Page 9 of Breakaway Goals
During their third shift of the second period, Morgan began to realize he’d made a serious tactical error.
Hayes wasn’t any better. Danny wasn’t either.
Their line was sluggish, awkward, and getting dominated by the Swedes, barely getting one shot off. Not what anyone would’ve expected from the offensive powerhouse that this starting line was supposed to be.
The second line scored again, and at least there was that—theywerewinning. But Morgan had never settled for “good enough” and he felt anxious and restless, sitting on the bench, watching the other guys celebrate.
Hockey was a team sport, for sure, but Morgan liked—needed—to be in the thick of the action.
Next to him, Danny let out a frustrated noise.
Morgan thought about saying something to calm him down—he was the captain, after all, and that was kind of his job. But maybe if Danny got worked up, Hayes would match his energy.
He turned towards his other side. Instead, Hayes’ face was blank. Wiped clean of emotion.
“You got this,” Morgan said to him, nudging him with his gloved hand.
“You better,” Danny said, leaning right over Morgan.
Morgan liked to think that he preferred Danny’s brash, almost complete disregard for who Morgan was over Hayes’ hero worship, but at least Hayes wasn’t annoying.
Hayes rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, you’ll find your feet,” Morgan said encouragingly.
“Gustafson just picked the puck right off my fucking tape,” Hayes muttered.
Morgan didn’t mention that the last time the Bandits had played the Mavericks, Morgan had attempted a very similar play, and Hayes had just blocked him out effortlessly, like Morgan hadn’t even fuckingbeenthere.
Only a great defensive play after the takeaway by Danny and then an unbelievable save by Braun had kept the Swedes from cutting their lead in half.
“He’s sharp,” Danny agreed. “But you’re sharper.”
Hayeswas.
Morgan had watched enough hockey over the years and then there was the two times a year the Bandits played the Mavs for him to know that Hayes was better than this.
“Lock in,” Morgan said, a little more harshly than he had before.
It didn’t help.
And by the end of the second period, Swedenhadcut their lead and were pushing.
They needed another goal, and there was absolutely no fucking reason it couldn’t be Morgan or Danny or Hayes, except that they looked like beer leaguers out there.
This time he couldn’t be nice. Not if they wanted to win this game. Not if they wanted to win any more fucking games.
Instead of lingering in the hall or taking him into the locker room, Morgan dragged Hayes down the main hallway and then around the corner, deeper and then deeper still into the arena, until it was just them.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded and then hated himself a little when Hayes shrank back even more.
He was fucking this up.
“Nothing,” Hayes muttered under his breath. He was looking down at the ground. Wouldn’t even meet Morgan’s eyes. And suddenly, Morgan hated that even more than the shitty ass way their line had been playing. Wanted Hayes to look up and meet his eyes. Wanted that bright green on him, seeing him. Challenging him. Being brilliant, the way Morgan knew he could be.
“That’s bullshit. You hurt?”
Hayes shook his head.
