Page 88 of Breakaway Goals

Morgan shrugged, trying to do an imitation ofit did suck, but I got over it, even though he never really had. “It was what it was. A reality check, of a sort.”

“No wonder you were a fucking mess when you showed up in Portland and found out Finn and I were dating.”

“It wasn’t . . .I wasn’t amess. And that wasn’t why I was pissed.”

The corner of Jacob’s mouth quirked upwards. “No? Well, maybe not. I remember some long, drunken rant about how I was just using him to feel young again.” He paused. “So the guy was also younger than you, huh?”

“Yes,” Morgan said crisply, “butno, I was not using him to feel young.”I was just using him tofeel, period.

“I get it, not everything is about your broken heart,” Jacob teased kindly.

Morgan wished that was actually true.

“And,” Jacob added, patting him again, “I want you to know I’m very deliberately not putting all the hints you keep dropping together and coming up with a name.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Thanks?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Jacob said.

There wasn’t a hockey player on earth that didn’t love a routine. Hayes knew he wasn’t the only one, but over the years in Tampa, he’d created a fairly detailed one.

Wake up. Breakfast from his meal service. Smoothie in his travel cup, head to the practice facility, and get his workout in early before practice started and the place was overrun withother players. He loved those guys, but they always distracted him.

Game days had other routines, but this was his standard non-game day routine.

Morgan Reynolds was not supposed to be part of the routine.

He was definitely not supposed to be in the gym, lifting weights in an old, decrepit New York Bandits T-shirt, the 20 faded on the shoulder, sweaty fabric clinging to him for dear life.

Hayes opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again, fingers tightening around his protein shake. Glued right to the floor just inside the doorway. Fucking staring as Morgan lifted weights like he was planning to take the ice tomorrow.

He could work out in the same gym as Morgan. He could do it.You can do it, he repeated to himself weakly.

Despite the pep talk, he still didn’t move. Seriously considered turning on his heel and marching right back out again.

But theroutine.

Of course, before Hayes could decide which was worse—continuing to watch this wet dream torture or skipping the routine, or God forbid, making anewroutine—Morgan spotted him.

The bar with its weight clanged down on its holder and Morgan lifted his T-shirt, wiping his face. Hayes flushed hot, tongue too big, too clumsy in his mouth. How did he look even better than he had six years ago?

Fuck Hayes’ life. Fuckeverything.

“Hey,” Morgan said casually. Like Hayes wasn’t a surprise interloper in Morgan’s gym routine. Like he’d actually expected him to show up.

That was a thought Hayes shoved away, hard and fast. Morgan wasn’t here because he knew Hayes would be here, too. That would be . . .well, stalking first off, and second off, definitely not hot. Not at all.

“You’re here,” Hayes said very stupidly.

“Oh yeah. Well, Roger told me I could drop by whenever I wanted.” Morgan flashed him a little grin as he referred to the Sentinels’ GM. “I’ve got credentials and everything. Wanna see them?”

Morgan pretending that Hayes didn’t recognize him was not cute. Hayes was not endeared.

“No,” Hayes said. “I . . .I trust you.” He didn’t. Not at all. But had Roger told him he could work out in the Sentinels’ gym? Probably. Because apparently not only was he going to lowball Barty on the contract negotiations, he wanted to make Hayes’ life as difficult as possible, too.

Morgan’s smile widened. “Yeah? Good.”

“Not like—I didn’t mean—”