Page 68 of Breakaway Goals
The recalibration after having every insecure, every anxious, every unsure, part of him acknowledged and shared was brutal, but there was nothing Hayes could do but just accept it.
He couldn’t force Morgan to love him.
He couldn’t force Morgan toaccepthe loved him.
They met on the faceoff dot again. Hayes won that one, too, and flicked the pass behind him, to Michael, and they were off and running again. Setting up a play and then another play.
Hayes scored again and, since they were in New York, only a handful of hats rained down.
The game finally ended 6-1, and Hayes knew he should’ve felt better.
He did not feel better.
It turned out it didn’t matter how many brilliant goals he scored, Morgan was never going to look at him like that again. It was over, and it was time for Hayes to accept it.
Since they were staying overnight before heading up to Buffalo, some of the guys tried to get up a group to go out and celebrate the win and Hayes’ hat trick, but he had never felt less like celebrating.
Hayes shot Zach a look, but he probably didn’t even have to. Zach spoke up for both of them, offhandedly mentioning this show they were watching.
They weren’t watching anything particular right now, but clearly Zach knew he was not in the mood to go out.
They returned to the hotel. Zach nudged him in the elevator, but Hayes only shot him a tired smile. “You’ll be okay,” Zach said as they got off on their floor.
Would he? He imagined that yes, eventually, he’d find his way back tookaybut right now he’d misplaced the map.
“Yeah,” Hayes said, because that was easier than confessing the truth.
“Great game, though. Really. You were fucking amazing out there,” Zach said. Hayes knew he was right, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck.
“Thanks.”
Zach paused as Hayes stopped at his door and dug into his pocket for his key card. “If you need anything . . .”
“I promise you. I’m going to order dinner, collapse into bed, and sleep until morning,” Hayes said.
“Okay.” Zach sounded worried, like he knew that was a lie, but at least he didn’t call Hayes on it.
He opened the door and heard it shut behind him.
Then he was finally alone. Hayes felt his knees give out as he dropped to the edge of the bed.
He wanted to cry, because that might make him feel better—at least it might exorcise some of the nauseating pain rolling around inside him—but he couldn’t.
For a long time he just sat there, looking at the room, but not seeing anything. It was the same kind of hotel room they always stayed in. He’d been in hundreds over the years. The ones he and Morgan had ended up sharing in Toronto had been just like this.
If he closed his eyes he could picture them. Could imagine that he was back there and everything was different.
But when he opened his eyes, he was still alone.
He’d just decided he should get up and get something to eat when a knock on the door echoed through the room.
Probably a teammate or a coach, wanting him to go out even though he’d made it clear he really didn’t want to.
Groaning a little at how stiff he’d gotten, Hayes stood and after toeing his shoes off on the way to the door pulled it open.
He was wrong.
It was not a teammate or a coach.
