MIKE MET BRIDGET after the game. After enduring some taunts from lingering Philly fans, Bridget said, “Let’s go somewhere other than the hotel. You know we’ll just get interrupted there.”
Mike looked down at her. His brows creased. “I’m sorry. You must get tired of that.”
Bridget felt a stab of guilt. She wrapped an arm around him. “Just not spending enough time with you, but I know that’s part of the deal.”
“Okay, you pick a place. And we’ll hope it’s not full of hockey fans.”
“I heard about a place called Vincenzo’s. Does that sound okay?”
“Sure.”
Bridget was nervous. Mike might be angry with her, and justifiably so. The team was his. She was just a girlfriend. But she was a fan of the Blaze, and she wanted them to do well, and she knew Mike really needed a team that was with him. So, since she had the coach’s blessing, she’d give it a try.
Vincenzo’s was a small steakhouse.
The tables in the place had been grouped into one long row for the only party being hosted that night: the Blaze team.
Mike stiffened beside her. The people at the table turned and stared as if caught skipping practice. They were all guys, and as many were staring at her as were staring at Mike. No one moved. Bridget sighed. Men!
She stalked over to the end of the table and scowled at them. “I get enough of this macho crap with the guys on my beer league team, so let’s just clear the air. Yes, I have breasts, and no, I’m not sleeping with any of you. Now can we move on? What’s good here?”
As an icebreaker, it sure got attention. After a short pause there was laughter, and a few “Ooh, burn, Reimer” comments. Space was made for them, and a couple of beers appeared.
Bridget had Mike on one side and a veteran defenseman on the other. The defenseman was one of the top four, not one who’d fallen over on the ice that morning. He played solid hockey and didn’t get a lot of press. “Ribs are good,” he said. “But stay away from the pepper steak.”
“Thanks for the tip. And that was a nice check on number eight in the second. I think his ears are still ringing.”
That was enough to start a conversation. Not everyone appreciated the plays away from the puck that could change the momentum of a game. Bridget watched defensemen more than most because that was the position she played. So she was soon chatting away with him, and some of the other guys joined in. They’d known her only as Mike’s girlfriend, the girl who knocked people over and didn’t like to be told she couldn’t drive. Now they were finding she had a good grasp of the game and was willing to back her opinions when challenged.
On her other side, Bridget could hear Mike talking over the game with some of the other guys. Her mood lifted a bit. Hopefully, this wasn’t a disaster, and maybe it would help the team, and therefore help Mike. Of course, the guys might ban her after this, or Mike might throttle her, but, nothing ventured...
After the meal was cleared, the chance of playing against Quebec came up in conversation. Quebec had just clinched, so the winner of this Toronto–Philadelphia series would be playing them next. There was a pause, as memories of last year’s sweep surfaced in everyone’s minds.
Mike leaned forward on his elbows. All eyes went to him.
“I know you’re wondering about me.” The entire table was quiet, listening.
“Last year in Quebec, something was wrong with my game. It wasn’t anything I’d dealt with before. I went to the coaches and talked to them about it. The next day management asked me to waive my no-trade clause.”
Mutters around the table. Bridget froze. Was he following her suggestion?
“I have a reputation for keeping my temper. But, believe me, I can get angry. I didn’t even ask where they wanted me to go. I signed the papers and walked out. You got damaged goods. I played like crap. I wasn’t sure if I would ever play properly again. Maybe I should have retired, but I wasn’t ready to give up on hockey yet.”
The silence continued. Bridget thought the other players could relate.
“I’ve recovered. And there’s nothing more I want than to win these next two games, and give back to Quebec City exactly what they gave to me. A kick to the—” Mike paused.
“Balls,” finished Bridget.
The guys laughed.
“If we play them,” Mike said, deliberately, “I’ll be getting a few penalties...unless you guys can screen the linesmen.”
“That won’t help us much,” said a voice from down the table. Bridget suspected that was Troy.
