MIKE CHECKED HIS PHONE. Good. Tonight Brian and Jee were coming to the game, and were happy to meet up afterward. Mike badly wanted to talk to Jee. He knew she was Bridget’s best friend, and she should be the person he could best approach.
He was doing great, professionally. The Blaze were now, at the end of January, within reach of a playoff spot. There was still a gap, but they were no longer considered a long shot. And the reason for the turnaround was Mike. He was back: back as the Iceman, not the failure they’d had last year. That helped the whole team. They could take more risks when they knew there was a goalie behind them who wouldn’t let the puck in. They could play less defensively, and as a result, the offense was picking up. They didn’t win every game, but they were piling up points.
So things were better with the team’s performance, but he hadn’t seen Bridget since she left the ice at Bradley’s birthday party at the end of December. He’d noticed her leave. When she didn’t come back, he’d gone to see if everything was okay. The sisters had told him she had a headache and had gone home, but the way they’d looked at him…he knew something was up. He thought he’d been reasonably discreet, but perhaps Bridget had noticed that he had tracked where she was on the ice too closely. Had that offended her? Maybe agreeing to come to the party had been over the top. But he was developing a soft spot for Bradley. A week ago, Bradley had come to a game with his dad. Mike brought him a puck from the game, and the kid hadn’t been able to speak. Sure, he was just a kid, but it was good to bring that kind of joy to someone.
Really, he hadn’t offered to come to the party just to spend some time with Bridget, though that had been part of it. He’d like it if they could at least be friends. He’d spent a good while keeping some distance, since there was no point in wanting a woman who wasn’t interested in him. But he found her easy to talk to, and that was rare for him. She understood sports and the role they played in his life. She was fun, and completely unpredictable. He loved seeing her temper flash up, even when it was at him. She wasn’t conventionally attractive, true, and not especially tactful, but he appreciated her honesty, and he had discovered an attraction to red hair and freckles that he’d never recognized before.
Okay, “friends” might be a stretch. But he wanted her to know he understood that she wasn’t interested in him and that he wouldn’t push her or make her uncomfortable. He was sure she’d left the party because of him. He liked spending time with her family, but he didn’t want her to feel she had to avoid him when he did so. That wouldn’t be right. He met some of them after games and liked having someone to talk to after the comedown from playing. But Bridget had never come to another game. Surely they could find some compromise, a middle ground.
A couple of weeks of thinking, and the best idea he’d come up with was to let Jee know he knew about Bridget’s orientation (he was sure Bridget would have confided in her, even if she hadn’t said anything to her family) and hope that Jee could reassure Bridget that it was safe to be around him.
He entered the bar, and searched through the crowd to find Brian and Jee. It was harder now to make his way through the crowd as he was greeted by more people after each game. That was directly tied to his success on the ice, he knew. With the ease of practice, he was able to interact and keep going until he found the table the two of them had snagged.
They didn’t have any beverages in front of them, so he asked what they’d like to drink.
Brian asked for a beer.
“Club soda,” Jee said, and blushed.
Mike placed their orders and asked for his favorite beer from a passing waiter, and turned to his guests.
“She’s not drinking alcohol,” Brian explained. “Pregnant.” Brian was smiling, but he also looked a little worried.
Jee rested her hand on her still flat abdomen protectively. Difficult pregnancy? Mike wondered. He felt a pang. He remembered Amber and the baby that had died with her, but the stab of guilt wasn’t there. He couldn’t change the past, and he was finally starting to let it go.
Later, Brian went to the men’s room, and that gave Mike the opening he was looking for. He was still slightly on edge; normally by now he’d have come down from the playing high, but tonight, he had something else keeping him tense. Leaning forward, to keep the conversation private amid the noise around them, he said, “Can I ask you something, Jee?”
“Sure,” she said, her tone puzzled.
“Is Bridget out?”
Jee’s brow furrowed. “Is she out? Tonight? I don’t think so. She’s usually in bed by now because of practice. They start pretty early, you know.”
