had with his son.

“So I have this friend,” Morgan started again, “and he’s . . .uh . . .well, he always thought he was straight.”

“A common problem,” Finn joked.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “He thought he was straight, but then he met someone—”

“A guy?” Finn interrupted.

“ Yes ,” Morgan said, trying not to let his frustration and annoyance seep into his tone. This whole charade was stupid. Maybe Finn would even see right through it and pin him down. Who made you think you weren’t straight, Dad?

But Finn only made an impatient noise. “Okay, so your friend thought he was straight and then he met a guy and he’s attracted. What’s the deal?”

What’s the deal? Like this wasn’t a life-changing, life-altering occurrence.

Like Morgan wasn’t going out of his mind wondering how to shift things back to how they’d been.

He felt divided, between before , when Hayes Montgomery had just been another hockey player, a good hockey player, that far too many people compared to him, but still just another hockey player, and after , like he’d been chemically altered by the five minutes they’d spent in that empty hallway.

He couldn’t see Hayes the same way anymore.

He’d lain awake far too late last night, going over everything again and again in his mind.

The interviews. Them grabbing coffee. Practice.

The game. Their first intermission conversation, when he’d tried to be gentle.

The second intermission conversation, where he’d been honest, and that honesty had lit Hayes up and subsequently set Morgan on fire, too.

Then the bar. Sitting too close in the booth, his fingers only millimeters from Hayes’ neck, from the spiky ends of his dark brown hair.

He’d wanted to touch , even though he knew he couldn’t.

That he shouldn’t .

The elevator ride, where Hayes had tried to put distance between them, and Morgan should have let him, but he didn’t, because he just didn’t want to.

If Morgan had leaned in and kissed him goodnight, would that hero worship in his gorgeous green eyes grow hazier and hotter?

Then this morning, when he’d been soft and cuddly in his oversized hoody, his hair mussed from sleep, eyes filled with a sleepy affection as they’d sat across from each other and eaten their eggs in silence.

It was that ease, combined with the warmth blooming at the base of his stomach, that had driven Morgan to call Finn before they had to head to practice.

“Earth to Morgan.” Finn’s voice broke through his thoughts. “I asked, what’s the deal ?”

Oh. Right.

“Well, he’s never . . .he’s not ,” Morgan said.

Not that it mattered. He was open-minded, far more than a lot of the other hockey players he knew.

He’d started out vaguely accepting, and then the older Finn grew and the more Morgan understood about the challenges he faced, just by being who he was, the more stringent he’d gotten about his beliefs.

Two years ago, a player on the Bandits had uttered a shitty homophobic slur and Morgan had gotten him traded to another team. A crappy team.

He knew he was accepting, but it turned out that accepting queerness in other people was easier than accepting queerness in himself.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Finn said blithely. Clearly he had bought Morgan’s story about a “friend,” hook, line and sinker.

Morgan didn’t know if he was relieved by his son’s obtuseness or regretful.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean ,” Finn said, chuckling, “that sexuality is on a spectrum. Your friend probably leans towards women, but he found the one guy that really cranks his motor.”

Did Hayes crank Morgan’s motor?

Morgan wanted to say no, but the answer was way too obvious, flashing neon lights in his head. He could lie to himself, but he’d always made it a habit never to do that. Yes .

Morgan wanted to laugh and to cry. “What should he do about it?”

“Is the other guy open to it?”

“Uh yeah. He uh . . .yeah he’s queer.”

“Well, just because he’s queer doesn’t mean he’s interested,” Finn lectured.

“From what I’ve seen, he’d be receptive,” Morgan said. Hero worship wasn’t attraction, not exactly, but Morgan didn’t think he was the only one who’d felt the heat between them in the empty hallway yesterday.

“Wait,” Finn said.

Here it comes . Morgan braced for the inevitable lecture that he’d obscured his own questions with a very stupid I have a friend story. Hey, he could imagine saying to Finn, you bought it at first.

“Wait,” Finn repeated again, “you said, from what you’ve seen . It’s someone there? At the tournament? Your friend and this other guy? They’re both hockey players?”

“Uh,” Morgan said, not expecting that question and finding himself unable to field an answer that didn’t immediately give it away.

“Don’t answer that,” Finn said, laughing. “It’s fucking obvious it is. Well, I’d tell your friend that this isn’t a bad time to explore some possibilities, if everyone’s open to it.”

“Seriously?” Morgan didn’t know what he’d expected from a sixteen-year-old, but maybe it should have been this blithe approach.

At sixteen, with all the time in the world ahead of him, Finn probably thought it was a good idea to explore possibilities.

“It’s only what, nine more days? Kind of a good bookend. Makes it just a hookup and a good, string-less way to see if he likes it. You know?”

It occurred to Morgan that maybe if he’d dispensed with the stupid I have a friend story, Finn might have given him very different advice. He probably assumed that Morgan’s “friend” was closer to his age than Morgan’s. Did guys Morgan’s age still “hook up”?

“Uh, yeah. I can . . .um . . .see that.”

“You don’t sound like you do,” Finn teased.

“Is that normal?”

“ Yeah ,” Finn scoffed. “Just make sure your friend communicates and it’ll be fine.”

Still, Morgan hung up five minutes later not sure, despite Finn’s certain attitude and persuasive advice, that he was going to go for it.

Hayes was another player. It was inherently messy, just because of who they both were. Might make things awkward later.

Maybe he should just let the idea of doing something about it go.

But Morgan knew that wasn’t going to be in the cards.

Whether he acted on his attraction or not, it was still going to exist, hard and real, pressed right up against his breastbone.

Every time he saw Hayes. Every time their eyes met.

Every time he made Hayes laugh. The way he understood exactly how Morgan felt, because he was in the exact same position.

Morgan had only met a few people in his life who really truly understood what it was to be him. Of course Hayes was going to, he should have realized that sooner, but it was one thing to know that fact, and it was another to begin to know him .

So really, the only question wasn’t if the attraction was going to exist. It was only if Morgan was going to act on it.

“Better,” Morgan called out, taking a tight line behind the net, gaining speed with the puck as Danny and Hayes fanned out in the zone.

Hayes slid behind a defenseman, caught Morgan’s puck, and then hit the net by shooting a clean top shelf shot, right over Bram’s right shoulder.

“Goddamn,” Danny yelled. “That’s fucking sick, boys.”

Morgan rolled his eyes, but it had been good.

They’d just been working out the play, nobody playing full-out, but it had gone better than he’d anticipated.