Page 15 of Breakaway Goals
“It’s not,” Hayes stressed.
“So you didn’t have a poster of me above your bed.”
He’d hadtwo, actually, but he wasn’t telling Morgan about the contents of his childhood bedroom.
“Of course not,” Hayes blustered.
Morgan slid a few inches closer. Hayes swore he felt the brush of Morgan’s fingertips on the fluffy ends of his hair. “You’re lying. You said it in an interview, once.”
Hayes’ pulse picked up. “And you remembered that?”
“The chosen one is supposed to keep an eye on all-comers,” Morgan said wryly, making a face.
“You hate it as much as I do,” Hayes said, suddenly realizing how true that was.
“’Course I do. The moment you’re on top, there’s always someone who’s younger and better and hungrier than you coming to knock you down.”
Hayes was all too familiar with that phenomenon. He’d been hearing about some kid headed to the US developmental program, the oldest of three hockey-playing brothers, who everyone thought was going to be the next generational player.
Hayes had wanted to scream thathisgeneration was only in their early to mid-twenties and he’d barely gotten a chance to do anything, yet. He hadn’t lifted the Cup yet, but he could already taste the silver when he licked his bottom lip.
So he got it.
It wasn’t fair, but then so much of this just wasn’t fucking fair.
“It sucks,” Hayes agreed.
“I even want to hate you, a little bit,” Morgan admitted. There was a flash of shame in his eyes before he looked away. “But Danny’s right. You’re cute.”
“I’m not sure that’s any better than being an asshole,” Hayes muttered. He didn’t want Morgan Reynolds to think he wascute.He also didn’t want him to think he was hot, because what the fuck could even happen if he did?
Also,he reminded himself,Morgan Reynolds doesn’t think men are hot.Cute’s allowed. Cute’s straight enough.
“Don’t change, okay? Don’t let this . . .” Morgan huffed out a breath. “All this fucking bullshit pressure and media narratives and always looking over your shoulder change you, okay?”
Hayes didn’t want to know what he meant, but he did, a little too well. There’d been a picture circulating that he’d tried not to see but had been nearly impossible to avoid: four figures superimposed next to each other. Gretzky, Morgan, him, and the oldest Barnes brother, who was still so young he had yet to lose his baby face.
“I’ll try,” he said.
Morgan nodded. “Good. Or the next time we play each other I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Like you could,” Hayes scoffed. But Morgan probably could, even at thirty-five. He’d looked sharp out there in the game today, skating as well as guys years younger than him.
“Come on, superstar,” Morgan teased, nudging him with a shoulder when he yawned into his beer. “It’s getting late. We should probably get some sleep. I’m gonna round up everyone else.”
They slid out of the booth, but Danny gave them a side eye when they wandered over to their group, mingled over by the bar.
“Time to call it a night,” Morgan announced, and that was definitely his Captain voice, and Hayes definitely didn’t find it hot. At all.
“You two eager to go to bed?” Danny asked slyly.
As far as Hayes knew, Danny didn’t know for sure about him—not many people did, though he supposed he could countMorgan among the enlightened—so this was just regular run-of-the-mill heckling.
That he could handle.
“Some of us like our beauty sleep,” Hayes said, pasting a faux-innocent look on his face as Morgan laughed and Danny’s jaw dropped.
He didn’t stay outraged for long, because that wasn’t Danny’s kind of thing. He met outrage with something even more outrageous.
