Page 67 of Breakaway Goals
“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 heknew. . .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’tseehim.