“The way I see it, the first period, they’ll be playing like it’s last year again. They’re going to chirp, they’re going to think they can waltz in and score at will. Then, when they realize that that’s not working, they’ll be looking for a weak spot. They’ll be crowding my crease, figuring they can get to me. I think a few guys might have to lose their balance there to remind them of their manners.”
Darren, the team captain, looked at him. “Manners are good.”
“By the end of the first game they should be remembering much better. Especially when they go down a game.”
“Are you promising?”
“You give me two goals, and I’ll do the rest. There’s some payback due.”
The defenseman beside Bridget leaned over her. “You haven’t played them in a year. They’ve changed some since then.”
“And they haven’t played me. They think that was because I was afraid. I’m not. We can use that to our advantage. They remember the guy they faced a year ago. That’s not who they’re facing this year.”
“No?”
Mike reached under the table and squeezed Bridget’s hand. Not in warning, this time. “No.”
“Make sure Bridget knocks you down then,” said Troy.
That got some laughs. Conversation became general again, mostly about how to play Quebec, and Mike’s opinion was asked for often. Bridget was happy to sink into the background. None of these guys wanted her coaching, and she wasn’t vain enough to think she could offer any. If they were talking, more than they had been, it could only help them as a team. Maybe this was way too simple, but she thought it was logical. She thought that was what the coach had been intending. She hoped she’d read it right.
Mike was among the first to leave, and Bridget followed with uncharacteristic meekness. She suspected he’d have a few things to say on the cab ride back. She was right.
They settled in the back seat of the cab, a space between them. Bridget wondered if that was on purpose, and just how much damage she might have done to their relationship.
“You blindsided me.”
“Yep,” Bridget admitted.
“I was furious when we stepped in the door.”
“I expected that.”
“You were about as subtle as a wrecking ball.”
“Yeah, well, I know all about testosterone face-offs.”
Mike grunted. There was silence. Bridget waited to assess his mood. When she was mad, she blazed out. Mike’s anger was quiet, and Bridget wasn’t sure just how angry he might be.
“So you have breasts?” he finally asked.
Bridget blushed. “I guess that’s a little blunt. But I’ve had to do that routine with guys before who really have a mental block about women. It kinda slipped out before I realized just what I was saying.”
“I think I saw every jaw drop. On the other hand, it was very effective. So how did you come up with this dinner idea?”
“It was really the coach.”
Mike paused. “He asked you to do this?”
Bridget tilted her head. “I think so. We were talking about the team after practice, and he thinks, off the record, that the team isn’t pulling together, and I made an offhand comment, and he ended up telling me where they were going to be tonight. And honestly, I was getting tired of the hotel.”
“You didn’t do much for my reputation.”
“What?” said Bridget, puzzled.
“‘I’m not sleeping with anyone here?’”
Bridget sighed. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“You certainly do the unexpected. Come over here. I should probably be mad at you.”
Bridget happily snuggled up against him, relieved he wasn’t too angry with her.
“I thought you might be.”
“But you went ahead anyway?”
“I couldn’t just watch the team go off the rails. And I want you to get your chance at payback with Quebec.”
“You think you’re ready to take on Quebec? Any secret plans for there?”
Bridget craned her neck to look up at him. “Do you still want me to come?”
“It won’t be easy for you, especially if you’re going to sit there in one of my jerseys. There’s not a lot of love lost. I didn’t give any interviews when I left, so a lot of fans think I’m a traitor.”
“Hey, I grew up with five brothers. I can handle myself. If it helps, I’ll be there.”
“Try not to get into a fistfight, okay? And yes, I want you there. Definitely.” And for the remainder of the cab ride, Mike convinced her that yes, he really did want her around.
The team flew back to Toronto early in the morning. Bridget again was too late for that day’s practice, but the following day, game day practice, she was on the ice. The coach hadn’t mentioned the dinner, but he welcomed her more warmly than he had previously. He gave her a player’s name, and on her way off the ice, she managed to turn back for a call “she thought she’d heard,” and ran into the player while he was skating backward. He didn’t fight too hard for his balance, and went down—and then played well that night. Mike did his part, and the Blaze won. It was going to a game seven, where anything could happen.