Mike sighed. “No, not that out. Out-out. I know her family is Catholic, so I wondered—”
Jee’s mouth dropped open. “You mean, out?”
Mike wanted to kick himself. Maybe Bridget hadn’t told Jee? Jee probably shared everything with her husband, Brian.
“You think Bridget is gay?” Jee asked incredulously.
Mike stared at her. “Isn’t she?”
Jee shook her head, and spoke angrily. “Just because a woman is an athlete doesn’t mean—”
Mike raised a hand. “No, I promise, that’s not it. I’ve worked with women who play hockey professionally. I know they’re not all gay. I never would assume anything like that. But I was told—”
Jee narrowed her eyes. “Someone told you Bridget is gay? It wasn’t Cormack, was it?”
Surprised, Mike said, “No, no one from the family. That’s why I thought she wasn’t out officially yet.”
Jee considered. “If it wasn’t the family, who…” Her eyes widened. “Wally the Weasel?”
Mike felt his cheeks warming. Really, accepting Wally’s word on this had been pretty stupid.
“Why would he make that up?” Mike asked.
“Because Bridget wouldn’t go out with him,” Jee said firmly. “He probably decided she must be gay if she rejected him. He seemed to think she wasn’t in a position to turn down offers. Bridget thought that might have been why he fought her about that class so strongly.”
Mike pictured grabbing Wally around his weaselly neck.
“What a—a weasel!” Jee sputtered.
“So, she’s not gay,” Mike repeated.
“No! I should know. We’ve been friends for years and I even know about her and that stupid swimmer, Connor Treadwell. She’s never told the boys about him. She’s never been interested in women. Not in that way. She’s dated guys, and kissed…” Jee was still a little heated. She looked at Mike speculatively. “Why were you asking?”
And here was the drawback. Mike might not have thought this all the way through. He was losing some objectivity around Bridget. He shrugged. “I was…wondering. I wanted her to know I knew.”
“Why?” persisted Jee.
“She vanished at Bradley’s party, and well, she disappears when I’m around. I thought I was making her uncomfortable, and if she knew I knew…but I guess I don’t know.” Jee was looking at him with amusement. “So, she’s not gay, and she’s not seeing anyone right now, is she? Not that Connor guy?”
Jee smiled. “No. I think she finally got over Connor. She met someone else and she was interested in him, but he didn’t seem interested in her.”
Mike looked at her. She was beaming at him. Was she sending him a message?
“Really? Maybe they got their wires crossed.”
“She’s going to kill Wally,” Jee said.
“Would you mind not saying anything to her about this? It would be a shame if she was incarcerated right now, even for a justifiable homicide.”
* * *
BRIDGET WAS SURPRISED the next morning, after she’d wrapped up practice and finished her own workout, to find Mike waiting for her in the lobby. The space was quiet at that time of day. She had to assume he’d come here after his own practice. But why? She hadn’t seen him since Bradley’s party. She ignored the little flutter in her chest. He patted the bench seat beside him.
“Did you forget something?” she asked.
“Not really. I wanted your help.”
Bridget watched him with suspicion. He looked very pleased about something.
She sat down, cautiously. “Okay, what is it?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing scary. I’m not even going to ask you to do any breaking and entering. At least, I don’t think so. I want to skate.”
Bridget raised her eyebrows. “You’re telling me you want to spend more time on the ice? I guess I can understand that. Hockey players get so little time to skate. Do you not practice anymore? Kicked off the team, perhaps?”
“Outside,” he continued in unruffled good humor. “I want to skate outside. Where’s an outdoor rink that’ll be available, and not too congested?”
Bridget relaxed, thinking through the options. “Hmmm. Harbourfront is nice, but there’ll be a lot of people there. Same for Nathan Phillips Square.” She reviewed the other outdoor rinks she knew of. “Wait, I have a place that might do. It’s in the Beaches neighborhood, not far from where I live. There’s an outdoor hockey rink near the lake. I don’t think it would be very busy, and when you’re done you could check out the lake. The Beaches is a nice area.”
“Sounds good. So how do you get there? And do you know anyone who’d like to go skating now?”
