by Kim Findlay
“Come,” said Turchenko. “See if you can score on me.”
Turchenko was not the hardest working player on the team. Bridget had to assume that since Mike had demonstrated that he wasn’t giving up his position as starter, even against Quebec, Turchenko had realized he needed to work a little harder. Bridget didn’t know if Mike was just too good for her to ever score against him, or if she wasn’t good enough to ever win this bet. This was the perfect chance to find out.
Turchenko wasn’t Mike, but Bridget didn’t score either. He was playing very intensely, as if this counted. Maybe he thought this was a competition with Mike. She’d taken only a few shots when she thought she had a chance on a rebound. She skated in, corralled the puck, and then heard Mike. She whirled around, lost her balance, and went down with Turchenko.
Bridget began to think she did have some superpowers. The game that night was chaos. Quebec took run after run on Mike. The coach finally pulled him for his own safety. Turchenko wasn’t terrible, but the game was completely out of hand at that point, with Toronto players out to extract revenge on Quebec. The final score was 7–6 for Quebec. It was a deflated team on the bus to the airport that night.
Bridget had a seat by Mike. He had a couple of stitches on his forehead, and she was sure he had some bruises as well.
“That was quite a game,” Bridget said. Mike just grunted. He was obviously distracted, so Bridget left him in silence. The coach took a moment to talk to her while she was waiting for her bag to come out from under the bus at the airport.
“Was this morning an accident?”
“Completely. I didn’t know Turchenko could show up that early.”
“Hmm.”
Bridget sighed. She got the message. He didn’t want her to do that again. Everyone was buying into this superstition now.
* * *
LAST YEAR, the team had been swept in four games by Quebec. When they came back this year with a split, the city was ecstatic. The fans finally had hope, and most of it was residing in their goalie. There couldn’t have been a bigger contrast with last year. The team fed off their fans and won both games in Toronto. They flew back to Quebec with a chance to clinch the series and win their way to the third round. The arena had seats, but they weren’t needed that night. The fans were on their feet nonstop. It was a punishing game. No quarter was asked or given by either team. Bridget wasn’t sure who all she’d knocked down that morning, but every player was doing his best. The game went to overtime, then another overtime. And finally, Toronto scored, and the game was over.
The team was going crazy. They had a new attitude, brimming with confidence. They’d beaten their biggest rivals, and now, going to the third round of the playoffs, they had exceeded all expectations. Everything was going well. Except with Bridget.
Bridget knew something was wrong. It wasn’t with the Blaze. The team was doing awesomely. Making the third round of the playoffs hadn’t happened for a team in Toronto since the arrival of smartphones. Bridget was getting to spend time with the team in a way she’d never dreamed would be possible. She was like their mascot, at least in the mind of some of the players. She was with Mike, and that was still something that made her smile to think about. So what was her problem?
She wouldn’t admit this to anyone, but a lot of the time now she was bored. She was used to being a participant in events, not a spectator. Thanks in part to her, Mike was now gelling with the team. She made extra effort to be sure not to intrude where she felt she wasn’t needed. There were still times she and Mike had together, but they were getting more and more difficult to carve out from among his other commitments. In Toronto, she didn’t have a pool to swim in, and though she could go to the club to work out, she was avoiding it, and Wally. She’d started driving for long periods of time as a way to keep herself busy, finding ever better routes to get around Toronto, just to fill her time. Maybe she could start a career as an Uber driver. She was glad Jee was busy with prenatal classes and therefore not as observant, because Bridget didn’t want to talk about this. There was nothing to do now but ride out the playoffs.
* * *
THE NEW YORK SERIES was another tough one. The first game Toronto lost. Close, but that didn’t count in hockey. New York won the second game as well, but Toronto pulled back even at home with two wins.
It was when they were back in NYC for game five that the swim race took place at the hotel pool. Mike wasn’t quite sure how this happened. Someone had asked where he’d met Bridget, and the next thing he knew, six people were lining up at the edge of the pool: five guys and Bridget. Someone counted down, and they started.
The results were never in doubt. The guys were fit, and they could swim, but they’d spent their lives training to play hockey. For them, swimming was a way to build cardio so they could skate longer. They thought that their experience, plus being male, would be enough to beat Bridget. Mike knew better. Bridget had spent her life learning how to get through the water as quickly as possible, and it showed.
Halfway through the lap back to the start line, Bridget flipped over and finished in a backstroke, keeping an eye on her competitors. She touched the wall, and hung on to it, a big grin on her face. Mike was grinning, too.
Most of the guys took it well. Turchenko did not. Being beaten by a girl was a slap in the face to his masculine ego. The other players had already pulled themselves out of the pool when he started to yell at Bridget and reached forward to grab her arm. Mike wasn’t sure what Turchenko thought he was going to do, but Mike started to rise from his chair. A hand on his shoulder kept him down. Bridget said something to Turchenko; he took a quick step back. Troy Green jumped back in to pull Turchenko away.
Mike looked up and saw the coach, hand on his shoulder. Coach moved his hand and sat down. Mike gave him a questioning look.
