Breakaway Goals, page 15
Zach’s sharp exhale said it all. Then he said, “You’re gonna be fine, Monty. Six weeks. You’re gonna be good in six weeks. Like it never happened.”
Hayes wanted to believe that was true. Maybe in six weeks, Morgan would fade from his memory and from his heart, like he’d never wormed his way in in the first place.
Chapter 10
Six weeks later
Morgan had been through grueling stretches before. The end of the season always felt like a grind. Every Cup run felt like he was running on fumes, exhausted and worn to a shadow of his former self, at least until the puck dropped, and he found a new well of energy and drive—not just wanting to win, but needing to win.
This was not the same.
He was tired, but not sleeping. When he finally did manage to fall into a restless sleep, the dreams haunted him.
Hayes smiling, Hayes laughing, Hayes scoring unbelievable breakaway goals.
Hayes soft and tender next to him in bed.
But when Morgan woke up, he was always alone.
It was his own goddamn fault, so it was hard—no, impossible—to feel sorry for himself. He could only push through it, hoping that each morning when he woke up he felt less like death.
Less like calling up Hayes, fingers trembling as he gripped his phone, and begging for his forgiveness. For any pathetic crumb that Hayes felt like tossing his way.
Any time he felt like doing that, he called Danny instead.
Danny, who despite the fact that he had never liked that guy either on the ice or off it, had become a friend. “I’m only doing this,” Danny had said the first time he’d called him, a week after Four Nations had ended, “because you are so fucking pathetic, and anyone with eyes can see you’re dying inside, even on the ice.”
Morgan had wanted to deny it, but he saw the emptiness in his gaze in the mirror. “Guess I got you in the divorce,” he only said, hoping it came out light and funny, but instead it was flat and horrible, kind of how he felt inside.
“Yeah, and not because you deserve it. Hayes has people. That’s because he’s not a dick. You don’t have anyone. So I guess you’ve got me.”
Morgan had never told Danny how it had gone down. He hadn’t needed to; Danny had guessed. Something about the inevitability of Morgan reverting to his natural asshole state and fucking it up, in the end. Morgan hadn’t argued with this assessment because it was dangerously close to the truth.
They didn’t usually talk about it. They usually talked about anything else but Hayes. Danny was always good for the latest hockey gossip, who was pissed at whom, who was on a scoring streak, even who was hooking up and who they were doing it with. But they never usually talked about Hayes.
Which was why Morgan couldn’t even be pissed when Danny sounded completely fucking floored when he opened the conversation this morning with, “So, we’re playing the Mavs tonight. I’m going to have to see Hayes.”
“Shit, is it already that time?” Danny asked.
“Come on,” Morgan said, rolling his eyes. “You knew this was coming up. You probably had it circled on your calendar. Bandits versus Mavs. The night when Morgan Reynolds totally—”
“Totally melts down, falls to his knees on the ice, and proposes hot gay marriage to Hayes Montgomery? White picket fence and cute yappy dog and sappy brunch dates and all?”
“I hate you,” Morgan said between clenched teeth. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that. Except that he did desperately want Hayes Montgomery. The white picket fence and dog and brunch dates appealed less, but in the face of having Hayes, he’d have accepted a hell of a lot worse.
“No, you hate that I’m right.” Danny wasn’t exactly sympathetic on these calls, which was why Morgan could tolerate them. If Danny had been nice about it, if he’d made empathetic noises about how much this sucked, Morgan couldn’t have stomached it. He didn’t deserve that kind of gentle treatment.
Morgan made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “How am I supposed to—just—you know? See him? Face off against him?”
“Pretend that he’s someone else,” Danny said promptly. “Oh! Pretend he’s me.”
“He’s a lot better at faceoffs than you,” Morgan grumbled.
“I’m so glad that love hasn’t changed you; you’re still a massive asshole.”