Bridget looked at him, feeling a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “It’s not too hard to get there. Shall I ask around the pool here for a skater?”
“I was hoping you might…” Mike looked at her, eyes crinkling.
Bridget considered. She’d been trying to stop thinking about him, had even put an elastic on her wrist, snapping it when she found herself dreaming about him. One of her swimmers had asked if she was trying to quit smoking.
The smart thing to do would be to claim to be busy. But she loved to skate, and well, the elastic wasn’t working anyway. She was still picturing those gray eyes way too often.
“Let’s see. Laundry and groceries, or skating. Okay, you’re on. I’ll stop at home to get my skates.”
“Why don’t I follow you there? Then we can take one car.”
She was still on guard. What was he up to? “Can I drive?”
“No. I like breathing.”
She glared at him. “I’m not a bad driver.”
“I don’t like your taste in music anyway. I’ll pick you up.”
Once in the car, Mike followed her closely, since her shortcuts weren’t easy to track. She parked, and when he started to get out she called to him she’d be just a minute before racing to her apartment. She dropped her gym bag by the door. She pulled out some long johns and quickly changed into some warm gear. She grabbed her outdoor wear, and her skates, and was out in less than five minutes.
Bridget threw her bag in the back and climbed into the passenger seat. Mike reversed in the driveway and pulled out. He glanced at Bridget, and after confirming which way to turn, asked, “So, you really do live in the basement apartment?”
“Yes. Why?” Bridget frowned at him.
“I’ve never seen it. You’re always perched on the front steps. You could just be embarrassed about living at home, and trying to cover for that. I mean, that’s not the worst thing ever. I wouldn’t judge. But I’m wondering if the place even exists, or if you’ve got bodies hidden in there or something.”
Bridget had never seen Mike this lighthearted. He was certainly in a good mood.
“A few goalies buried, nothing much.” She shrugged. “Actually, I’m just a lousy housekeeper. My place always looks like a disaster, and the people who have seen it don’t usually ask to come back.”
“I don’t know… I’m having fun imagining. I bet it’s full of pink ruffles and lace.”
Bridget rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“With dolls. Or stuffed animals. Yes, stuffed animals. And posters of boy bands on the walls.”
Bridget frowned at him. “Brian rented it until he and Jee got married, and she refused to start married life with her in-laws upstairs. So I moved in when I started coaching. There was no pink, and no lace. You’ve met Brian. Do you think that’s likely?”
“So no boy bands?”
“Just a poster of Turchenko,” she responded.
Mike laughed. “I’ll have to tell him he’s got a fan. So, where am I going next?”
* * *
IT WAS A cool winter afternoon and there were few people in the park. They parked on a side street and took the hike down to the rink. The ice looked like any outdoor hockey rink, except that it was spitting distance from the beach boardwalk and the expanse of Lake Ontario, which looked dark and forbidding today. It was empty, except for a mom and tot who didn’t stay long. Then Mike and Bridget had the ice to themselves.
Bridget hadn’t been on the ice since Bradley’s party, and she took a few moments to warm up. She sped up, hockey-stopped in the corner and then came down the ice backward.
“Definitely a defenseman,” said Mike, gliding past her. “No one loves to skate backward more.”
Bridget laughed. “My mom tried so hard to push me into figure skating instead of hockey, so I took classes for a couple of years. But I wanted only to play hockey, and she finally gave up. By then I could skate backward pretty well, so defense it was. It was the only opening left on the all-sibling team anyway. I will say, you’re not too bad a skater for a goalie.”
Mike skated up to her. “Thanks so much. Please, don’t strain yourself trying to say something nice.”
“Fair is fair,” she said. “You did pretty well at the party. I hadn’t realized goalies had an advantage jumping on skates.”
“I may be a goalie, but I can skate,” Mike retorted.
She looked at him skeptically. “Backward?”
“I bet I can skate backward as well as you can.”
Bridget’s eyes lit up. “You bet? Really? What are the stakes?”
“Cute. I’m not falling for that.”
