by Kim Findlay
Bridget was looking forward to going to the game with her dad. The seats were good, club level, mid-ice, and this time it would be a normal experience. Going with the kids had been more cat herding than watching the sport she loved. It had been a terrific experience watching a game in the power box with Mike, but that wasn’t her world. Going with her dad, wearing her jersey: that was her. Her dad had taught her most of what she knew about hockey, and they’d enjoy the game together.
The following day, after swim team practice, was Bradley’s birthday party. Bridget had asked Nancy to send her the shot of Bradley and Mike snapped on Boxing Day, and had taken it to a shop to get it printed on a T-shirt. Bradley was a December baby, so he was smaller than most of his classmates and tended to be a timid kid. Bridget thought having that T-shirt to show that he had met his hockey idol would be something he’d love, and might give him some points at school.
She’d planned to run practice, pick up the shirt and head home to get her dad. They were going to go downtown early, find parking, grab a burger and then head to the game. Her schedule was so weird that she didn’t get a lot of time to spend with him. As one of six siblings, one-on-one time with her dad or mom was rare. She often saw her mom midday if she went home, but her schedule didn’t sync with her dad’s. This should be a precious and fun night.
She was in her office, making notes on her practice schedule, when her phone pinged. She gave it a quick check and caught her breath. It was from Mike. After not hearing from him directly for a month (not that she was counting), he suggested that she and her dad might like to meet him at a sports bar after the game.
While running practice, her brain kept coming up with ideas. Was Mike doing this because he felt obligated? Did he maybe want to see her? Why now? Should she go? Her swimmers didn’t say anything if she seemed a little distracted, but they were nice kids. They were focused on the next meet, and were doing well. Fortunately, this wasn’t a vital practice.
She detoured by Jee and Brian’s on the way home. Brian was out with one of the other brothers.
“What’s up Bridget?” Jee asked when Bridget knocked at the door.
“Gotta show you something,” Bridget said, and followed her into the house. She sat at the kitchen table and opened the text for Jee.
Jee looked at her sympathetically. “How do you feel? Do you want to meet Mike?”
Bridget sighed. “I do and I don’t. I like being with Mike. That’s the problem. When he told me our workout sessions were over, it was just weird, like it was a big deal. I think he suspected I, well, found him attractive. He probably thought that by ignoring me for a month I’d get the hint that he wasn’t interested. And I did! But, well, I was so happy to see him on Boxing Day. I might have been a little obvious. That’s why I left early. But I can’t seem to avoid him. He keeps popping up!”
Jee looked at her strangely. “You haven’t heard from him in a month?”
Bridget shook her head. “No.”
“Then how did he know you were going to the game tonight?”
Jee and Bridget looked at each other for a moment. “The boys. Someone told him.”
“Think your dad knows about this?” Jee asked, nodding at the phone.
“If he doesn’t, he will. If one of the boys knows, they all know and someone will tell Dad. He’ll want to meet up with him.” Bridget sighed. “So I guess we’re going. I don’t want to tell Dad that I want to skip because I have a crush on Mike.”
Jee rubbed Bridget’s arm sympathetically. “You can let your dad do the talking. Just sit back and you’ll get through it.”
Bridget sighed again. “For one night, okay. But how long is this going to go on? It’s almost like he’s part of the family now.”
Jee sat up. “Well, we can work that out. How much longer is he playing in Toronto?”
Bridget thought. “His contract ends this season. So he’s here till the beginning of April, or till the Blaze are out of the playoffs, if they can make it. Probably wouldn’t be much longer, sadly.”
“Any chance he’d be traded sooner?”
Bridget considered. It was a big contract, so it wouldn’t be easy for another team to pay it and fit it under the payroll cap teams had to abide by. But since it was the final year on the contract, the next team would take less of a hit. The new team would only be committed to him till the end of this season.
“We’ll know in a month or so. If the Blaze are in contention, it will be because of him, and they won’t trade him. If they lose any chance of making the playoffs, they’ll try to trade him.”
“And this is your busiest time, right?”
“Absolutely. More meets, which means I have to fill out lots of paperwork for the Weasel.”
“So get through tonight. You won’t see him at another game, maybe ever if he gets traded. If he shows up at your parents’ place, you probably won’t be there, and if you are, just say you’re busy and go down to your place.”
Bridget quickly answered Mike’s text, then hugged Jee. “Thanks. I was freaking out. But you’re right. I can get through tonight. Dad will be thrilled, and after that there shouldn’t be a problem. As long as I can just manage not to make a fool of myself for one night, then I never need to see Mike again.”
CHAPTER SIX
“DAD, I DON’T think Mom would be happy about you eating sauerkraut.”
Her father had heaped his hot dog with the condiment. Her mother would never let him, said it disagreed with him.
Her dad grinned at her. “So don’t tell her. What happens in the arena stays in the arena.”
Bridget rolled her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t get in trouble for not stopping him. But since she didn’t plan to wrestle the hotdog away from him, she had to shrug and figure she’d done what she could.
