Page 8 of Breakaway Goals

He didn’t think he’d be giving Hayes any lectures about letting the pressure or the moment or his linemates get to his head. Not today. And not tomorrow, when they played Finland.

“Better,” Morgan said, giving Hayes a nod as they skated over to the edge of the rink.

“Yeah?” Hayes still had that look in his eye, like if Morgan gave him a compliment, he’d die a happy man.

But Morgan couldn’t do anything about that.

Even if he could, he wasn’t sure he would.

Something about Hayes’ awe soothed the worry inside.

The worry that wondered every day if today was time he’d begin to feel every one of his thirty-five years and it would finally show on the ice.

“Not perfect,” Morgan added. “But better.”

Hayes smiled, and if Morgan had hoped or dreamed or anticipated that he’d been wrong about the way that made him feel, he’d be wrong.

He almost said something really stupid like, “you’ve got a nice smile.”

But he wasn’t stupid. Or he was trying really hard not to be stupid, no matter what Finn had suggested he do.

“Thanks,” Hayes said.

Danny skated over, slinging arms over both of their shoulders. “You two are all buddy-buddy over here,” he teased.

Morgan forced his body not to tense. Danny didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know. Morgan barely knew.

Next to him, Hayes looked over it. Clearly more used to brushing off teammates’ jokes than Morgan. “You’re obnoxious.”

“Aw, Monty. No love,” he cooed.

“Not for you, you dick,” Hayes retorted.

“We should get some reporters over here. They’d lose their shit, seeing you all cozy and chatting.”

“We talk,” Morgan said, trying not to sound defensive. “We did hours of interviews together the day after we got here.”

“Yeah, and everyone fucking creams themselves every time you do.”

Hayes was frowning now. Morgan fought the urge to slide his glove off and reach over, smoothing out that crease between his brows. He shouldn’t let Danny’s stupid shit get to him.

“It’s not . . .it’s not fun , Danny,” Hayes said slowly.

“For everyone to think you’re really fucking good at hockey? Yeah, a real hardship,” Danny said.

“Monty’s not wrong,” Morgan said, and Hayes shot him a grateful look.

Danny made a face. “Ugh, now you’re actually making me feel like a dick.”

“That must suck for you,” Hayes said matter-of-factly but he was smiling again.

Morgan felt a weight lift, just seeing that smile.

“Come on,” Morgan said, “let’s run it again.”

Hayes pushed off with him, skating towards the middle of the rink. Morgan pointed his stick at Hayes, wiggling it teasingly.

“Want you to try to impress me again,” he said, lowering his voice so only Hayes could hear it. Aware, as his blood pounded in his ears, that he was definitely flirting. Maybe he was shit at it, but he was still making the attempt.

But Hayes only grinned, like he didn’t get it. “Oh, yeah? How’s that any different than Danny’s bullshit?”

Morgan leaned in a bit closer. Close enough to pick out the hazel specks in Hayes’ eyes, watch as his breath came a little shorter.

“It’s different ’cause you’re not impressing the fucking media. Just me.”

Then shorter still, as Morgan closed more distance between them, until their visors were nearly hitting.

The closeness wasn’t that unusual, but it was way more standard during a goal celebration.

Just like this, during practice, when the skate time was winding down and most guys were just fucking around, it wasn’t exactly normal.

But Morgan didn’t care.

“I don’t think you’re very easy to impress.” Hayes wet his lips, pink tongue flicking out.

“Good thing you’re so fucking amazing at hockey, then.” Morgan curled his gloved hand over Hayes’ shoulder. There were so many layers between his skin and Hayes’, but all the padding felt like nothing. Like he was already touching him.

“Don’t flatter me,” Hayes said, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“It’s not flattery if you’ve got it.” Morgan squeezed his shoulder. “So let’s see it, baby.”

Hayes’ jaw dropped open. And yeah, that had been very stupid. Flirty, yes, and stupid, yes. Even stupider that he hadn’t even thought about it before the word was out of his mouth.