“I’m . . .it’s not like that,” Morgan retorted weakly. Of course it was like that. Of course he loved Hayes. He’d known it the night of the championship game, when he’d looked at him and realized he never wanted to look at anything else.
When he’d have thrown it all away to never look away from him again.
Except that it turned out hockey was a bitch of a mistress.
“Bud, I thought you were depressed and pathetic, not stupid,” Danny said. “So are you gonna go see him? Tell him how good you think he is at faceoffs?”
“Shut up,” Morgan said.
“Are you?”
Morgan hadn’t really thought about it. Lie. He’d thought about it basically nonstop the last six weeks, alternately dreading and counting down the days like a little kid with a birthday party. He wanted to just see Hayes, even if Hayes looked like he hated him. Even if Hayes looked at him like nothing had ever happened between them. It didn’t matter, he just wanted to see him.
And yes, he wanted to talk to him. To apologize. To try to explain. To beg his forgiveness. To make things right.
To hug him and kiss him and touch him—no. Morgan cut that thought off hard and fast. If he showed up at Hayes’ room and fucked him, it would destroy him.
But then, he was already halfway there. What was a little more destruction?
“I don’t know,” Morgan said slowly. “I shouldn’t, right?”
“You ever want to get over this?”
“You know I do,” Morgan bit off.
But that wasn’t entirely true either, because as absolutely fucking miserable as he felt, not having that misery lodged tight under his breastbone, right up against his heart, meant that it was over. Really fucking over.
That actually sounded worse.
He didn’t want to be the guy who’d fucked and left Hayes Montgomery. But he really didn’t want to be the guy who just got over Hayes Montgomery like it was nothing, either.
“Then you gotta be strong, man,” Danny advised.
That was a whole fucking trip. Danny advising.
“You’re an idiot,” Morgan said. “I can’t believe I’m even considering taking suggestions from you.”
“Hey, I’m a catch,” Danny protested.
“Yeah, in that women catch you and then throw you back when they realize you’re a fucking lunatic.”
“And how is that any different than you and Hayes?”
It wasn’t. Except he’d thrown himself away, because he’d already fucked up one marriage and that was when they’d lived together, in the same state, in the same house.
“Maybe if I see him, it’ll be like closure or something.”
“Yeah, okay, Dr. Phil,” Danny said sarcastically. “That’s not an excuse to like . . .fuck him one last time, or something?”
“Or something,” Morgan admitted.
“Yeah, I’m going to go on record saying that’s a bad idea. Don’t try to see him after the game. They’re probably not even staying in New York.” Danny paused and when Morgan didn’t answer, he made a frustrated noise. “Fuck, dude, don’t tell me you figured out if they were sleeping over.”
Morgan had already emailed their traveling coordinator, under the flimsiest pretext known to man, wondering if the Mavs would be staying over after the game or immediately leaving.
Turned out they weren’t leaving until the next day, because they were only heading up to Buffalo. Morgan regretted sending the email the moment he’d gotten the answer he’d wanted.
“I . . .I might’ve asked.” It was easier to lie to himself than to Danny. Morgan thought a therapist would probably have a field day with that particular realization.
“Dude,” Danny said. “You cannot go see him.”
“I should apologize. I ghosted him, Matt. I just fucking . . .left.” Morgan hated the way his throat was choking him.
“And he’s probably really fucking pissed at you for that. You want him to punch you in the face?”
If Hayes did, he’d feel something again. Something besides this all-consuming regret.
“Scratch that,” Danny continued. “You’d probably love that, you sick fuck.”
“I’m not that sick,” Morgan protested.
“Not because you normally like anyone punching you in the face, but if that was all you could get from Monty? You’d take it, and you’d like it.”
“I would not.” It was embarrassing how right Danny was.
“Now that I’m thinking about it,” Danny continued like he hadn’t even spoken, “if you let him win all the faceoffs just because he’s Hayes, and you’re crazy about him—maybe just full-on crazy at this point—I’m flying to New York and personally beating some sense into you.”
