Crossing the Goal Line

by Kim Findlay

  She worked with many fit swimmers. Mike was less lean and more powerful. His thighs were massive, and if a few days off had made them less toned, it wasn’t apparent. His abs were spectacular. All that up and down in front of the net, she deduced. His arms, chest—he was an impressively fit athlete. She told herself not to stare.

  They took turns lifting. Mike turned out to be a good workout partner. Some people you had to push through a workout, talk them into doing just a little bit more. Mike pushed himself; in fact, she had to make him stop. They were perfectly compatible that way, since she often pushed herself a little too far, and once during this workout, when she was in a zone, he actually grabbed the bar to stop her from going further than she should.

  Before she left, Bridget brought up something she thought might be an issue. “Would you like me to stop my brothers and friends from coming over in the evening? Mom doesn’t realize...”

  Mike looked at her, puzzled. “Doesn’t realize what? That Cormack is a Turchenko fan? There are a lot of them around. If he takes over the starter’s job, I might as well get used to the gloating.”

  “No, I mean you might have someone else coming over,” she offered.

  He shrugged, telegraphing how few people were knocking on his door. “It’s a big room.”

  “I mean, you might prefer not to have additional guests.”

  Mike looked at her for a moment and laughed. “Female guests, you mean? Don’t worry. I’ll put your brothers off myself if I get a hot date lined up.”

  Bridget was peeved. She was just trying to be helpful. He didn’t need to laugh at her.

  * * *

  CORMACK AND THE two B’s did go over, as did Patrick and Brian at different times. Bridget heard about it through Jee later. After a couple of games, Turchenko started to play poorly and was pulled for the backup goaltender. The backup didn’t do much better, but not much was expected of him. So, while Cormack might be disappointed that his player was making his case to remain as a backup, and Blaze fans were enduring their usual beatdown, at Mike’s there was an excellent spread, courtesy of the hotel’s room service, and apparently a good time was had by all. Bridget wondered why no one else realized this was an odd situation. They were the blue-collar O’Reillys, and hanging out with a hockey superstar had never been part of their lifestyle. What was going to happen when Mike was done recuperating?

  Bridget went most mornings to work out with Mike, but she had a swim meet on the weekend, so didn’t see Mike again until Monday. It was a gray day in November, full of sleet; winter was making its first foray. The suite was gloomy and the sound of the icy pellets tapped on the big windows.

  Mike was in a quiet mood. He wasn’t a talkative guy most of the time, but his mind was definitely elsewhere. Bridget offered to leave him alone, but he just grunted and crutched to the workout machines. Bridget wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but she followed his lead and kept the conversation limited to what was necessary. After showering and changing into street clothes, she started warming the soup her mom had sent over. Mike came back from his own shower, by now able to crutch dexterously down the hallway, wearing a pair of sweats cut off short on the leg with the cast and a long-sleeved Blaze T-shirt. The black shirt made his eyes look silver and emphasized his muscled build. Bridget told herself to smarten up.

  “Thanks,” Mike said, looking at the soup. Then, noticing that she’d set only the one place at the breakfast bar, looked up questioningly. “Gotta go?”

  “I have things to do, and I don’t think you want company now,” Bridget answered honestly.

  Mike paused for a moment. “Sorry. I’ve been distracted, so I’m not the best company. But I’d like you to stay. Unless, of course, you really need to go...”

  Bridget could feel her mother nudging her to be helpful. She said, “It’s nothing pressing, but I don’t want to get in your way.”

  For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to respond. He was looking out the windows, though the sleet obscured the view, and then he finally spoke.

  “It was on a day like this that my wife died. When I’m stuck inside like this, I can’t avoid reliving it.”

  Bridget felt her mouth open. She quickly closed it. His wife? Dead?

  Mike looked back at her shocked expression. “You don’t know the story? I thought the headlines were everywhere.”

  Bridget shook her head.

  “It was seven, almost eight years ago. March, just before the start of the playoffs, not long before I was called up.”

  Bridget worked the math in her head. “We were on a tour in Australia that spring. I remember Toronto wasn’t in the playoffs, so I’d mostly ignored the hockey news. Besides, Quebec won, so...oh. That would have been your first Cup.”

  Mike looked out the windows as the half ice, half rain pelted them, though Bridget doubted he really saw what was out there.

  “The short version is that she was in a car accident. Bad weather, car went off the road. She was probably driving too fast and would have died on impact.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

  Mike had his crutches, but was mostly balanced on his one good foot.

  “She was pregnant.”

  * * *

  MIKE STARED OUT over where the lake would normally be. Back then there had been no spectacular view. He was a farm team goalie for the Rimouski Raiders, in Quebec. Their place was barely adequate, but Amber had worked hard to make the most of it. As she often complained, she didn’t have anything else to do.

  He found himself talking, mostly to himself.

  “We met in college. I’d been drafted by Quebec when I was eighteen, but my mom insisted I had to get a degree. She’d never cared much for hockey and wanted me to have a backup plan. So instead of going directly to the farm team, I went to college on a hockey scholarship, and met Amber in a freshman English class. She knew nothing about hockey but came to every game and started learning rules like offside and icing.” He smiled at the memory. “Her father was a professor there, and she’d grown up in that town. Lived in the same house her whole life. She’d had this storybook life that was so different than mine.