He’d said it because it felt natural and right. Teasing and affectionate.

Hayes looked like he wanted to say a whole lot, but then snapped his mouth shut again.

Morgan wasn’t ready to explain why he’d said it so he reached out with his stick and grabbed a nearby puck, taking off, and just hoping—praying, really—that Hayes would follow without questioning him.

One second. Then two. And then there he was, a shadow behind him.

Morgan wasn’t quite up to full speed, but when Hayes pulled even with him, he was barely breathing hard. Hayes shoved his stick in, trying to steal the puck as they headed towards the empty goal.

“Come on, baby, take it if you can,” Morgan said under his breath, hoping that Hayes could still hear him.

Hayes’ movements grew more determined, and a second later, the puck was bouncing off Morgan’s skate blade and it was on Hayes’ tape.

He took off, twirling in a tight circle, still fast as anything, proving with every move he made just how fucking incredible he was.

Morgan took off after him, not quite as sharp at changing direction at that speed, and then Hayes changed again and again, using his edges in that way that it felt like only he could, until Morgan finally had to give up, sliding over in front of the goal, hoping to play some more general defense.

He wasn’t a goalie, by any stretch, but he’d won the Selke twice. He could still hold his own, even against the league’s new hotshots.

And Hayes, no matter how much he tried to deny it, was one of them.

Was the hotshot, frankly.

“You gonna play goalie, baby ?” Hayes retorted, grinning so brightly it took Morgan’s breath away.

“Against you? Hell no.”

He let Hayes get lulled into a momentary complacency as he passed the puck back and forth to himself, and then he took off, intending to steal it back.

But before he could, Hayes shot the puck off and to Morgan’s surprise, there was Danny, smug smile on his face as he and Hayes tag-teamed him all the way to the crease.

Danny flicked the puck behind him, and it took a full second for Morgan to realize he’d been passing it back to Hayes, who took the shot, practically skating around Morgan and sinking the puck right into the net.

Danny screeched behind him, but Hayes was only staring at Morgan, and brilliance looked fucking amazing on him. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes, the knowing edge to his smile as Hayes reached out and tapped Morgan’s thigh with his stick.

“Good showing,” he teased.

“You cheated.” Though that goal had been ninety-five percent Hayes and five percent Danny.

“Thought we were supposed to be practicing our plays, Cap,” Hayes said, all innocence, but Morgan knew better at this point.

Maybe he hadn’t said baby again, but Morgan could feel it, as good as a brush on his cheek, the back of his neck, a brief touch, Hayes’ hand warm and firm, on the small of his back.

“I . . .uh. Yeah. We’re good.”

Coach was on the other end of the rink, signaling the end of practice—it had never been meant to be a long, grueling one, with a game the day before and another game tomorrow.

In the locker room, after he’d gotten showered and changed, Danny crowded into his space before they headed towards the bus. “What the fuck was up with that?” he asked lowly.

Morgan’s heart started to beat a little faster. On the other side of the room, Hayes’ back was to him, all slim muscles as he pulled on a T-shirt.

He hadn’t let himself look before now, and he told himself he still wasn’t looking, but that was a lie. He’d just looked.

“What the fuck was up with what?” Morgan retorted evenly.

Danny shot him an unimpressed look. “You know what I’m talking about. You and Monty, flirting.”

“We were practicing. I gotta know what he’s capable of.”

“Yeah, but me and you aren’t playing sexy keep-away,” Danny pointed out.

That was true. Before Hayes, Morgan never would’ve been tempted to play sexy keep-away. The thought never would’ve even occurred to him.

“I already know what you’re capable of,” Morgan said dismissively.

Danny made a face. But Morgan knew his feelings weren’t hurt; he was just annoyed that Morgan wasn’t telling him what was going on. Nobody was a bigger gossip than Matt Daniels.

Morgan had hoped that shook him, but he wasn’t surprised when on the bus, Danny dropped down in the seat next to him. They’d been the first ones on the bus, so Danny could’ve picked any seat he wanted.

