“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.”
Mike tried to picture the woman Bridget would despise.
“On the other hand, I’ve played on beer league teams with my brothers—”
Mike interrupted her. “You play on their teams, on the ice?”
“Yeah.”
He was surprised. Road hockey was one thing. At a rink, on ice, the play would be much faster. He hadn’t realized she played at that level.
“Anyway, those teams were more for fun, so it didn’t matter if I was only there once in a while when they were short a defenseman. But sometimes a guy would have issues with a woman playing, and that really scuttled the team. It would be something like that, right?” She tilted her head, awaiting his response.
Mike smiled. “I guess I’m the woman on the team in that scenario?” He pointed at her empty glass. “Do you want another?”
Bridget shook her head. “Time to go, I think.” Mike wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. She stood up quickly.
Mike threw some money on the table for the tip, and they made their way out. People nodded to him, and some looked like they wanted to talk, but he maneuvered Bridget out the door without interruption.
“Where are you parked?” he asked. “Or are you taking a cab?”
“I’m a couple blocks away,” she said, pointing in the general direction. “I’m fine. You can go.”
Mike started walking in the direction she’d indicated. He turned to look at her. She raised her brows. “Really, I’ll be fine.”
“Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee of ‘fine.’ My mother raised me better than that, and your brothers would never forgive me for letting you walk alone.”
Bridget gave in, agreeing that her brothers would do the same.
They went half a block in silence. Mike tried to think of an innocuous way to ask if he’d offended her.
Bridget spoke up, sounding suspiciously like someone trying to make polite conversation. “Patrick and Bradley, you remember his son? Your number one fan. They’re really looking forward—” Then she stopped in place. “Crap, crap, crap and CRAP!”
Mike looked around to spot what had instigated this outburst, but he couldn’t see anything. He turned to her, puzzled.
“Anything I can do?”
Bridget resumed walking. “No, it’s my problem. I forgot to pick up my gift for Bradley’s party tomorrow. What a rotten aunt! Unless you’re up for some breaking and entering, I’m going to have to disappoint him. Crap!”
“Can’t you give it to him later?” He wasn’t sure what could be that vital. Knowing the O’Reillys, it would be a big party, and there would be a lot of presents.
“Of course, but Nancy’s planned this party with kids from his class, and he’s been bragging about meeting you. They’ve hassled him about that, not really believing him, so I had the photo from Boxing Day of the two of you blown up and put on a shirt. It would have been good to have that for the party. But they’re closed tomorrow, so now I can’t get it. Stupid of me.”
Mike had come to a stop.
Bridget shook her head. “Don’t worry, it’s no big deal, really. His mom has the picture on her phone, and we’ll back him up.”
Mike spoke hesitantly. “Would it help if I showed up?”
Bridget blinked at him. “What?”
Mike wasn’t especially vain, but he was a professional hockey player, and that impressed a lot of people, especially kids. “Just for a while. I don’t want to monopolize the party, but if his friends think he’s lying about knowing me, maybe if I showed up it would give him a boost.”
* * *
BRIDGET SHOOK HER HEAD. “You’ve got stuff to do. You can’t just wander around being a party favor for an eight-year-old.”
“I don’t have practice.” Mike grinned at her. “Since I didn’t get called out by the coaches like some people we spoke to tonight, I’m a free agent tomorrow.”
Bridget didn’t know what to say. Bradley would be over the moon. But at the same time, she was trying to keep her distance from Mike. If he was going to keep confiding in her and doing nice things with her family she was going to fall—
She flinched back from that thought. That could not happen. What was wrong with her?
“Come on, it’ll be fun. What time?” Mike was smiling at her, encouraging her to agree.
Bridget told herself to be strong. Nothing good would come of it for herself—but when she thought about Bradley, like she hadn’t this afternoon, she caved. This would be the last time she’d see Mike, at least like this. If he wanted company after any of the other games, it would be her dad or her brothers he could talk to. And four months from now, or sooner, he’d be gone. After that she’d see him on TV, playing, giving interviews, but not in person. Then she could get over this...infatuation.
She sighed. “Two p.m. It’s at the local rink. I can text you the address.”
“Why don’t I pick you up? Then you can get bonus points for bringing me, to make up for being such a horrible aunt that you forgot to get his shirt.”
Bridget couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. I obviously need the help.”
“So where do you live?”
“My parents’.” Her voice grew defensive. “Not with them. I have the basement apartment.”
