Page 1 of Breakaway Goals
Chapter 1
“Morgan,youhaven’tplayedon a national team for eight years. What about this team,thistournament made you want to come back?”
Morgan drummed his fingers on his knee. It wasn’t that he expected the questions to suddenlynotsuck, but he’d expected the interviewer to at least work up to the crappy ones. The ones that hinted without actually saying it that he didn’t give a shit about playing for his country.
The interviewer gazed at him expectantly, a sweetly neutral expression on her face. He wondered if she’d been born like that. Just popped out of her mother with the ability to school her face into something bland and non-threatening as she poked him right where it hurt.
His son, Finn, would tell him that if he didn’t want anyone to complain about him not playing for the US team, he should play for the goddamn US team.
“Well, uh, that’s a great question.”Lie. “How could I miss this tournament? Four countries sending their best players? A tune-up for the Olympics?”That’s three fucking questions and not a single answer in there, Reynolds.
She nodded, clearly encouraging him to actually answer the fucking question.
“It’s just such a great opportunity.”And such a shitty fucking answer.
He was sweating, could feel it under his arms, in the damp patch at the small of his back, underneath his Team USA polo.Ridiculous. Morgan had been doing this for a long fucking time, fielding questions starting back in his early teens, when he’d first entered the USA hockey national team development program. Then he’d been drafted first overall, and the media interrogations only became more intense from there. And yet, he was totally fucking this up, anyway.
He saw a flash of annoyance cross her features before it smoothed away, like it didn’t exist.
“And you?” She’d clearly decided that was the best she was going to get out of Morgan, because she turned to the man next to him.
He should’ve known that the NHL media team wouldn’t be able to resist putting them together for interviews. Morgan had been hearing his name next to Hayes Montgomery’s for years now, usually uttered with breathless anticipation. The chosen one and the next one.
It wasn’t Hayes’ fault that he made Morgan feel old.
But he did.
“Oh, well . . .” Hayes stumbled over his words a little, and Morgan didn’t have to look over to see the guy’s face was full of hero worship. It made Morgan want to crawl out of his skin.I’m not so fucking great, bud, I promise. “How could I pass up a chance to wear the stars and stripes on my jersey and play next to Morgan Reynolds?” It turned out Morgan didn’t have to lookat him, because Hayes’ voice was brimming with adoration. The kind that made Morgan want to shake him.
It was weird, ’cause normally Morganlikedit when people stroked his ego.
He was a damn good hockey player. Had the stats and the awards and the Cups to back it all up.
But Hayes made him feel like he was halfway out the door, not because he wanted to be, but because everyone else was pushing him there, ready to move on.Yeah, Morgan, you were damn good, but look at this kid, he’s going to be even better.
“I heard a rumor,” the interviewer said lightly, “that you’re going to be playing on the same line during the tournament. What’s that going to look like?”
Hayes looked over at him, like he was giving Morgan the first crack at answering the question. But it was another one he didn’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole.
“Good hockey, that’s what it’s gonna look like,” Morgan said, a little brusquely. What else would it fucking look like? They hadn’t even gotten on the goddamn ice yet.
“Even though you normally play center, you’re okay shifting to Morgan’s wing?” She directed this one entirely at Hayes.
“Oh yeah, for sure. It’s not my natural position, but I’m excited to feed him the puck. Morgan’s a legend,” Hayes said. That note of reverence was back and even more pronounced now.
Morgan wanted to roll his eyes. Hayes was making him sound a hundred and five, not thirty-five, and hehatedit.
The interviewer asked a handful of additional questions which Hayes actually attempted to answer and Morgan gave brief one-word retorts to.
Then, finally,thankfully,the interview ended.
The interviewer stood and, after shaking both their hands, ducked out of the conference room they’d rigged up to deal withmultiple interviews at once. The camera operator exited too, leaving them alone.
There were only two days of practice—not much time at all to try to find some chemistry and gel on the ice—so they’d been trying to get through the media bits as fast as possible. Frankly, Morgan thought they could’ve skipped them altogether, but they weren’t asking him his opinion for a reason.
“Hey,” Hayes said softly, unsure.
Morgan turned to him. They’d met before, he was sure of it, but when Hayes had been younger, he’d left even less of an impression on Morgan. Unassuming, he’d always believed. But when he looked at Hayes now, that wasn’t the word he’d pick.
