Page 43 of Breakaway Goals
It was just as empty as it had been then. Emptier, maybe, because this was just practice.
“Seriously, Mo,” Hayes huffed out under his breath. He unbuckled his helmet and pulled it off, letting it dangle from one hand by the strap.
Morgan still didn’t say anything. Just wet his bottom lip with his tongue, and Hayes realized a second later that he was shaking a little, all over. Just straight-up trembling.
“Are you okay?” Hayes asked, leaning in a little closer. He unsnapped Morgan’s helmet and pulled that off too, setting both of them on an equipment bin.
“I’m . . .” Morgan squeezed his eyes shut. “No.”
Well, at least that was something. At least Morgan could see that his reaction had been completely unhinged and out of line.
Okay, so he didn’t like Braun. Hayes couldn’t say he particularlylikedBraun either, but he wasn’t going to go charging at him in the net during practice.
“You wanna talk about it?” Hayes asked gently, wrapping his fingers around Morgan’s forearms and squeezing. Like he could somehow leech out by osmosis some of the ugly thoughts heknewMorgan was having.
“You get it—he just—Ijust—” Morgan broke off, hazel eyes wide and distressed. Then he looked away.
“I know you think he’s got your number,” Hayes said, probably too obvious about how careful he was being.
Morgan, even as spooked as he was, wasn’t going to like being handled with kid gloves. He’d want the unvarnished truth, extra salt rubbed in the wound for good measure.
“You think?” Morgan’s laugh was more a bark than an actual genuine laugh. “He got metwice. And you just slid one by him like it was fucking nothing.”
Hayes winced. “Not like it was nothing. I play against him, too, you know? But I’ve got less . . .” He didn’t know how to say it without reminding Morgan all over again that at one point, Hayes had made him feelold.Hayes didn’t have to ask to know that also meantused up, washed-up, finished, done.
“Less what?”
Hayes shot him a look. Morgan knew what he didn’t want to say, and he was going to make him say it anyway. Nevermind the salt. It was more like he was asking—no,begging—for Hayes to pour vodka right on it.
“Pretending it’s not happening doesn’t change anything,” Morgan muttered.
“No, but dwelling on it sure doesn’t fucking change anything either,” Hayes retorted with heat. “And you’re fucking letting him—letting this situation—get to you.”
Hayes gripped his arms harder. Not letting him pull away. Morgan was strong, but Hayes wasn’t nothing. He could hold on. He could make Morgan face this, even though it was the last thing Morgan wanted to see.
“Oh, yeah, so I should just stop then? Why didn’t anyone tell me that before?” Morgan’s voice was as dry as the Sahara.
“Don’t,” Hayes warned sharply.
“What?”
“Don’t do that shit. You’re better than that. I’m better than that. You know I’m there. That I get it.”
“No, you’ll get it in ten fucking years,” Morgan retorted without heat. “Maybe twelve, if you’re really lucky.”
Hayes sighed.
“Jacob Braun isn’t the thing that’s holding you back. There isn’t anyone holding you back. Only this stupid assumption that you’re . . .I don’t know . . .on your last legs. You don’t look on your last legs, not to me.”
“You’re sure that’s not wishful thinking? You lookin’ at me through those rose-colored glasses you like so fucking much?”
Hayes sighed heavier. “You are so fucking contrary, you know? Sometimes I just want to . . .”
“Want to what?” Morgan’s grin was shark-like.
“Not what you’re thinking. I want to knock some sense into you. I’m not looking at you like I’m idolizing you, still. I see you clearly. Probablytooclearly.”Shut up, shut up, shut up. But he couldn’t shut up. Not now. Not when Morgan’s edges were finally softening. “I see you, ’cause you’re me.”
Morgan didn’t say anything. Just stared, wide-eyed at Hayes. Like it was finally hitting him. Or maybe that it was finally hitting him hard enough.
