Page 44 of Breakaway Goals
“You’ve got some time left,” Hayes continued, because he couldn’t stop now. “Your legacy’s already defined. These last few years are just gonna buff it to a real good shine. That’s all. It’s there. You did it. And when it’s over, you can put it down and not carry it around with you all the time.”
Morgan’s eyes slid away now. Like he couldn’t look any more. And Hayes got it. This had morphed into something else, gone totally sideways. “You really believe that?”
“I do,” Hayes said. “Because I don’t want to carry it either, when I’m your age. I want to believe that I can put it down if I want to. That being a first overall doesn’t define who I am forever.”
“That’s wishful thinking, right there,” Morgan grumbled, but he seemed lighter and easier when he met Hayes’ gaze again. His hazel eyes finally softening, some of that pain in them loosening and shaking free.
“Yeah, maybe. But it’s still wishful thinking I wanna keep,” Hayes said firmly.
He wasn’t lying. The idea of being Morgan’s age, of being older than Morgan and still trudging around with the weight of that first overall pick on his shoulders sounded excruciating.
“You’re . . .” Morgan’s tongue flicked out, licking his bottom lip. “You’re something else.”
“In a good kind of way, right?” Hayes chuckled, a little nervously.
But before Morgan could answer, a voice interrupted them.
“You two done in here? Practice’s over,” Danny announced loudly, striding towards them, still in his full gear and skates. He paused, still a few feet away. “It was really over the moment Mo here lost his shit. You good, bud?”
Morgan shrugged.
“Getting there,” Hayes said.
Danny nodded. “Dude, I get it. Sometimes Braun’s so good I wanna punch him in the face, too.”
Morgan made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.
Hayes wanted to punchDannyin the face for muscling his way into this conversation.
“Danny,” he said, as patiently as he could, “can you give us a minute?”
“Oh, is this like a whole first overall thing then?”
Hayes rolled his eyes. “You were taken, what sixth?”
“And it’s not the same. Can’t pretend it is. Glad I don’t get it, though.”
“You should be,” Hayes said, a little too honestly.
“Alright. Well, bus is leaving in thirty so you better get your asses in gear.” Danny marched off.
Even after he was gone, Morgan didn’t say anything. Hayes put a hand on his arm, squeezed gently.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I . . .I’m never going to like him. It’s been too long thinking he’s . . .knowing that I’m . . .” Morgan bit off with a mutteredfuck. “You get it.You get it.”
“I don’t have a goalie I want to cut off at the knees, yeah, but there’s players I don’t love playing against. Who make me feel like a little kid again, wondering if I’m ever gonna be good enough.”
Morgan relaxed another fraction. “Only one you can ever beat is yourself.”
“You ever gonna take that advice?” Hayes raised an eyebrow.
Morgan laughed, the last of the tension draining out of him.
He wasn’t fixed—not because he wasn’t broken, because living for so long with that kind of pressure always broke you, somehow—but because there was no fixing something twenty plus years in the making in five minutes.
“I’ll try,” Morgan said, and Hayes nodded, knowing that was the best he could expect.
