Page 75 of Breakaway Goals
Morgan was the first on his feet in their suite, cheering as the game clock hit zero, Jacob half a second behind him.
Jacob persuaded him to come to the locker room to congratulate Finn, despite the fact that he had two very compelling reasons not to go: 1) Morgan knew he pulled attention and he didn’t want to distract in any way from Finn, not tonight and 2) even the concept of seeing Hayes in his natural habitat, gear half-on, half-off, sweaty hair and victory smile on his face, made him break into a cold—or maybe a hot—sweat.
But somehow, despite everything, Morgan found himself trailing behind Jacob as they walked into the locker room.
Luckily, Finn’s locker was at the far end, next to the other goalie, and with the media swarmed around Hayes’ stall, it was easy enough to avoid the second problem.
As for the first, Finn’s face lit up even more when he and Jacob approached.
Morgan wasn’t stupid; he knew that smile was a solid seventy-five percent for Jacob, and only twenty-five for him, but Morgan didn’t mind that. There’d been a time when he wouldn’t have even gotten five percent of Finn’s joy and he’d take what he could get.
“You absolutely killed it out there,” Jacob said as Finn flung himself into his arms.
“Thanks,” Finn mumbled into Jacob’s shoulder. Then he glanced over at Morgan.
“Great job,” Morgan said, and to his surprise, Finn turned to him and gave him a tight hug too.
“I couldn’t be prouder,” he added when Finn let go.
Finn’s smile only grew. “It was a great game. Helps to have such great guys to play with.”
Jacob started rhapsodizing about the Sentinels’ defense and even their offense being defensive, most of which seemed to have something to do with Hayes, and Morgan tuned it out, because it was already hard enough being in this room. Knowing Hayes was only just over there, a dozen feet away. Morgan could hear the lilt of his voice, and the happiness in it. He sounded a lot pleased about how the game had gone, and frankly, Morgan couldn’t be angry at him for that.
It was the kind of NHL debut he’d wanted so much for Finn.
His distraction was why, when Jacob nudged him a minute later, he had no idea what he’d just been volunteered for.
“We’re heading out in a bit,” Finn said to him.
Morgan felt like he’d missed something vital. “Heading out where?”
Finn grinned. “Celebratory drinks, what else? You’re both coming.”
Panic raced up Morgan’s spine. “Oh, no,” he said with an awkward shrug. “Jacob yeah, he should. He’s your boyfriend. I’m just—”
“Just my dad,” Finn said softly, so proud and happy when the opposite had been true for so fucking long. How was Morgan supposed to say no to that?
He couldn’t.
Even if it meant that an hour later, he was sitting in a dark bar, music pulsing around them, as he tried his best to avoid Hayes.
Hayes was doing his captainly duty, rotating himself through the various knots of players and their partners, which meant that at some point, the chances of him stopping by their open booth to personally congratulate Finn was high.
“You’re being weird, even for you,” Jacob said, nudging Morgan.
What hewasdoing was tracking Hayes like he was a starving hunter and Hayes was a particularly tasty morsel of an apex predator.
Not because he wanted him. Nope. No way. Morgan just wanted to avoid him.
Danny would have told him he was being stupid, and that was probably true, but it was easier to be stupid than to look right at Hayes and try to figure out, six years after everything had gone to shit, what the fuck he should say to him.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Morgan said, ignoring Jacob’s comment and instead eyeing how Hayes had now arrived at the next booth.
He could slip out, take a piss, grab another beer at the bar, and by the time he was done, Hayes would have done his duty and left.
It all worked perfectly, until he was washing his hands at the sink, staring at his reflection, at the way his hair had gotten a little long, curling over his ears, and the wrinkles he was trying to pretend didn’t exist, when the door opened.
Everything inside Morgan froze.