Mike raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment out loud. “Okay, do we want to be at the rink for two, or a little after?”
Bridget thought about the parents who’d probably want to do the fan thing with Mike if they saw him when they were dropping off their kids.
“After is probably better,” she said.
“So I’ll pick you up just after two. Where is your car? And was your dad actually willing to drive with you?”
Bridget glared at him. “Who do you think taught me to drive?”
* * *
MIKE SHOWED UP promptly at two, in the Rover. He’d filed away that bit of information, that she lived in the basement suite of her parents’ place. It explained how she’d slipped away from the group on Boxing Day so easily...and she was apparently embarrassed about living in her parents’ basement. That might be useful information someday. Why? He didn’t know, but he did know he liked filing away these bits of Bridget trivia.
Bridget was waiting on the front step. As soon as she waved at him, she was moving to meet him. She opened the door almost before he’d come to a halt, and threw her skates and a backpack inside.
“In a hurry?” Mike asked.
“It’s cold out, in case you didn’t notice. I know, it’s probably balmy compared to Quebec, tough guy, but I was getting cold.”
“Then why didn’t you wait inside?”
“I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
Mike looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Or maybe you actually do live at home and just made up this story about the basement. It’s not really that embarrassing.”
“I did not!” she sputtered, glaring at him. “Are you going to drive this thing, or just cast aspersions on my integrity?”
“Oh, I’m having lots of fun with the aspersion casting. And I don’t know where I’m going, remember?”
Bridget shook her head. “Fine, turn right at the corner.”
The rink was a five-minute drive. Mike guessed that the O’Reillys had spent a lot of time there. It wasn’t fancy, just a typical community rink, and completely familiar to Mike. Bridget led the way into the lobby, carrying her gear. Mike followed with a hockey bag he’d grabbed from the back of the Rover while Bridget checked to see if everyone had arrived.
There was controlled chaos inside. There were about twenty kids, mostly boys, but some girls as well. They had either laced up their skates and had moved out to the ice, or were being assisted in putting on skates by family members.
Patrick’s wife, Nancy, first noticed them. “Thank goodness! Bridget, can you get out there and get them started while we get the rest in skates?” Nancy stopped, staring at Mike. She looked shocked.
The place got quieter as some of the kids and the O’Reilly clan turned and recognized Mike. To the others he was just another adult hanging around. Bridget sat down beside Bradley and started putting on her own skates. Bradley looked at her in awe, and Mike heard the boy whisper, “Did you bring Mike to my party?”
Mike dropped down beside Bridget and pulled skates out of his bag. He leaned over Bridget and whispered back, “Yes, she did.”
“Wow,” said Bradley. He looked up at his idol in disbelief. “Thank you.”
Mike was touched by the gratitude in the kid’s face. “You head on out there, and I’ll join you once I lace up.”
Bradley shuffled off on his skate guards. The rest of the family were looking at each other, a range of expressions on their faces. He was pretty sure his arrival was a surprise, and hoped it wasn’t a problem. He didn’t want to steal Bradley’s thunder.
“You brought skates?” Bridget hissed out the side of her mouth.
“You said it was a rink party. I threw them in the Rover just in case, and when I saw you had yours...”
Bridget shook her head, then responded to Nancy’s entreaty by shrugging off her parka and heading to the ice.
* * *
WORD WAS SPREADING among the kids. One skated up to her. “Is that really Mike Reimer?”
Bridget nodded. Every group had one of “those” kids, and she was pretty sure this was the one in this group, just like Tony had been in her swimming class.
“How much do you have to pay to get him for a party?” asked the kid. Bridget didn’t like his attitude.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He came today because he’s a friend of Bradley’s. You can ask Mike if he hires out for parties, but I doubt it.”
She skated away, and pulled out a whistle to get the kids’ attention.
Patrick wanted to have a hockey game with the kids, but before they made up teams, they needed to know how well everyone could skate. So Bridget was going to lead them through some games first. The last kids made their way out onto the ice and over to Bridget, and the adults who weren’t going to prepare the party food followed.
“Okay guys, it’s time for O’Reilly tag. Who’s played before?”
Bradley was the only one who raised his hand.
“Here are the rules. First, you cannot run into anyone. If you do, or knock someone over, it’s a penalty, in the box.” Bridget pointed to the penalty box. The kids looked taken aback. Penalties for them?
“Second, you cannot touch the blue or red lines. You can stay in one section, or jump over the lines, but you cannot skate across them, or again, you go into the penalty box.” She pointed again.