“I would not,” Morgan repeated but firmer this time. Because yeah, if Morgan went to see him after the game, and Hayes was angry and justifiably punched him in the face, he’d probably take it. But he was not going to let Hayes win anything on the ice, just because he was Hayes.
“Okay, there’s Morgan again. Remember that, okay? Remember who you are. You’re Morgan fucking Reynolds.”
He was. And Hayes was Hayes Montgomery.
It was important to remember that. Maybe if he did, if he reminded himself over and over again of their roles, not who they really were, underneath, but of the parts they played in the NHL, he could get through this game.
“Okay,” Morgan said.
“Is that an okay, you’re an idiot and I’m going to see him anyway, fuck common sense, or an okay, yes, you’re so right, Danny, thank you for always being a beacon of reason?”
Morgan scoffed under his breath. “Neither, actually. I’m never gonna think you’re a beacon of reason.”
“That’s fair. But still, don’t go see him, Mo. Don’t do it. Don’t do him, either.”
“That right there is why you’re not a beacon of reason,” Morgan retorted. But he knew no matter what he said, Danny had a point. If he went to see Hayes, even if he told himself he was only going to apologize, no matter how pissed Hayes was, they would probably end up doing something Morgan would only pretend to regret.
Something that would make this whole mess even messier.
“I mean it,” Danny semi-threatened. “I’m gonna be watching. Put your game face on, Mo.”
“Got it,” Morgan said, and hoped to God that he actually could.
"If you ask me one more time if I’m okay, I’m going to break your nose,” Hayes said to Zach under his breath during warmups.
“You’re not looking over there.”
“No shit,” Hayes huffed out. “I’m not going to. I can’t.”
“You’re not going to be able to pretend he doesn’t exist the whole game. The faceoffs—”
“I’m going to pretend that it’s seven weeks ago, and I barely even know the guy,” Hayes said between clenched teeth.
It was the only way he thought he could get through this.
He’d woken up this morning in New York sick to his stomach. Yearning to see Morgan so badly he’d have traded everything for just one glimpse and also dreading that first look so epically it was a wonder he’d even managed to make it out of bed.
“That’s smart. So smart,” Zach said.
The problem is that Zach didn’t sound convinced. Like he wasn’t sure Hayes could actually pull it off, and maybe he couldn’t.
“I’m trying to be reasonable about this,” Hayes said, even though his heart was screaming out for the least reasonable course of action. “I’m expecting you’re gonna be reasonable about this, too.”
They’d touched on this subject a handful of times in the last week, Zach shrugging him off every single time.
But Hayes was not going to stand by and let Zach go after Morgan like he was his knight in shining armor and Hayes was a ruined maiden.
Hayes had gone into the hookup with his eyes wide open. Sure, the whole thing had gone sideways, but he’d known, he’d known, that it was probably not going to be some big epic love story.
He hadn’t meant to fall in love; it had just happened. Almost by accident. That wasn’t anyone’s fault. Morgan didn’t deserve to have his ass kicked on the ice just because Hayes hadn’t been able to keep his feelings under control.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Zach muttered, flicking a puck over to Hayes, who shot it back.
“I want a promise that you’re not gonna do something stupid, just because you feel like you should.”
“He hurt you,” Zach said, jaw jutting out.
“Yeah, he did.” Somehow it hurt even more to admit that was true. “But he never promised me anything—”
“He ghosted you, Monty.”
Hayes pressed his lips together. “Yeah. He did. That was not his finest moment, for sure. But it was kind of inevitable he was going to freak out, wasn’t it? I can’t blame him for something that’s absolutely in line with his personality.”
“You sure fucking can,” Zach argued.
“Zachy,” Hayes said with resignation. “Please. It’s going to be hard enough to face him out there. But if he knows how much he hurt me—if he knew . . .I don’t know if I could handle it. Leave him alone, okay?”
