Page 58 of Breakaway Goals
It had, and Hayes had grabbed it with both hands. Theyallhad, maybe, but Hayes most of all. Hayes who’d started out this tournament worried and pressured but had come into his own. Glowing now, with Morgan’s gaze on him.
“Shit,” Morgan said, leaning towards Hayes, his glove in front of his mouth. “That was just . . .when I said we were here to makeyoulook good, that’s exactly what I fucking meant.”
Hayes flushed, a deeper red than his already pink-from-exertion face.
“You’re so good, Monty,” Morgan said, because he couldn’t seem to stop running his mouth.
The look in Hayes’ eyes was tender. Goopy. Not the look of a teammate. But of a lover. Morgan didn’t hate it; he actually wanted to eat it all up, even though he’d known when they’d woken up this morning, wrapped up together, that there was no future here.
That no matter how much he wanted it, it just wasn’t there. This wasn’t a play he could make by muscling an opponent out of the way. A shot he could perfect by practicing long after everyone else had left the rink. It was immutable fate, and he couldn’t change it, even if he was dying to.
Even if Hayes looked at him like he was thinking the same things.
He’d thought maybe he’d finally need to talk about this tonight, but maybe talk was the last thing they needed.
Maybe to say it out loud would just make it worse.
Hayes nudged him and Morgan turned his attention back to the ice. There was a minute and a half left now, and the Canadians had just pulled Binnington.
“Reynolds, Monty, get out there,” Coach Blackburn barked. “Kill this.”
The Canadians pushed hard, but the clock finally ticked down to the last thirty seconds, then the last fifteen. Morgan knew what they needed and finally managed to steal the puck and clear it past the blue line, timefinallyrunning out.
They’d done it.
Morgan met Hayes’ eyes as he skated up to him, whooping the whole way.
And he knew, without a doubt, who he was passing the brand-new Four Nations trophy to, first.
Hayes felt like every molecule in his body had been electrified.
The celebration on the ice had sped by, but every so often a visceral perfect memory could cross his mind—the smile on Morgan’s face as he’d lifted the trophy, the look in his eyes as he’d handed it to Hayes first, the heft of it in his hands and the taste of silver on his tongue as he’d tipped his head back and drunk out of it.
He’d showered and changed, but even then he felt the sticky sweet slick of cheap champagne and cheaper beer over his skin.
They’d been at the bar for at least an hour and Hayes hadn’t had to buy himself a single drink, even though they were currently in Canada and Canadians in general weren’t really thrilled about how their tournament turned out.
He mentioned this to Danny who just smirked and said he probably wouldn’t have to buy a single drink for himself, ever again, no matter what country he was in.
The problem was that Hayes didn’t want to get drunk. He wanted to float endlessly on this perfect, hazy river of uncomplicated happiness forever. Tipsy but not drunk, realizing that nearly every time he looked over that Morgan was gazing at him, the look on his face making it clear exactly where they were going to end the night.
Hayes decided nobody could blame him for wanting to end itright now. Making up his mind, he set his beer down and, not giving a shit, walked right over to where Morgan was chatting with a few of their defensemen.
It wasn’t very subtle, but then 1) hockey players were a pretty obtuse bunch and 2) it wasn’t like Morgan had been particularly holding back.
“Hey,” he said to Morgan, “remember that thing I told you about?”
There had been no thing.
Morgan frowned, moving closer, his hand reaching up to steady Hayes even though he wasn’t unsteady at all. “What thing?”
“The thing,” Hayes said, nudging him.
Up until now, he’d been letting Morgan dictate this whole thing, but he was done doing that. This was happening tonight, and it was happeningnow. Hayes was practically a national fucking hero right now, so if he wanted to have Captain America fuck him? That only seemed like fair and adequate compensation.
It only took Morgan a second. Then he was on it. “Oh yeah,” he said, nudging back. “Thething.”
“Yep,” Hayes said smugly. “The thing.”
