Page 112 of Breakaway Goals
“Also . . .you’re not an asshole.”
“Not to you.”
“Not really at all, you just like to say it, probably because everyone always says it to you,” Hayes said. “But even then . . .I don’t want you to change. I like you just as you are.”
“Really?” It felt too good to be true, but then Hayes as an entire entity had always felt too good to be true.
“Always,” Hayes murmured and a second later, Morgan heard a gentle snore rumble through him.
He tightened his arm around Hayes and let sleep take him, too.
Chapter 17
WhenHayeswokeup,he ached. The general all-over ache of playing a hockey game the day before sure, but two specific aches.
First off, his ass. He could tell he’d had sex last night, and that it had been awhile.
And then there was his shoulder, where Morgan had straight-upbittenhim.
God, Morgan.
Claimed him mind, body, and fucking soul.
Hayes lay there, very still, for a moment. Not wanting to roll over, worried that if he did, that space next to him in the bed might be empty.
He knew last night had happened. There was no way he could’ve even dreamt up how it felt, or how he still felt from it. A little bit like he’d been hit by a truck, physically and emotionally.
It had most definitely happened. There was no taking it back now, even if Hayes regretted it. Which he didn’t.
It wasn’t regret. Even if he turned over and where Morgan had slept was empty now, Hayes wouldn’t call that feeling regret. Morgan had too obviously meant everything he’d said. He’d promised he wanted to make this work, and Hayes believed that he meant it.
It was exhilarating, and he hadn’t been happier in a very long time. But it was also fucking scary and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been more terrified.
He’d neverhadMorgan before. He’d lost him, before he’d ever gotten a chance to enjoy what that meant, how thatfelt, and it had fucked him up for six years.
How much would it fuck him up now if they couldn’t make this work?
Morgan had seemed very sure. Almost flippant about it. But Hayes didn’t think he could be.
Took a deep breath, then another, and slowly turned over.
Morgan wasn’t lying there, but when Hayes put a hand out, the sheets were still warm.
A moment later, Morgan appeared in the doorway, just his shorts on, and he had two cups of coffee in his hands.
“Hey,” he said, holding out a cup for Hayes. “I took a guess that you drink it the same as you did six years ago. Still had half and half in your fridge anyway.”
Hayes took the cup with hands that almost didn’t shake. ‘Thanks. Yeah . . .uh the same. For sure.”
Morgan bringing him coffee in bed. Wearing only shorts, chest bare, hair messed up from Hayes’ hands. He wasnevergoing to be able to go back from this. He should be fucking terrified. It was so much reward, the most unbelievable upside of all time. But the risk . . .
“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” Morgan asked bluntly. He didn’t get into the bed, but he settled a hip on the edge. Close but not too close. Like Hayes was a horse he didn’t want to spook.
“No.” But if Hayes lied, if he wasn’t honest, if theybothweren’t honest, how would this ever work out? There was a narrow window here, a path through a whole maze of defenders stacked up between Hayes and the net, and if he was very good—no, if he wasthe best—he could score the goal.
Win the guy.
Maybe even be happy like this for the rest of his life.