“Bwaack, bwaack, bwaaack…”
Mike stopped. “You want to bet about whether I can skate backward better than you?” he asked.
“Don’t talk the talk unless you can walk the walk, or, you know, skate the skate.”
Mike grinned down at her. “You O’Reillys are incorrigible. How are we going to test this?”
“Shall we see who’s fastest backward?”
Mike raised his eyebrows. “You’re on. What are you not going to win?”
“Driving the car?” she asked, eyes glowing.
“I believe we already have a bet going on that, so no.”
Bridget came perilously close to pouting. “Hmm…how about a jersey? Yeah, I think I’d like a jersey. I have only hand-me-downs, so I’m due. And since Giguère hasn’t played in ten years, I think I can let him go now.”
Mike shrugged. “Like I said, doesn’t matter, since you’re going to lose.”
“Okay then, what do you want?”
Mike stopped. “I think I’d like to see this mystery apartment of yours. I’m still not convinced there aren’t some boy band posters in there.”
Bridget shrugged. “Fine. You can maybe peek in the doorway when you bring the jersey.”
“So how are we going to do this?” Mike asked.
Bridget looked around, assessing. “We’ll start at the entrance. We can change between the inside and outside tracks at the halfway mark. First one back to the entrance—which will be me, goaltender—wins.”
“You can stay on the inside the whole way,” said Mike. “So you have a chance.”
Bridget’s eyes sparked. “No, I’ll have already changed lanes before you get there.”
They skated to the entrance gate, and took their positions, Mike on the outside by the boards. They counted down together and tore off.
Skating backward wasn’t easy. Bridget had done it in skating lessons, and continued it when playing with her brothers. However, goalies didn’t have to skate very far, and they didn’t need to hone that skill. There wasn’t much call for a goalie to skate backward at speed, especially around corners.
So Bridget was surprised when Mike pulled ahead of her. The bet had been lighthearted, but Bridget wasn’t going to give any quarter. She concentrated, called on her reserves and still lost.
Mike had immediately assumed a relaxed and waiting pose, leaning against the boards as if she’d been minutes behind him instead of seconds. Only the fast rising and falling of his chest and the clouds of his breath in the cold air gave him away.
Bridget skated up to him. “How did you do that? And don’t tell me your skating technique. Goalies don’t skate backward. They don’t skate much at all!”
Mike smiled. “Same story as you. My mom didn’t want me to play hockey. Instead of figure skating, I got power skating lessons.”
“Apparently you took more than a couple?”
Mike started skating again, forward, and Bridget joined in.
“My mom is pretty determined. But we lived in the basement of a house where a family with four boys lived. They were all hockey mad. Their mom took care of me while my mom worked, so we played hockey. I begged for hockey lessons, but she explained that hockey was expensive and dangerous. She was okay with me learning to skate, but she didn’t want me playing hockey.”
He grabbed Bridget’s gloved hand, swinging her around so they were now skating in the other direction.
“When I came to her with fifty dollars I’d saved up from doing yardwork for neighbors to pay for hockey, she finally caved.”
Bridget made as if to pull her hand away, but Mike ignored that, and she stopped tugging.
“The Sawatzky kids always put me in goal because I was the smallest. I wanted to be a forward. But my mom thought goalie would be safer—more protective gear, no checking—so the compromise we came up with was that I could play, if I played in goal. I had to keep up the yard work to cover the extra equipment costs. I thought that was better than nothing. And, turned out I had a talent for it. If she’d let me play any other position, I might have been only average, and never made it as a pro. There’s irony. She was never a big hockey fan, but my career is thanks to her.”
“So what did you learn in those power skating classes?” Bridget asked. “Can you show me?”
Mike turned to grin at her. “You’ve lost that bet, fair and square you know. No rematches.”
Bridget nodded. “Yes, but there’s always the possibility of future ones with my brothers.”
Mike shook his head, but agreed.
When they finally unlaced their skates an hour later they had shortened breath and cold noses. Why couldn’t she have this much fun with someone like Cormack’s friend Bernie, who actually liked her?
