Page 17 of Breakaway Goals
“You’re something else,” Morgan said.
“Not what you were saying earlier.”
Morgan shrugged. “You needed a reminder. That’s all.”
That hadn’t been all, and Hayes knew Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to think that was true.
“I—”
“It’s all good. Really.” Morgan reached out and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezed. Awareness prickled across Hayes’ skin.This is what he’d do to anyone. To Noah. To Calvin. Even to Danny.But then Morgan’s touch lingered a second too long, only disappearing when the elevator finally came to a stop on Hayes’ floor.
Hayes wanted to yell that he’d wanted it before, but now he was wishing he could stay. But there was no reason to stay. This was his floor.
“I . . .uh . . .I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then,” Hayes said, meeting that frank gaze one more time before he tore his eyes away and walked off the elevator.
Before he did something he would—and wouldn’t—regret.
Chapter 3
Hisson’svoicewasbright and easy in his ear. The brightness was normal, but Morgan couldn’t say that the ease of it was routine.
And whose fault is that?
Morgan shoved the voice away and focused on Finn.
He was sixteen and thought he knew everything.
“Braun was so good last night,” Finn said, and the teasing lilt in his tone meant he knew exactly how annoyed that would make Morgan.
But teasing was good. Teasing was better than the alternative, which was sullen frustration—or worse, silence.
“I hope you’re taking notes,” Morgan said, focusing on the one positive of Braun’s performance, besides the obvious one, which was that it had helped them win the game. “He’s got skills.”
“And you hate him for them,” Finn said slyly.
“I’m sure you’re going to end up playing against some guys who wish you weren’t so good in the net,” Morgan reminded him.
Knew it was a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because Finn went dead quiet for a long second.
It was a difficult line to walk with Finn—impossible, actually—between praising his developing goalie skills and heaping too much pressure on him to have a successful future.
As a Reynolds it was hard to avoid; the pressure came with the last name.
But Morgan knew he could be a total fucking idiot too, and lay it on too thick. Hemeantwell, but sometimes it felt like all he could talk about with Finn was hockey. It wasn’t his fault that hockey was loaded for his son, but he ended up taking the brunt of it, sometimes with his foot in his mouth to boot.
Not surprisingly, Finn changed the subject. “So, how’s it playing with Monty? You guys looked a little off to start the game, but then the third period? Jesus, it was like it all clicked.”
Morgan told himself to be normal. To say something fucking normal but then, “I . . .uh . . .yeah,” came out instead.
Finn, not an idiot, focused in on his dad’s obvious discomfort.
“It’s not good?”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re lying.”
He was. Probably even to himself.
