Page 42 of Breakaway Goals
“He looks like he’s going to will that puck past Braun,” Danny said, skating up to where Hayes was leaning against the boards. “You think he’ll get it in?”
“No,” Hayes said, a second before Morgan tried a fancy dodging move, totally overthinking the whole thing, Jacob easily blocking the shot.
“Jesus,” Danny muttered under his breath.
Morgan swept behind the goal, fury etched on his expression, looking like he was doing a lot more than muttering a few choice obscenities.
“Monty,” Coach barked out. “Show them how it’s done.”
Hayes nodded and picked up his stick. As he skated towards the goal, he skimmed through his memory. Remembering his last few goals against Braun and what he knew of Braun’s weaknesses—a damn short list, honestly—only deciding on what he was going to do a half-second before he did it.
Changing direction suddenly, he leaned hard on his edges and pushed in on one side, aiming the puck between Braun’s leg pads.
It slid just inside.
Hayes skated in the rest of the way, giving Jacob a reassuring shoulder tap with his stick before heading back towards the mingled group at the boards.
“Absolutely fucking sick move, Monty,” Danny crowed.
Morgan didn’t say anything. Just gave Hayes a little nod, eyes narrowed.
Before Coach could say anything, could yell any other name, Morgan took off again, barely waiting until Hayes was back to the group before he was gone, skating hard and mean, leaning way over his stick.
Jacob didn’t even flinch, didn’t even call Morgan out for his repeated turn, even though Hayes could hear Thompson and Blackburn behind him, both yelling at Morgan to cut it out.
But Morgan, unsurprisingly, was not listening.
This time he waited until he was nearly on top of Jacob, practically in the crease before shooting, barely turning himself in time to avoid hitting the guy.
It was a shitty move—compromising the health and safety of both Morgan and Jacob—and Thompson barked out, voice carrying across the ice. “What the fuck are you doing, Reynolds?”
Of course, when Jacob lifted himself up, he had the puck in the cup of his glove and he let it drop to the ice with a pointed look over in Morgan’s direction.
Hayes knew it was going to happen again the moment before it did.
“Oh shit,” Danny murmured next to him.
But the words were barely out of his mouth before Hayes was off, skating as fast as he could, coming to an abrupt stop between a charging Morgan and a defensively postured Jacob.
“Get out of my way,” Morgan grunted.
“No,” Hayes said firmly. Put his hands out. “No fucking way. You’re gonna lose it on anyone? It’s gonna be on me. Not on that guy.”
“I don’t have a problem withyou,” Morgan said between clenched teeth.
“Exactly,” Hayes said.
A moment later, Danny was there, next to him. “Come on, man,” Danny wheedled. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Actually, I kinda do,” Morgan argued.
“No, you really don’t,” Hayes said, frustration inevitably leaking into his voice. He moved closer to Morgan. Risked putting a hand on his arm. For a second, he was sure Morgan was going to shuck it off, and he was going to have to pretend that didn’t matter, but to Hayes’ surprise, he didn’t. He tensed but didn’t move.
Morgan didn’t say anything.
And to Hayes’ continued surprise, when Hayes risked wrapping a whole hand around his forearm and then the other around his waist, Morgan let himself be pulled away. All the way across the ice and then off it.
He was silent and easy all the way until they got to the hall outside the locker room. Then suddenly it was like he came to life, and the tables were turning and it washimdraggingHayesfarther in, to the hallway they’d visited in the first game.