The other Toronto hockey team had once been in a game seven, up by three with less than five minutes to play—and lost. So Toronto was in a frenzy, even though the game was in Philadelphia. Philly fans were not much better. Bridget could almost feel the pressure in the air.
Players were heading onto the practice ice earlier, hoping to get knocked over by Bridget. She still thought it was silly, but she did her part. This time her stick tangled in the blade of the selected player, and she was done.
Bridget didn’t know what was said in the locker room before the game, but the Blaze came out hard. Philly couldn’t match their determination. The team was up by only two as the third period wound down, but Mike was a rock and the score stood. The Philly fans booed and threw whatever was handy on the ice, but the Blaze fans present were going crazy. Since Bridget was wearing Mike’s jersey, she was swept into the celebration.
She was able to meet the players as they were loading the bus. Mike grabbed her, spun her around and kissed her on the lips. Bridget heard the team cheering as he put her down. Of course, they’d cheer anything that night.
* * *
THERE WERE ONLY three days between series. Bridget still came to practices, but team events were taking more of Mike’s time off the ice.
Bridget found it harder back in Toronto than she did on the road; there seemed to be more time to fill on her own. On the road, she saw a lot of Mike. Not in Toronto. He was swarmed anywhere he went. There was still no word on the pool at the club reopening, and she didn’t want to talk about it. She’d decided to focus on being a good hockey girlfriend. Thinking about swimming just unsettled her. And there was work to be done on the girlfriend front.
There were some dark circles just starting under Mike’s eyes. Even when he should be relaxed, he wore a tense expression. She knew he was feeling the pressure of competing against his old team.
Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought the crowd in Quebec was more wound up for a game one than the fans in Philadelphia had been for game seven. There had always been a rivalry between the two expansion teams, maybe because they had started in the same year. Their paths had gone in radically different directions, but a lot of that came down to Mike. If he was able to take out Quebec...as a Toronto fan, Bridget was all in favor of a karmic reset.
Bridget, as usual, was in there early. She had another terrific seat, close to the glass, and liked to watch the place fill up, the preparations for the game, the warm-up. That morning she’d bumped into the team’s top scorer, who had obligingly fallen over. Mike had asked for two goals, and this was the guy best equipped to provide them.
The teams were coming out for warm-up when someone sat beside Bridget. She didn’t pay much attention. She was watching that her victim of the day was looking ready to play. He saw her sitting there as he skated by, and gave her a thumbs up. The yell of “traitor” beside her made her jump.
She turned and found a man pointing at Mike and yelling. He looked at her, saw the jersey and said, “Yeah, Reimer is a traitor.”
Bridget tried to channel Mike and tamped down her first response. “That doesn’t make sense.”
The man was taken aback. “He left us, for no good reason.”
“Exactly,” said Bridget.
He paused, not sure how to respond.
“Here’s a top goalie, with the team he’s led to three Cups. He’s got one year left on his contract, then he could get one last big deal and retire after playing his whole career with one team. Sounds good, eh? Instead, he decides, hey, why don’t I go play for a team that hasn’t ever won a Cup in a city that hasn’t won for fifty years and has a reputation for killing goalie careers. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”
The man looked at her. “But—he had a no-trade clause.”
“And a team can’t pressure a player over that? Promise they’ll bench him, make him look worthless for his next deal?”
“Ah, you’re a fan of his. You’re making excuses for him.”
“Fine. But maybe think about it before you decide he’s a traitor.”
When Bridget looked back at the ice, she saw Mike had skated over to the glass. Someone must have told him she was in an argument. Like she couldn’t take care of herself. Mike had his helmet up, and was looking at her with some concern.
She was on the aisle, lower bowl, so she ran down to the glass.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He raised his brows.
“Okay, he called you a traitor. I just told him some facts.”
He smiled at her. “Bridget, it might not be wise to try to run a PR campaign for me here.”
“I just asked if it made sense for you to transfer from everything you had here to Toronto of all places. No inside info. It made him think—I think.”
Mike shook his head at her. “Don’t worry about me.”