Her dad was having a great time. He struck up a conversation with any of their seat neighbors who gave him an opportunity. He followed the game keenly and squabbled amicably with her about the play on the ice. Her dad was never one to ask questions about how she was doing and what her long-term plans were. He got that information from her mom. He and Bridget were happy just to hang out together, and every once in a while he’d drop a serious comment. That was how her dad showed affection. Bridget wasn’t one to dissect her feelings with others either, so they got along well.
A groan went through the crowd. There had been a defensive breakdown in the second period on the Blaze’s part that led to an unnecessary goal. Someone next to Mr. O’Reilly blamed Mike, but her dad argued that the defenseman Troy Green had been out of position, leaving Mike exposed. The other spectator wasn’t convinced, but gave up arguing when he realized the O’Reillys were prepared to continue the discussion for a good while if needed.
In the third period, she realized her dad was looking a little pale. He insisted he was fine, and they stayed to see the Blaze get the go-ahead goal in the last couple of minutes to seal a win.
When the game was over and they got up to leave though, he had to confess that the sauerkraut was not agreeing with him.
“Mike will understand we have to go straight home,” Bridget said. Privately, she thought this was a great out for her. A part of her was disappointed, but she’d work on beating that part down—hard—once they got home.
“No, that would be rude. Tell him I’ll catch him another time, and remind him about that last breakaway—he was out a little far.”
“I can text him all that. I need to get you home.”
Her father waved her off, saying he could catch one of those Ubers everyone was talking about.
“Dad, you’ve never taken one. What if you get sick before the ride’s over?”
“Bridget, it’s not that long a trip. I can handle it.”
“I’m sure Mike won’t mind. Mom would want me to take care of you.”
“Your mother would want you to have
manners. The man got us these tickets, and asked to see us after. If you had been the one who wasn’t feeling good, I’d have gone. I thought you liked Mike?”
Bridget gave up. She’d go to meet Mike on her own, rather than try to explain her complicated emotions to her dad.
She hoped Mike didn’t think she had got rid of her dad to spend time with him alone, or that she and her dad had cooked up the scheme together. The thought made her squirm. She’d just have to be aloof. Cool and aloof. But while she was waiting at the bar, she found there was another problem she hadn’t considered. Women didn’t go there alone unless they wanted to meet someone new. After repeating that she was waiting for a friend, and getting a skeptical look back several times, she ordered a couple of Cokes. She drank from one, moved it across the table, and tried to look like she was waiting for her date to come back from the men’s room. A date who apparently had had the same difficulties as her father with sauerkraut, based on how long he was taking. She was beginning to get annoyed with her fictitious date and considered bailing on him.
She was checking her phone for the umpteenth time when she noticed out of the corner of her eye another guy approaching the table. She looked up, ready to give an earful to whoever was interrupting her, but it was Mike. Her stomach dropped to somewhere in the region of her kneecaps. He looked at the Coke and asked if her father was in the men’s.
Bridget sighed. Here came the awkwardness. “No. He overindulged in some sauerkraut at the game and had to go home. He insisted that I should come meet you, and thank you for him. He had a great time, until his stomach started to act up. He didn’t want to stand you up, so I’m here as his emissary. You played well.” She told herself to stop babbling. She was not going to mention the breakaway.
“Is someone else with you?” he asked, still looking at the partially emptied Coke.
Bridget flushed. “No, but I got tired of saying I was waiting for someone.” She quickly switched the glasses so that the one she’d drunk from was in front of her.
Mike dropped into the seat across from her.
“I’m sorry your dad isn’t feeling well. Will he be okay?”
“Yes, he made it home by ‘the Uber’ where Mom is probably taking care of him and scolding him for the sauerkraut. He loves it, but it doesn’t love him back.” Bridget stopped. She was talking about her father’s intestinal issues. How lame was that?
* * *
MIKE WATCHED AN annoyed expression cross her face. Was that because she didn’t want to be there? Had she picked up that he was interested in her and was afraid he’d make a move? He didn’t know how to say “I like you but I know you’re gay, so don’t worry, I won’t bother you.” He’d left her alone for a month, thinking that should help. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked to meet after the game. But sometimes, you just wanted to unwind with someone. It wasn’t easy going from being one hundred percent on for a game to coming back down for normal life. And he’d wanted to see her, if he was being honest. He wasn’t sure how much longer he had in Toronto. So what if nothing was going to happen between them? He enjoyed spending time with her. Was that so terrible?
The awkward pause was interrupted when someone swaggered over to their table.
Mike had been later getting out than the other players because he’d been wanted for press interviews. Troy Green, one of the Blaze’s top four defensemen, had obviously been at the bar long enough to have had a beer or three. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d gotten enough of a buzz to be willing to say things he might regret later.
“So, Iceman. Squeaked out another one. That goal in the second—”
Mike had realized what was up with Troy immediately. Troy and Turchenko were buddies, and Mike expected Turchenko was here, too. Turchenko wasn’t happy that Mike had taken over the starter role again—and was doing well with it. It made Turchenko look bad. If their positions were reversed, Mike would have been looking at his own mistakes and working on them, but Turchenko preferred the easier task of sulking. It was not a happy dressing room.