“Let her deal with it. She’d rather take care of herself if she can. As you see, she’s quite capable.”
Mike knew she could handle herself, but he’d had a strong urge to intervene. Coach was right, though. Bridget was happy to fight her own battles.
One of the swimmers came over to Mike and Coach.
“Turchenko doesn’t like losing?” the coach asked, with an ironic undertone. Mike thought he probably wished Turchenko felt the same about his hockey games.
The player laughed. “He doesn’t like losing to a girl, anyway.”
“What did Bridget say that made him back off like that?” the coach continued.
“She told him if he touched her again he’d better be wearing a cup or there wouldn’t be a second generation of Turchenkos. She’s something else.”
Mike and the coach laughed. “She has five older brothers,” Mike said.
“That explains a lot,” said the coach.
A second race was then set up. Turchenko was convinced he could win over a longer distance. So, eight laps, just Bridget and Turchenko. A couple of players went to the far end to make sure the competitors touched the wall fairly.
Bridget assumed her starting pose, and Turchenko copied her. Someone counted down, and they took off.
This race was different in that it covered four times the distance. Different, also, because Turchenko had the lead. Mike was surprised, and watched closely. Turchenko kept ahead, but Mike would have sworn that Bridget’s turn at the wall was deliberately slow.
Turchenko stayed just ahead. He was swimming hard, while Mike was sure Bridget was taking her time. Turchenko kept about a body length lead on Bridget. After the halfway turn, Bridget flipped, got a little closer to Turchenko, and he turned it up a notch to stay ahead of her.
Finally, the last two laps. Mike wondered if she’d decided to let Turchenko win, to help team morale. But he saw he’d been mistaken. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wasn’t just going to out-swim Turchenko, she was going to do it by outsmarting him.
Turchenko was stru
ggling. He was starting to flail. Bridget had been pushing him, just enough to keep him swimming all-out to stay in the lead. Bridget’s only concern was in hitting the final wall first, but Turchenko wanted to be in front the whole way. She’d known and used that to get him to spend his reserves. In these last two laps, he had nothing left, and Bridget passed him as if he was standing still.
She didn’t wait in the pool after hitting the wall this time. She pulled herself up from the water to the sound of cheers from the guys. She flashed a big smile at Mike, and he smiled back, feeling proud, though he knew he’d had no part to play in her victory. But she was his, and she was amazing.
Turchenko offered his hand, and Bridget shook it. Then a couple of the guys wanted to know how to do that turn at the wall, or the butterfly stroke. In a matter of minutes, Bridget was back in the pool, providing an ad hoc coaching session.
Mike turned to his own coach, wondering what he’d think of this.
“She’s good,” he said. Mike nodded.
“I’d hire her.”
Mike was surprised by that.
“If she coached my sport, and I could get management to sign a female coach,” he continued. “She’s got Green and Turchenko listening to her. That’s impressive.”
Mike looked back at the coaching session. He’d never seen her with her swim team, he realized, but he was getting a glimpse now. She was very good at this, and she enjoyed it. Even her hair seemed brighter. Finding a place where you excelled and felt good—that was a special thing. Unfortunately for Bridget, she was just doing this for an afternoon. The club pool still wasn’t open. It would be hockey as usual, and Bridget would be back on the sidelines. Mike knew he should do something to help her. Surely, he had some contacts somewhere. Bridget needed this. He swore he’d find a way to help—after the playoffs. These playoffs had lasted longer than he’d expected, longer than anyone had. They were finite, though. For just a bit longer he had to focus on hockey. It was a familiar thought.
Mike stole that game in NYC, and the team was able to pull off a win back home. So Toronto, at long last, was going to be in the finals. They were playing for the Cup. The city was covered in black, red and yellow, and, for now, everyone was a Blaze fan.
* * *
BRIDGET WAS AT loose ends, again. It had become a familiar, though unwelcome, feeling, and now there were two more weeks to get through. The team was flying to Victoria for the first game of the finals tomorrow, and she would be flying out, too. The press was making a field day about the young goalie in Victoria—the new Mike Reimer, meeting the old Mike Reimer. Bridget asked Mike if he needed a cane now.
The joke had been forced. Of course, she was happy for Mike and the team. But today they were doing publicity, and she couldn’t sit in her apartment on her own or she’d go crazy, so she decided to drop by the swimming club where Annabelle was now in training. She could torture herself for a bit. That would be a sure way to cheer herself up.
She walked through the doors. This was a top club, maybe the top club. The swimming program at the athletic club where Bridget was still technically coach had been improving when it came to their swimming program, but this club already had Olympic swimmers. One day, Bridget promised herself, she’d be working at a club like this, going to the top meets and seeing her swimmers on the podium.
Or had she missed her chance, she wondered dismally. Couldn’t she be happy having accomplished what she had, and watching her A-team as they potentially became those podium swimmers? She sighed. She didn’t think so.
Bridget arrived a little early to watch practice. She was taking Annabelle for brunch afterward. Maybe she wouldn’t have much chance in the future to use it, but she’d try to pick up some more knowledge while she was here and had the opportunity. She’d already incorporated some of the innovations Jonesy had pioneered in conditioning into the program she’d instituted at the club. Not all. She had her own ideas and had been trying some of those also. She thought they’d been working but...