Bridget countered, “And you don’t worry about me. Just worry about your game. I’ll be fine. I could take that guy anyway. He’s small and out of shape.”
Mike looked at her with a smile in his eyes. “Did he say anything about women hockey players?”
Bridget smiled back. “No, but he’s thinking it. I can tell.”
“Go get him, then.”
When Bridget returned to her seat, her seatmate was a little more polite.
“You know Mike?”
“Family friend,” she said. No need to get into anything else.
It was enough, apparently, that the man thought she might know what had actually gone down, so there was no more traitor talk.
A playoff series between two Canadian teams was uncommon. There was only one anthem sung. Hockey fans not attached to either team bemoaned the certainty that there would be one fewer Canadian team to play for the Cup. In the United States, football, baseball and basketball titles were much bigger news, but in Canada, this was the trophy that counted. The Victoria Chinooks were still doing well out west, but Toronto and Quebec were the only other two Canadian teams playing.
This game developed almost exactly like Mike had predicted. At first, Quebec was high on confidence, sure that they would prevail just like they had the previous year. After Toronto scored the first goal, there was a bit of a setback. Activity stepped up around Mike’s crease.
In the second period, Quebec was trying to get to Mike. There was a lot of chirping going on, just like Mike had predicted, but Bridget could have told them that wouldn’t work. Watching Mike closely, she could see him start to assert his territory. There were a couple of falls. And eventually, Mike was called for a penalty. The Quebec fans cheered.
But Bridget could also see that Mike’s teammates weren’t panicking about it. They didn’t choke up, and they didn’t play more defensively. And when Toronto scored shorthanded, the arena got a lot quieter. It was sinking in that these weren’t the Blaze of last year. This wasn’t the goaltender they had walked all over in the last playoffs. This was the goaltender who had won three Cups for them, and was now playing just as hard against them.
The Blaze won. Bridget, in her Reimer jersey, got a lot of glares and jibes, but it was easy to take when your team had just won. And it was a big win. The confidence level in Quebec had dropped, and it was up in Toronto. Way up.
Mike had had a shutout, and was first star of the game. He was in big demand for postgame interviews, and Bridget waited while he patiently answered the often repetitive questions.
The most interesting thing from her perspective was that Mike gave a tease of an answer about the trade last year. He’d never talked about it to the press before.
“Yes, I think the trade did affect my play last year,” he was saying. “I was still shocked, and having a hard time adjusting. That’s history. This year, I know where I am, and I think I’m playing at a better level. That’s what I have to do—play my best, one save at a time.”
She also heard him turn down an invitation to join the guys because he had a place he wanted to take her. She wondered if she might now become a liability to the cause of team unity, but Mike was going to join the team for breakfast. No quiet breakfast for the two of them, then, but that was offset by the thought that the team who’d played so well tonight was doing so because they were, maybe, finally starting to gel as a team. She could certainly put the welfare of the team above her desire to spend time with Mike for these playoffs.
* * *
MIKE CALLED A CAB. Fortunately the driver wasn’t a hockey fan, and paid them no attention.
“Are you sure, Mike? You can go with the team if you want. I’ll be fine on my own.”
Bridget was worried about being an impediment. Mike wrapped an arm around her. “No, I wanted to take you somewhere special tonight.”
Bridget rested her head against his shoulder. “That sounds lovely. And I wanted to thank you,” Bridget said.
“What for?”
“You did what I suggested, and told the team what happened to you last year. That really made me feel...valuable.”
He tightened his arm, bringing her in closer to him. “Seeing what you did with your swim team this year, you obviously know how to coach. And it worked out well. The team was with me tonight, and they weren’t before.”
The cab driver stopped. He dropped them off at a small Italian restaurant.
“This looks familiar,” Bridget said, as Mike paid the cabbie.
Mike straightened. “This was one of my places here in Quebec. The place I took you in Toronto belongs to a cousin of the owner.” He looked at the facade. “They are pretty similar.”
“Now I know how you found that place in Toronto.” She grinned, taking his arm.
“I wanted to introduce you to the owners. They’re friends.”