“This was a great idea, Mike. Thanks for asking me.” Bridget tried to warm her toes with her hands before putting them back in her cold boots.
“Thanks for coming. I had an urge to skate outside. It’s been a while. Totally different feeling.”
Having put on his boots and gathered up both their skates, Mike asked, “Hungry?”
“Starving,” Bridget admitted.
“I’ll buy, since I won the bet. Where should we go?”
“Queen Street is just up there. There are lots of places. Let’s go see what looks good.”
* * *
AS THEY WALKED back to Mike’s Rover to drop off their skates, he asked what restaurant she’d chosen.
She gave him a once-over. “You’d like this place I have in mind. They have good food and lots of snooty beers.”
“You think I’m a beer snob?”
“I’d bet on that.”
He smiled at her. “You’d win that one.”
“I thought that might explain the almost untouched Coors Light my family served you. My dad thinks if he drinks light beer he doesn’t have to count them.”
After dropping off their skates, Bridget led them to the restaurant she’d chosen. It wasn’t too busy this time in the afternoon on a week day, but the server widened her eyes when she recognized Mike. She was discreet, though. Looking for a good tip, Bridget figured. Smart woman.
She asked if it was a party of two and if they wanted a booth or table. Mike agreed to two and asked for a booth. The booths ran along one side of the restaurant, and the waitress led them there.
Bridget found the booth a little more intimate than she’d have liked. She’d indulged herself in this time with Mike, but she was afraid she’d say or do something that would let him know how much she liked him. Then things would get awkward, and she’d probably never hear from him again. Part of her knew that would be a good idea, but that part wasn’t having much success today.
Mike picked a nice snooty beer, and Bridget ordered a Guinness.
A customer walked by the booth and Bridget noticed Mike turn his face away, just slightly. Was Mike trying to avoid fans? He normally was a textbook study in public relations, so she wondered what was different. Did he sometimes get tired of putting out that energy to be nice to strangers? Was it hard to keep up the public persona? Bridget thought she’d gotten to know the real Mike underneath, but maybe he’d fooled her as much as anyone else. And having thought it, the words came out.
“Is it hard to have people recognize you everywhere you go?”
Mike caught the more serious tone in her voice. “It doesn’t happen everywhere. Believe it or not, there are a lot of places where people don’t care about hockey. But, yes, it can be. When I arrived in Quebec City, it was their first playoffs since the team was back in the city, and with the story of Amber’s death and then the success we had, I got my picture taken a lot, and so people recognized me. It never really stopped. And then here, in Toronto…”
“I can imagine. No anonymity here for hockey players. You always seem to like the fan thing, though.”
“Why do I get paid so much?” he countered.
Bridget blinked at him. It was obvious. “Because you’re good.”
Mike smiled. He had a lovely smile, Bridget noted, then concentrated on what he was saying.
“Okay, wasn’t really fishing for a compliment there. Let me put it this way, where does all that money come from?”
Bridget thought for a moment, and then nodded. “From fans,” she said, feeling like a kid in school trying to impress the teacher.
“Right. The people who buy tickets and T-shirts and jerseys. The ones who follow the games and celebrate when we win and mourn when we lose. I had an excellent coach in college. He told us never to forget that—keeping those fans happy is as important to our sport’s survival as anything we do on the ice. I guess it took with me.”
“But sometimes you want a bit of privacy?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. Guys from some of the teams in less traditional hockey markets talk about the anonymity they have there, and it sounds good. But I can’t really complain. I’ve been fortunate that most of the time fans have been positive with me.”
It was almost uncanny that a couple popped up at the end of their table at that moment.
These were actually Quebec City fans, who apparently didn’t realize Mike was no longer popular there. They told Mike they had been season ticket holders in Quebec, and had never forgotten the Cup wins when Mike was with the team. Bridget basked in the reflected glory.
After a few more minutes of gushing, they apologized. “We’re so sorry,” said the gray-haired woman. “We shouldn’t be interrupting your date.”