“You’re really not gonna tell me what’s up?” Danny asked incredulously.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Lie. The tension between the two of you could power a small city.”

Morgan froze, but of course Danny kept talking.

“And I already suspected about Monty, but you surprised me. Of course you’d go for another first overall pick. Is it like some special club—”

“Matthew,” Morgan hissed under his breath, lips numb. He grabbed Danny’s arm and squeezed it, hard. “You don’t—”

“I know . You don’t out people without their permission. I’m not stupid.”

Morgan wanted to tell him not to act stupid then, but of course Danny kept going, because when had he ever shut up in his whole fucking life? Never, that was when.

“I don’t know for sure about Monty, of course, but the guy’s never even looked at a girl. Even when they shove themselves at him. And I figured you already knew, ’cause of the whole first overall thing and then because of the way you kept looking at him. Last night. And today.”

“I wasn’t looking at him any kind of way,” Morgan lied.

Danny shot him an unimpressed look. “So you’re in denial then.”

He was freaking out. That wasn’t denial. Not even close.

“No,” Morgan huffed out, trying to keep his temper and his wits.

“So is it a super special first overall thing, then? Get picked first, then the chosen one agrees to fuck you? I guess I missed out. Only went sixth. Too bad.”

Morgan smacked his palm over Danny’s mouth. “God, do you ever shut up?”

Danny grinned under his hand. That was all the answer he needed.

“No, it’s not. It’s not . . .maybe it’s a little like that, only ’cause I know how he is, how he feels. But yeah, maybe it was a little . . .flirty today.”

“A little flirty?” Danny answered, sound muffled through his hand.

“It was . . .we were mostly just giving each other shit.”

“I know what that’s like. I give you two shit. You two were on some other level. And you know what, that’s okay. It’s not a big deal.”

If Morgan could’ve predicted how Finn would react—even though he’d been using his very stupid I have a friend story—he might not have been surprised at his son’s advice. But he did not expect that Danny would echo it.

“What?” Danny retorted. “It isn’t a big deal. Considering your situation, I didn’t think you’d end up being shitty about it.”

“I’m not being shitty, it’s complicated. Hayes is a teammate. I’m his captain ,” Morgan hissed. Other players were beginning to walk onto the bus. In a second, someone could maybe overhear this conversation, and that would make it all so much worse.

“Yeah for what, another week? If I swung that way, I wouldn’t let a little messiness stop me from hooking up with Monty. He’s hot.”

God damnit. Morgan wanted to close his eyes, wish this nightmare over, and sink right through the seat and off this bus.

“What? He is.”

“How do you know you don’t swing that way, then?” Morgan asked more for time to comprehend his own sudden sexual revelations than because he really wanted to know about Danny.

“I mean, I’m fundamentally not against dick, if you get my drift, and we all had our share of brojobs in the program, but a guy’s never really done it for me like that , you know?”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right guy yet,” Morgan said, and then wished the moment the words were out of his mouth that he hadn’t let them slip.

Danny’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, that’s it, isn’t it? Monty’s the guy who made you want dick.”

“If I hear even a hint of this from someone else, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully.”

“Well, duh,” Danny said, like this was a no-brainer. Like he didn’t personally power the NHL gossip train.

“I’m just saying.”

“I’d never out either of you, swear to God,” Danny said, smacking a hand over his heart. “You want me to take a blood vow?”

“No. No. ” If he asked Danny, he probably would, and that would make everything even messier—literally—than it had been before. And the mess was already overwhelming him. “Just . . .uh . . .score a goal for me tomorrow, alright?”

Danny grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Or a sick assist. That would work too.”

“I got you, Mo. We’re gonna come through.”

“We’re?”

Danny elbowed him. “Me and Monty. We got your back. I mean, Monty more than me, ’cause even though you’re still hot, you’re kinda old—”

Morgan buried his head in his hands. “Please, for the love of God, stop talking.”