She took in the chlorine smell, the echoing sounds, the humid feel of the air. She breathed deeply, having missed this so much. Then she spotted Annabelle. The girl looked to be doing well. She was talking to her new coach, Jonesy. Annabelle looked up, saw Bridget and waved to her. Bridget waved back. Annabelle said something to the coach, then they both walked over to Bridget.
Jonesy was an ordinary-looking guy. You could pass him on the street and not remember him. Brown hair, medium height and medium build. He was quiet and undemonstrative, which meant he was pretty well the opposite of Bridget. But close to him, you could feel the intensity. He might not be someone you’d notice in a crowd, but he exuded a confidence and charisma when you spoke to him. And he was very observant. Bridget had been surprised that he recognized her in Winnipeg after that short meeting in Atlanta. After all, there were a lot of coaches trying to make it to Jonesy’s level. Not only did he remember her name again today, he surprised her by asking if she had a moment to talk. Bridget said of course. He probably had questions about Annabelle. Any time she could spend with him would be of value. She even wondered if by any chance he knew of someplace needing a coach.
Annabelle ran off to change and Bridget followed him to his office. It was bigger than her cubbyhole at her club, and had pictures of his past winners on the walls. She’d have loved to check them out, but he offered her a seat. There was a moment while he seemed to collect his thoughts.
“You’ve done a good job with Annabelle. She’s talked a lot about you. I’m sure you weren’t happy to lose her.”
Bridget shrugged. “Not happy” was an understatement.
“Do you know when your pool will be open?”
“No date yet.” Bridget didn’t think Wally would tell her till it was filled with water again. Maybe not even then.
“How long are you signed with them?”
Bridget liked the trend of these questions. “Through the end of the summer. But since there’s no pool, and no date set for it to open, I’m pretty well done now until next season.”
Jonesy was pursuing his own line of thought. “I’ve had a good five years here.” Thinking of the results he’d had, including medals in the Olympics, Bridget had to agree. “But my daughter is pregnant.”
“Congrats!” said Bridget. She wasn’t sure why he was sharing this with her, but maybe he was just making conversation. She was probably reading too much into the questions he’d been asking.
Jonesy smiled. “Thank you. My wife has told me she’s moving back to Australia to be a grandmother, and I think I’d be wise to go with her. Still, I have a lot invested here, and I want to leave it in good hands.
“As you know, things change quickly in our sport. I have assistants here who would be happy to keep things going the way I have them now, but if this club is to stay a success, it needs to advance—take risks, try new things, keep on the front line of innovation.”
Bridget nodded. Exactly what Jonesy was known for, and which she’d tried to emulate. Annabelle and Austin showed that it could be successful even when done at a more basic level.
“I’m looking for someone to take over here. Someone with a drive for winning, someone innovative and successful. Someone who isn’t going to try to be Jonesy Two, but who will make this club over into the way she wants it.”
Bridget froze. She?
Jonesy nodded. “I’ve talked to Annabelle, and her parents and some of your other swimmers. Your previous coach sings your praises. I’ve watched tape of you competing, and your swimmers before and after training with you. I know you’re young, but I started young and I’ve taken risks before. I’d like you to work with me for six months to transition over, and then I can go see my grandchild and feel confident the club is in good hands.”
Bridget was almost speechless. “Really? Are you sure?”
“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I’ve hit you out
of the blue. Take a bit of time to consider it. It’s a demanding job, but I think you could do some good things here. When can you come back so we can discuss this in a little more detail? That is, if you think you might be interested.”
Bridget could only nod. Interested? Words couldn’t describe how interested.
They set a time to meet again. Bridget had a nice brunch with Annabelle, and listened to her talk about the club with renewed interest. Underneath, the excitement was thrumming. You didn’t get your dream handed to you every day.
She had a lot to think about.
She wanted to call Mike, but he was tied up with a team event. So she went home and fidgeted with anything she touched. She should be over the moon, calling everyone she knew, but there were a lot of things to consider, and she wasn’t sure Mike was who she should talk to after all. If she mentioned this to him, they’d have to start talking about the future, and it was a bad time for that. She should do what she did when she needed to think: swimming or road hockey. Thanks to Wally, there was no pool, so she went out to the garage to get a net and a ball.
There wasn’t much to do but practice her shot on her own. While part of her mind calculated distance and speed, the other part worried over her problem. Word got out, as the day waned and her brothers showed up to join her. Cormack got in net, and Patrick and Brian joined up against the two of them. Brian and Patrick were soon up 3–0.
Cormack called time.
“What’s your problem, Bridget? You let Brian right by you.”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted.”
“No kidding. What’s the matter?”
Bridget sat on the curb, dropping her stick. “I was offered my dream job today.”
Brian cocked his head. “So why aren’t you celebrating? Isn’t that good news?”
“It’s excellent news. Really. It’s at the club downtown that is basically the best in the country. I’ve been asked to be head coach.” Her stomach dipped. It was good, but scary, too.