  “We graduated the same year, and got married that summer. In the fall, I had to report to Rimouski.”

  He remembered the excitement of finally, finally being able to start his hockey career. But there had also been trepidation. What if he wasn’t good enough? “Amber hated it. Most of the guys on the team were single, and she was positive they were taking me to strip clubs and that we were meeting women every time we were on the road. The married guys were older and had kids, so Amber didn’t really fit in with their wives.

  “She wanted me to quit. She’d tell me that the chances were that I’d never make it to the big show, and if I loved her I’d want her to be happy. She told me I was selfish, putting my dream above her. I argued that I’d thought it was our dream. I was young, and sure I was going to make it, if she’d just stick it out a bit longer. I didn’t want to give it up.”

  His grip tightened on the crutch handles. That had been a bad period. He’d never dreamed that they would spend that much time fighting as newlyweds.

  “We made the playoffs that year in Rimouski. I was playing well. I tried to convince her that it meant I would make it, that we would make it. We had a big fight. It was the night the team was going out to celebrate. I left, slamming the door. When I came back, she was gone. She’d packed up to go back to her parents.

  “Then the police came to tell me she was dead. And that she was pregnant when she died. I don’t even know if she knew that. She hadn’t told me, in any case.”

  Mike still wondered if she’d known, and if she had, if she had deliberately left without telling him. That fear could still hurt.

  He turned from the window and saw Bridget watching him with those big eyes behind her glasses. He’d almost forgotten
she was there. He hadn’t revisited this memory in a long time. He wasn’t sure why he had today, unless it was the weather, the frustration of being trapped in this room...or Bridget’s undemanding attention.

  * * *

  MIKE PULLED BACK his shoulders. He obviously was carrying some major guilt on them.

  “You thought it was your fault,” Bridget said. She couldn’t imagine how that would feel, grief and guilt wrapped up together.

  Mike turned on his good leg and looked directly at her. “If she’d just waited out the season before giving up... Two weeks later, first round of the playoffs, the Quebec starting goalie was out with a concussion after a fluke play in the warmup for the first game. I was called up as the backup’s backup. He fell apart, and I got to play. I took everything I had, grief and anger and guilt, and focused it on hockey to avoid thinking about Amber. That’s when they started calling me Iceman, but it wasn’t a lack of feeling that powered me through that.

  “I got the starter’s job the following season. Had a contract then, and I had it made. Amber could have had everything she wanted. We both could have.”

  There was silence, broken only by the snow and ice pelting on the panes. Bridget tried to imagine that conflict, between your dream and the person you loved. How would you choose? What would she do in that difficult situation?

  “And you still feel guilty?” she asked.

  Mike shrugged. “I always will. But I’ve talked it through with a counselor, so I’m supposed to be good. That anger is gone now, and that might have been what made me able to play at the level I’m used to. Maybe I really have lost it.” His expression was bleak.

  “No way,” said Bridget.

  “Thanks,” Mike said dismissively.

  Bridget straightened, her temper sparking. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not just saying that. I don’t know if you can still play well now or not, but I know it wasn’t anger that kept you going for seven years.”

  Mike stared at her, eyebrows raised. “How would you know?”

  “Because that’s not what anger’s like. I mean, I get it. When she first died, your anger and pain and guilt would make you want to play hockey all the time to blank out or numb how you felt. I get that. I’d probably have done the same in the pool. And I know I do anger differently than you do. I get fired up and say or do something rash. You go quiet and probably feel it longer. But anger is a fresh emotion. Unless you’re going to your wife’s grave to whip up that feeling all the time, it won’t last. It’ll change—become hate, or resentment or depression or guilt, but it won’t still be anger. I believe you could feel guilty, but guilt doesn’t make you do better. It eats away at whatever is good. You couldn’t build a hockey career on that. I mean, I’m Catholic. I know guilt.”

  Mike didn’t respond. Bridget realized she’d jumped in where not wanted. Again.

  “Sorry, it’s not my place. I was just reacting in coach mode. You don’t need a lecture from me.”

  Mike raised his hand. “I’m not upset. I was feeling it out. I hadn’t looked at it like that. Maybe I’ve been talking to the wrong people.”

  “Didn’t you say anything about this to one of your coaches? Isn’t this part of their job?”

  “Once. He hemmed and hawed and the next day I was asked to waive my no-trade clause.”

  Bridget’s mouth opened again. “You mean, that was last year? That’s why you left Quebec?”

  Mike crutched himself over to the couch, and dropped down, setting his bad ankle on a pillow. “Yes. I blew up when they asked me to sign the waiver. I didn’t even find out where they were trading me. If the coach thought I was done, I didn’t much care.”

  Bridget’s eyes flashed. “And they made it a self-fulfilling prophecy. Way to blow someone’s confidence. Those weasels! Everyone thought you wanted out! And that losing in the playoffs last spring was karma catching up with you.”