The owner was happy to see them, even if the home team had lost, and led them to the best table in the house. He seemed absolutely thrilled that Mike was with someone. Bridget was amused and agreed to let the Gianettis set the menu. Wine was poured, and they were finally free to talk.
Bridget looked down at her jersey and jeans. “I’m not quite dressed for this.”
Mike of course was in another suit. His beard was well grown in now, but the whole team was getting that hockey playoff look. Even the rookies in their first playoffs had some kind of scruff on their faces.
“I don’t care,” he answered, taking off his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves. “That’s better.”
Bridget pulled off the big jersey. “I don’t think I need to advertise your presence. Not after that slaughter.”
Mike laughed. “Might be as well.”
“Congrats. You did exactly what you said you would,” Bridget gloated.
Mike grinned. “That felt freaking great. That’s a huge weight off.”
“Hey, Mikey, good game.”
She saw Mike stiffen. A big blond guy had come over to their table. He was a little older than Mike, had a broken nose and was sporting a red-blond beard. Mike rose to meet him. His expression was blank, his countenance unsmiling. This was the Iceman. Bridget didn’t see that much.
“Rob,” Mike bit out.
The blond reddened.
“Hey, I’m sorry about last year. I didn’t have your back. Mom’s raked me down for that. It was tough, you know.”
Mike nodded slightly.
Bridget stood as well. “Hi, I’m Bridget.”
“Bridget O’Reilly, meet Rob Sawatzky,” said Mike tersely.
“Playing for Quebec?” she hazarded.
He smiled at her, missing a couple of teeth. Hockey player.
“Yep. Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand with a firm grip. Bridget met him, firm for firm, and dropped his hand quickly.
“My sympathies, Mr. Sawatzky,” she offered.
“Call me Rob. A friend of Mike’s you know. Yeah, well, when Mikey is on his game, no one stands a chance.” There was a pause, awkward, and then Rob said, “Well, congrats again. Nice to meet you, Bridget” and he returned to his table.
Mike sat down.
“Sorry. I forgot some of my old teammates might be here. I wanted us to have some time alone.”
Bridget was looking at him with furrowed brow. “Rob Sawatzky—and he called you Mikey. Was he one of the kids you grew up with?”
Mike nodded. Bridget tilted her head. Mike had never mentioned this before, which actually said a lot.
“How long has he played for Quebec?”
“This is his second year. He’s on another one-year deal.”
“I saw a ring. Married? Kids?”
“Yes and yes.”
Bridget looked at him across the table. His face was closed, but she thought this was something important. “Let me guess. Last year when things fell apart for you, he didn’t stand up for you. And I bet it’s because of you they signed him to begin with.”
“Yes, Detective O’Reilly. But I don’t really want to spend tonight talking about Robbie.”
Bridget considered. Obviously, Rob was a sore spot with Mike, and he wasn’t looking happy to talk about him. Bridget took a minute to think over what she knew of his history with the Sawatzkys. Had he seen them since the trade?
“You do realize, don’t you, that you have a very different standing than a fourth-liner who can be replaced anytime? I’m pretty sure ‘Robbie’ wouldn’t get to have his wife tag along with the team the way that ‘Mikey’s’ girlfriend can.”
Mike looked at her, frowning, his eyes hard. “So that justifies what he did? I didn’t even get a call from him asking what went down.”
Bridget nodded. Mike had pride, and that would have hurt him. “Probably somewhere, deep down in that part of us we never let anyone see, he was kind of glad to see something go wrong for you.”
“You may recall my wife died. That went pretty wrong,” Mike retorted.
Bridget nodded again. Despite the time they’d spent together, he’d only talked about his wife a handful of times. And there was the baby... But Mike didn’t have many people who were there for him. She knew, from what he’d said about the Sawatzkys that they had played a big role in his life, but he seemed to have cut them off. He was independent, self-contained, but everyone needed support. The team was coming around him, but they were all new. Those long-time relationships were important. She couldn’t imagine being without her family, and Jee and the coaches she’d known since she first competed. That gave her a secure base, a stability for when the bad things happened. Mike might not want to recognize it, but he needed the Sawatzkys. At least, he needed to not have this wound festering.