“You are safe from being tagged while squatting, and still moving on the ice, or if you’re skating on just one skate, with the other being above ankle height.”
Bridget raised her skate to demonstrate.
“We know that your ankle is above your foot, so there should be space between your blade and the ice. Like this. While moving. If you are staying still, you are fair game. To even things up, adults have to skate backward in the neutral zone. Everyone got it?”
Bridget did a quick summary. “No knocking into anyone. No skating on the lines. If you can’t skate fast, you can squat on your skates—” Bridget had her brothers demonstrate, and some of the kids joined in “—or stand on one foot with the other lifted up.” A couple of kids wobbled as they tried it while standing still. “And as long as you’re moving, you’re safe. If you’re skating normally, or aren’t moving, you can be tagged.
“Patrick and I will ref. Mike can start as It.”
Mike looked at Bridget while the kids all scrambled away. “Are you serious about this?”
“Definitely. My dad made this up when we were kids. It was a way to do skating drills while having fun. You can bet that we can jump, squat and skate on one blade really well.”
“So, can I tag you now?”
Bridget shook her head. “You weren’t listening. I’m reffing for now. And if I see you cross a line...”
But Mike was off, catching up to the big Tony-type boy easily. Bridget kept a careful eye on the skaters on one end of the ice, leaving the other to one of her brothers. Twice she had to penalize the kids, and once, one of her brothers, but everyone was catching on and having fun. Brian skated up to her, and said, “I’m taking a break. I’ll ref, you’re It.”
Bridget dashed off after her nephew, gave him a good scare, and kept an eye out for Mike. The kids had tagged him a couple of times, and she suspected that he’d given them a break because none of the adults had touched him. He could drop into a squat with ease, and even jump over a line while squatting. Bridget hadn’t realized that goalies had an advantage in this game. Cormack had never been especially good at it.
Her initial instinct was to be the first adult to tag him, but she thought better of it. Instead, she did her best to ignore him. That was easier than it could have been because he was swamped by the kids. But that focus was her undoing. While skating backward through the neutral zone, she ran into someone and went down. She called for a penalty, and then realized it was Mike.
“You cheated!” he said.
She shook her head and smiled. Brian blew the whistle and waved Mike into the box.
Bridget took the opportunity to slip off the ice and get back into regular shoes. She went to the party room, where Nancy and the sisters-in-law were organizing the food. Jee would normally skate, but she was taking precautions with her pregnancy.
When Bridget entered, she was grilled.
“How did you get Mike to come? Why didn’t you tell us?” said Nancy.
So Bridget explained. She didn’t tell them that she’d forgotten the shirt because she’d been so worried about meeting Mike after the game. That was too pathetic to share.
“I don’t know, Bridget. Maybe he just wanted to spend some time with you,” Nancy teased.
Bridget had had enough. She knew her sisters-in-law were just trying to be nice, but this wasn’t helping her. She was going to make a fool of herself, and she needed them on her side.
“Can everyone just stop with the matchmaking? Seriously?
“Listen, the guy has my phone number. He knows where I live, and he knows where I work. But he hasn’t tried to get in touch, not even once, since we stopped doing those workouts last fall—which Mom pushed him into, you may recall. Last night was supposed to be a meet with Dad and me, not a date. Today, he’s helping out a kid. And I think I guilted him into it.
“So either he’s still hung up on his wife and is never going to date again—”
“That’s not it,” said Jill. All eyes turned her way. “What?” she said. “I looked him up online. There were pictures of him in Quebec. He dated some pretty gorgeous women.”
Bridget felt a pang. Somehow, it would have been easier to think he wasn’t interested in her because he was still in love with a ghost.
“Then he obviously isn’t interested in me. So rather than trying to force us together, or make me think there’s something there when there’s not, let’s just be honest and accept the truth. Now, I’m going to walk home.” She ignored the protests. “It’s not that far, and then I’m going to the club to swim laps. Tell Bradley Happy Birthday for me, and that I’ll get him his present tomorrow. Tell the boys whatever to keep them from worrying, and I’ll see you later.”
The shirt wouldn’t be needed now, really. The school would be buzzing with the story of Mike Reimer, Blaze goalie, being at Bradley’s party. Bradley would be a rock star.
She was losing this battle. It would be really helpful if he could do something horrible, or even a bit mean because he just kept wrapping little tendrils around her heart.