Zach sighed. “Fine. He doesn’t deserve it, but I’ll leave his face unpunched.”
“Think of it this way—losing this game will probably piss him off more than anything else, so let’s win it, okay?”
Zach grinned at him. “Now you’re talking like the Hayes I know. Go out and show him what he’s missing, Monty.”
Hayes repeated his pep talk over and over, as the Sentinels finished up their warmups and headed back into the locker room.
Then they were back out on the ice, the words a constant chant in the back of his head.
Show him what he’s missing. Show him what he’s missing. Show him what he’s missing.
But the moment he skated over to the center of the ice and looked right at Morgan, right into those warm hazel eyes, it changed.
Show him how much you missed him.
But then Morgan looked right at him, but it was like he couldn’t see him at all. His gaze was where it should be, but it was like he didn’t see him. The hazel wasn’t warm at all, but cold.
Like he was looking at a stranger.
Hayes’ heart ached.
It was over. It was really fucking over.
He leaned in and let his focus engulf him. Hockey he could do; it was so much easier than feeling.
Hayes won the faceoff.
Scored a goal on his second shift by picking a puck right off Morgan’s tape and taking it the other way.
Scored another goal before the end of the first period.
Each and every time they faced off, Morgan looked more and more pissed, but that could also be the score. First it was 2-0, then it was 3-0, and by the end of the second it was 5-0, and Morgan looked infuriated as he skated off.
But his gaze still slid right over Hayes like he didn’t even exist.
A three point night already—two goals and an assist—and it was like he was still just another hockey player for Morgan.
That’s all you’re ever going to be to him, now.
Before tonight, Hayes had known that was probably true, but his heart was having trouble recalibrating. It wanted what it wanted, no matter how much of an unfeeling asshole Morgan had turned out to be. It couldn’t forget those perfect intimate moments they’d shared; he’d been there and he couldn’t believe they were a lie, even if it would’ve been so much easier.
He slunk into the locker room, collapsing on the bench in front of his stall, dragging his jersey off and grabbing a towel to wipe his face.
“You good?” Zach asked as he walked by.
“Yeah,” Hayes said, because that was the only choice.
“Killin’ it out there,” Michael said, slumping down next to him.
“Yeah, dude, that last goal was freaking poetry,” Zach agreed with him.
“We gotta stay focused no matter what the score is. Can’t forget who we’re playing,” Hayes said, raising his voice. He wasn’t the captain of the Mavericks, not yet, but he knew he was the heir apparent, and Gabriel, the captain of the Mavs, gave him an approving nod at his leadership.
“Hat trick watch,” Zach murmured, nudging him as they headed down the tunnel for the third period.
“Don’t,” Hayes said sharply. Let him believe it was pure superstition. But it was something else entirely. The agony of knowing that no matter what he did out here, it wouldn’t matter. Morgan still wouldn’t see him.
The recalibration after having every insecure, every anxious, every unsure, part of him acknowledged and shared was brutal, but there was nothing Hayes could do but just accept it.
He couldn’t force Morgan to love him.
He couldn’t force Morgan to accept he loved him.
They met on the faceoff dot again. Hayes won that one, too, and flicked the pass behind him, to Michael, and they were off and running again. Setting up a play and then another play.
Hayes scored again and, since they were in New York, only a handful of hats rained down.
The game finally ended 6-1, and Hayes knew he should’ve felt better.
He did not feel better.
It turned out it didn’t matter how many brilliant goals he scored, Morgan was never going to look at him like that again. It was over, and it was time for Hayes to accept it.
Since they were staying overnight before heading up to Buffalo, some of the guys tried to get up a group to go out and celebrate the win and Hayes’ hat trick, but he had never felt less like celebrating.
Hayes shot Zach a look, but he probably didn’t even have to. Zach spoke up for both of them, offhandedly mentioning this show they were watching.
They weren’t watching anything particular right now, but clearly Zach knew he was not in the mood to go out.