So Mike had looked over at Bridget, planning to do his best to ignore Troy and get him to leave without making a scene. But he quickly realized Bridget wasn’t in on that plan. She straightened up and glared at Troy. Really, was her hair moving again? The eyes were definitely flashing.
“Yeah, Green. You were out of position on that play by miles. What were you doing? Checking out the kiss cam? Looking for a date? Peters skated in like he was leading the Ice Capades while you were tripping over your skates. You’re lucky you weren’t benched for that stupid move.”
It took Troy a moment to process that the retaliation he’d been trawling for was coming from the girl on the other side of the table. Mike knew he wasn’t used to being called out by a woman.
“Oh, yeah? You think you know so much?”
It was a pretty weak comeback. A lot of the players were excellent chirpers—they could get under another player’s skin with verbal jabs to make the player lose his temper and do something stupid. Troy was not a chirper. Bridget apparently had some talent in that direction. He wasn’t surprised.
Bridget smiled at Troy. “Yes. But I don’t think you want my comments on that last line change.”
Troy flushed. Mike knew the coaches had already been on Troy’s case for both of those mistakes. Mike bit his tongue and let Bridget finish Troy up.
The defenseman looked derisively over at Mike. “You think Iceman here is so perfect—”
“Nope,” she interrupted him. “He was out of position when Bozman had that rebound, but Carlsson was where he was supposed to be and blocked the shot. You’ve heard of that play, right? Shot blocking? You could try it sometime.”
Troy stared at her, baffled. He had had a bad game tonight, but he normally played well and was a fan favorite. Mike could see his shock at running into a redheaded female hockey fanatic who could analyze the play as well as most coaches. And who had no interest in making him feel good about himself.
“You got women fighting your battles now, Iceman?” Troy spat.
Mike simply shrugged. He didn’t need to foster any more tension within the team, but a few home truths might help the guy.
Bridget shook her head. “If I need help, I’m sure Mike will step in.”
Troy stared, in what he might have thought was a menacing manner, and then turned and left.
Bridget glared after him. “What a weasel.”
Mike smiled at her. “Is that your go-to insult?”
She grinned back at him. “As a coach of young, impressionable minds, I have to keep my insults PG. But what kind of moron makes a boneheaded play like that and then tries to blame it on you?”
Mike shrugged. “It happens. If the puck goes in, it’s on me.”
“If anyone really thinks that, they don’t know what they’re talking about. Well, if Bozman had scored, okay, but otherwise...”
“I’ll be sure to call you to explain to everyone the next time that happens. Are you ready to talk to the press?”
Bridget shook her head. “No, you don’t want me opening up my mouth to reporters. I’m a disaster.”
Mike looked at her. “Didn’t you do interviews while you were competing?”
Bridget shrugged. “Some. Nothing like what you have to do. I was awful. I think one interview is still on YouTube. It’s something I have to work on, but so far the interest in my swimmers isn’t that extensive. The club newsletter isn’t really what you’d call hard-hitting journalism.”
A couple stopped by their table and congratulated Mike on his game. They wanted a picture. Mike saw how Bridget sat back, letting him do his thing with the fans. Bridget had finished her Coke by the time the couple moved on. He was relieved when she accepted his apology for neglecting her, assuring him it wasn’t a problem.
“You get this all the time?”
Mike shrugged. “It used to be
a lineup of people telling me I sucked.”
Bridget shook her head. “Good thing it’s you, not me. And I hope I wasn’t out of line with Troy Green.”
Mike grinned, feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. “Honestly, I enjoyed it,” he said. “I have to play nice to help the team. You told him what I’d like to, but can’t.”
Bridget looked at him. Mike could almost see the gears moving in her head. He knew she’d say something he wasn’t expecting. “Was it different in Quebec?”
He was right. “A little. I was the golden boy, so I wasn’t getting the ‘you suck’ stuff.”
“The team got along better, too?”
Mike nodded. “Last year things had started to change. New coach, new ways of doing things—I don’t think we were quite as tight as we had been. But nothing like what we’ve got here in Toronto.”
“It’s bad?” Bridget asked.
“It’s improved. But when people are asking about the playoffs, even if we scrape our way in, I don’t know that this team can go anywhere. There are good players, but the team hasn’t got that cohesive identity that winning teams have to have.”
“Like in Quebec.”
“Not just Quebec. Quebec was pretty extraordinary. An expansion team that really gelled from the beginning. And the coach was more than good. But I’ve been on World Junior teams, Olympic teams, World Cup teams. Canada can provide a lot of talent. It takes more than that to win.”
Bridget nodded. “Sometimes it’s hard to get a team, rather than a group of individuals. Not with swimming, so much. Even a relay is mostly an individual thing. I might not like my teammates much, but I wouldn’t have a bad swim because they didn’t want to pass me the puck or forgot the right play. I had one of my best swims with a woman I absolutely despise.”