  Mike sighed. “We had a new coach. He wasn’t a big fan of me. He was new, and I’d been there my whole career. The fans assumed wins were all mine and didn’t give him any credit. He also had a young goalie he’d been working with at his last club. When I was gone, the kid was brought over and became the starter.”

  Bridget stared at him. “Why didn’t you let anyone know? What they did to you was almost evil!”

  Mike shrugged and poked at a cushion with his crutch. “I can do stupid things. I was too proud. I thought that I’d built up enough of a rep that someone would come to me to find out the other side of the story. After all, my teammates were supposed to be my friends. I also didn’t want the story getting out that I was done.”

  Bridget nodded and considered him. “When you’re back, you’re going to have to show them. When do we play Quebec again?”

  Mike smiled at her usage of the word we. “Next week.”

  Bridget sighed. “Turchenko.”

  She muttered the name as if it was a four-letter word. That warmed him. “Yep. Then we have a home-and-home against them in March. Turchenko did win the last game against them.”

  “Oh please,” Bridget said scornfully. “Toronto won by one goal. Quebec hit the crossbar twice. That was all that saved him. That’s not going to happen again. Well, you’ll be playing in March. You can show them.”

  Mike didn’t want to acknowledge how much her confidence was helping him. “I’ll do that. But first, I have to get back on the ice. And reclaim the starting position.”

  “You will. I have no confidence in Turchenko,” said Bridget. “But Cormack will tell you I’ve never been a big ‘Turd-chenko’ fan.”

  Mike laughed out loud. “You do have a talent for nicknames. Should I ask what mine is?”

  “You don’t have one yet. You’ll have to really get me mad before that happens. Are you good now? I should probably get some stuff done.”

  “I’m good. Thanks for letting me vent.”

  Bridget left, and Mike sat in the chair, reviewing their conversation while his lunch went cold. He had been crediting his old anger and guilt with elevating his play, somewhere deep down. Now that the grief was mostly gone, leaving a small ache, he’d wondered if he could still play as well. Sure, he’d played horribly last spring, but his confidence had taken a major hit. If Bridget was right, then maybe he could play just on skill. Age was going to stop him at some point. But he might not be there yet.

  Bridget must be a good coach. She was a great workout partner and knew her stuff when it came to fitness. And he was learning that she had a good handle on the mental part of sports, which played a big part. She was fit as well. He couldn’t help noticing that she looked good in her workout gear—really good—even when sweaty. He appreciated that she dealt with him as a real person. A lot of people saw him only as a goalie, or couldn’t get past his status or money. And it was fun when she got mad. He’d like to see more of that. He wondered again why she’d never had her vision corrected. Those heavy glasses seemed to have impeded her. They did make her look like she was listening intently, though.

  He looked around, realizing that the weather was calming and his soup was cold. He shrugged and ate it anyway, turning on the TV to the sports channel most obsessed with the Blaze. Might as well see what he was up against. He noticed that for the first time, he could feel a little sprout of hope.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHOA THERE!” BRIDGET SAID. “Keep that up and you’ll injure yourself again!”

  Mike grinned at her over the bar. He knew he was pushing himself, but he had good reason. Turchenko had continued to struggle. Mike didn’t enjoy his team losing, but knowing he had a reason to stay fit was definitely aiding in his recovery. The team trainers were pleased with his progress, and now they needed Mike back with the team. He’d been asked if he’d start coming in to the team facility to do all of his workouts, now that he was ready to resume cardio exercise. They’d provide transportation and assistanc
e, but they wanted him with the team.

  Mike hadn’t mentioned this to Bridget yet. He’d been keeping things deliberately light. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d told her about his wife. Or why, that first evening, he’d gotten so close to discussing retirement. He was the Iceman. He was quiet and reserved, and didn’t talk about himself. He didn’t know what it was about Bridget. Perhaps she was just an excellent coach, since he was confiding in her the way he should have been able to with his own coaches. He didn’t want to dig any deeper into that. He knew from experience that hockey required his primary attention, and people had a hard time accepting that. It was one of the reasons his social circle was almost exclusively limited to hockey people: when there was a choice, he always chose hockey.

  He wondered if working out with a female partner was always better, or if it was just working out with Bridget. He wanted to thank her for her help.

  Management had also invited him to watch a game from the owner’s box. The team offered a driver and assistant. Mike had another idea. The O’Reillys were all hockey crazy, as he’d learned. The one game he’d been able to give Bridget tickets to had been a preseason game with eight kids to watch. The other game, her father and brother attended. He thought he could thank her, and let her know he was moving over to working out with the team at the same time. Bridget was wiping down the equipment after their workout before leaving.

  “Want to come to the Nashville game tomorrow?” he asked her from the kitchen where he was cutting up fruit for a smoothie.

  “You’re going to a game?” she asked, surprised, since he hadn’t since his accident.

  “I was asked to come.”

  Bridget raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps with Turchenko playing like crap they want to suck up to you.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Watching games live is much better than on TV, so I’m happy to go.”