Page 8 of Breakaway Goals
Morgan really hated it when a plan didn’t come together.
He hated it even more when a plan just plain fuckingsucked.
“You want to switch things up?” Thompson leaned in midway through the first, eleven minutes down, nine to go, and asked Morgan when he’d gotten back to the bench after his last shift.
But the thing he hated the most was admitting that he’d been wrong.
“No,” Morgan said. “We’ll find it.”
He didn’t need to turn his head to see the flash of incredulity on Thompson’s face.
“We’ll get there,” Danny said, patting Morgan on the knee.
“Yeah, if you find another gear,” Hayes huffed on his other side.
“It’s not my fault you’re the fucking energizer bunny out there,” Danny bitched. Good-natured at this point, still, but probably because they were still up 1-0 against Sweden, Calvin Miller getting a great rebound from one of Noah’s shots.
Braun was steadfast on the other side of the ice, blocking shot after shot effortlessly in a way that would totally chap Morgan’s ass if they weren’t wearing the same fucking jersey.
“It’s early still,” Blackburn soothed, leaning in.
But Morgan had a feeling he needed to do something, and the remaining two shifts he spent on the ice told him exactly what that was.
On their way into the locker room for the first intermission, he grabbed Hayes’ arm.
“Hey,” he said, pulling him gently to the side of the hallway next to the locker room entrance.
“What?” Hayes looked momentarily apprehensive before he smothered it, his face smoothing out.
And that was the whole problem. Hayes was playing afraid out there.
Afraid of making a mistake. Afraid of checking. Afraid of skating the way he normally did. Afraid of taking charge of the puck the way he might, if he was in Morgan’s position.
Maybe he’d been wrong, and Hayescouldn’tplay wing.
Danny had made his share of fuckups, sure, but he was working hard, especially to keep up with Hayes.
Of course, Morgan wasn’t sure if that was because he was genuinely trying to find a new gear, or if Hayes hadn’t been pushing the way he normally might.
Morgan wasn’t sure how to say it. Normally he might just say it, bluntly, with no attempt at tactfulness.
But Hayes seemed like a good kid. A good hockey player.
Then there was all the staff lingering in the hall, and if Morgan chastised Hayes here, someone would leak to the media that the chosen one thought the next one was playing like shit.
“You okay?” Morgan settled on.
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course. I know we’re—”
“Yeah,” Morgan agreed. Not sure if he wanted to hear Hayes’ assessment of the garbage fire they’d been in the first period.
“Danny’s . . .well, I’m adjusting.”
“He’s adjusting too,” Morgan reminded him. “Adjust faster.”
Hayes nodded, eyes huge in his face.
Morgan didn’t think he’d ever seen eyes that color before, sharp as emeralds. He looked away. “Come on,” he said gruffly and led Hayes into the locker room.