Bridget hit earth with a resounding thump. “Oh, it’s not a date,” she responded, as much to remind herself as them. And that was all it took. The old man went through all the highlights of Mike’s time in Quebec in chronological order. Bridget hadn’t known how many shutouts he had his first year there. She’d have been a liar if she’d tried to plead ignorance on almost any stat connected to Mike after that conversation, however. Bridget hoped this evidence that not all the fans in Quebec had forgotten him would help him. She knew there was still some unresolved anger there.
The woman finally hustled her husband away after he’d taken a picture, got his hat autographed and been dissuaded from picking up their tab. The silence they left in their wake was a contrast from the nonstop talking. Mike didn’t seem keen to break it, so Bridget bit her tongue and followed his lead. When the bill came and she offered to go Dutch, he snapped out a “no” and she sat back, not sure just what had set him off. His mood had taken a one-eighty.
When they were back in the Rover, she wasn’t going to ignore it any longer.
“Did I do something?”
“Not a thing,” he replied tersely.
Right. He’d shut down for no reason. She tried to work it out. “Should I have pretended it was a date to get that guy to leave us alone? I was just being honest, but I’ll make something up another time if that’s what you want.” If there was another time. It wasn’t really looking promising.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Mike bit off.
Bridget bristled. “What is your problem? It’s not my fault they thought we were together. I thought you’d like that set straight. The hostess was interested in you. Maybe you wanted to get her number, and I was just making it clear you were available.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“I won’t. Just let me know the game plan beforehand, and I’m good with it. Call it a date, if you want. It’s not going to hurt my rep.”
“Well, if you’re sure it won’t cramp your style. I mean, I’m not a swimmer.”
Bridget had no idea where that came from. “This is nuts. It’s like you thought we really were on a date.”
There was a silence in the car.
Bridget’s face flushed, and her mouth dropped open. She closed it, swallowed and said in a small voice, “Was it a date?”
“I don’t think it can qualify as a date unless both people think it is,” Mike muttered.
“I don’t get it. Why would you want to go out with me?” Bridget was honestly puzzled.
Mike looked at her. “Why do you think?”
“But—you ghost me for weeks, and then suddenly, you’re back and we’re going on a date? What am I missing?”
Mike leaned back against the seat and sighed. “You’re right. I apologize. I was giving mixed signals. I thought I had some good reasons to keep my distance.”
Bridget’s felt her temper flare. “I’m sure they were very good.”
Mike shook his head. “No, they really weren’t. One was especially bad. But—I told you about Amber.”
Bridget nodded.
“Hockey is my first priority, and relationships don’t work well when I’m so focused on my sport. Since her death, I’ve dated only very casually. That’s all I’ve been willing to commit to. And I didn’t think you would do casual. You seem to go all in on everything you do.” He smiled at her.
Bridget was still trying to work her mind around the idea that Mike wanted to go out with her. She really hadn’t got that vibe. And now he was saying that he did only casual? Where was he going with this?
“I think you have the same focus and drive that I do, and you understand what I’m going through. So maybe being together could work. But, also, I want to spend time with you, so I could just be fooling myself.”
“Mike, could you just spell it out for me, really clearly?”
“Bridget O’Reilly, would you go out with me, on a real, mutually agreed-upon date?”
Bridget felt a little glow inside. Mike Reimer was asking her on a date.
Bridget reached over and gave his hand a poke. He was solid, not a figment of her imagination. “Mike, I would love to go out on a real date with you.”
Mike smiled. Was that relief she saw in his eyes?
She felt her mood take a serious turn. “Are you sure, Mike?”
“About you? Absolutely. Why don’t I take you home now, and then we’ll work out when we can set up this real date. Start fresh.”
Bridget held in a grin. “Okay.”
“And about our bet…” he started.
“Yes. Right. I forgot. So, if you want to come in now…” She trailed off. She tried desperately to remember whether anything deathly embarrassing was lying around. Bras? Tampons? Moldy bread?
“I won’t insist on my winnings today, but when I pick you up for this real date, then I’ll see this ‘basement apartment.’”