She looked at him intently. “That was horrible. And I’m sure all the Sawatzkys were a big support for you then. But then, that became professional gold for you. You ended up with the Cup. And playoff MVP. And since then, little Mikey has been a superstar while Robbie has just barely survived, right? There was probably a part of him that was jealous, so he was pleased about what happened to you last season, and he was afraid for his own job, so he was a coward. And because of that, he was too embarrassed to call,” she concluded.
“You’re trying to defend him?”
“Not defend, just understand. He’s another weasel, obviously. He did something pretty weak, and I’m sure he’s ashamed. I just don’t want his bad behavior to impact you. Obviously you’re still upset. He knows he’s messed up. So maybe, if you cut him some slack, you can let it go.”
* * *
MIKE HAD HAD ENOUGH. Fortunately, Mr. Gianetti brought their food, and Mrs. Gianetti, who came out to see Mike’s girl, kept the conversation going. Mike was angry that Bridget had taken Rob’s side, as he saw it. She didn’t understand.
As the meal continued, Mike was quiet, while Bridget made friends with the restaurant owners. They loved the story of Bridget abducting Mike to play road ball, and by the time he and Bridget were ready to leave, Mike suspected the Gianettis might welcome Bridget back more warmly than they would him.
Mike had also had time to consider what Bridget had said. She was right that he hadn’t looked at Rob’s side. The whole thing had happened quickly, and Mike had been hurt. He’d thought Rob’s loyalty would be to him, but Bridget had a point. Rob had a family to support. Mike had no family, but he’d thought Rob was close to being family for him. It had hurt, hurt a lot, to know he was in an outer circle, so he, Mike, had never reached out to Rob. Rob’s desertion, along with everyone else when he hadn’t been able to play well, had made things worse. And Mike had continued to play poorly.
What was it with Bridget? She had a way of getting in his head and turning things around. At least her motivation was to try to help. Who knew what she could do if she was trying to create havoc.
Bridget was quiet in the cab on the way back. This cab driver was a hockey fan, and he wanted to tell Mike exactly why Quebec should have won. Mike did his Iceman routine again, and was relieved when they got back to the hotel.
Bridget looked ready to bolt for her room, but he guided her into a corner of the bar. She sighed.
“Okay, I apologize. I shouldn’t meddle. It was none of my business, and I should stay out. Rob was a complete rat-weasel, beyond even Wally and deserves a worse fate.”
Mike took her hand and traced circles on her palm, searching for words. He could feel her relaxing when she realized he wasn’t planning on raking her down.
“So, why are you meddling, Bridget?”
Bridget looked at him seriously. “Mike, you have hockey but not a lot else. When you talk about the Sawatzkys, well, you sound nostalgic. You need people. No.” Her brow creased. “I think you need more people, and even though Rob’s a rat-weasel, he’s a rat-weasel you’ve got history with. I got the feeling you cut yourself off from the whole family, and I thought it would be nice if you still had that relationship.”
“And you care about that?”
“Of course I do, I—” Bridget stopped. “I care about you,” she said, eyes lowered. Then, as if she’d said too much, she added, “How mad are you?”
“I’m not angry, just processing.” He ran his hand through her hair, pausing as he reached the back of her neck. He tugged her forward, and kissed her. “You’re lucky that I haven’t had anyone to meddle for a long time, so maybe I don’t mind it as much as I should.”
She looked relieved as they said their goodnights and she went to her room. He needed more time to think about this.
It was true. He hadn’t had anyone to fight his battles for a long time. He had an agent to take care of financial and business matters, but not someone who was looking out for him on a personal level. In spite of how she could exasperate him, it felt really good to have someone willing to jump in on his behalf.
He thought he’d been happy to be on his own. When you had no one but yourself to consider, life was simple and decisions easy. There was no compromising to do. But it was also lonely. He hadn’t realized how lonely. He wasn’t sure now that he could go back, and that was a problem.