Crossing the Goal Line

by Kim Findlay

  For once, though, she wasn’t dreaming about him. Instead, she’d been checking her phone for messages from Mike. The Blaze were playing tonight, with a chance to clinch a playoff spot, so she was eager to find out how the game went.

  If she’d only known all those years ago that ignoring Connor was the best way to get his attention.

  She was chatting at the table after the dinner when her phone started playing the Hockey Night in Canada theme—Mike’s ringtone. She dug into her bag, but as she pulled out her phone, someone reached over her shoulder and grabbed it out of her hand.

  Connor held the phone up. “What do you think? Should we check out this guy who keeps calling Bridget?”

  Bridget turned and glared at him. He wasn’t looking so good to her now. “Give that back!”

  Connor instead pressed the answer button. “Bridget’s phone. Who’s calling please?”

  After a pause, Connor responded. “I don’t know, Mike. Bridget is busy. And I think we’d all like to know a little more about you. Is it true that you are in fact a professional hockey player, as Bridget claims?”

  Bridget flushed. Connor was making it sound like she’d been bragging about Mike. And he made it perfectly apparent that he thought she was lying, too. Had she really been infatuated with this clown?

  “Oh,” said Connor. “A picture would be lovely.” He turned to the crowd around the table, plainly thinking he was being hilarious. “There’s going to be a real picture folks. Since Bridget has been so shy with showing us...” He trailed off as the text popped up on the screen. He swiped to the picture.

  Connor’s mouth tightened, and his cheeks reddened. He tossed the phone to Bridget. “Guy has no sense of humor.”

  Bridget couldn’t help but laugh out loud as soon as she saw Mike’s photo.

  He had obviously called as soon as the game ended. He was in the locker room, sweaty and wearing only a towel. She thought he looked incredible. Connor was proud of his body, but Mike could give him a run for his money in a best abs contest. There was a defenseman on each side of Mike, similarly appareled. All three were making a rude hand gesture. The coach beside her asked to see, and once Bridget had handed it over, he passed it on until eventually everyone had a look and a laugh. By the time Bridget finally got it back, Connor had left. She escaped to the hallway and dialed Mike back.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “No one important,” Bridget answered, glad that it was now true.

  “What was his problem?”

  “I guess he thought I had an imaginary boyfriend. But I have a real boyfriend, don’t I?” she asked, only half joking.

  “Not just any boyfriend. One who’s in the playoffs.”

  Bridget fist-pumped, even though she was alone in the hallway.

  “Congrats! Was my boyfriend also the first star?”

  “Sorry, only second star. Maybe you want to look up that jerk answering your phone now.”

  Bridget smiled. “Well, he does have an Olympic medal...” she teased.

  “What color?”

  Bridget laughed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested anymore.”

  “Good. I’d ask more about the jerk but management is throwing a thing to celebrate clinching, so I’d better make an appearance.”

  Mike said a reluctant farewell, and Bridget returned to her friends. She didn’t see Connor again.

  * * *

  THE HOCKEY NIGHT IN CANADA ringtone buzzed. Bridget grinned. She and Mike had been trying to meet up in person since she’d come back from Atlanta. They’d talked or texted almost every day, but hadn’t been able to actually get in the same room together and there were things she wanted to say in person.

  She’d gone to the Provincial championships, and her A-team had qualified for Nationals. That was incredible, but it meant she still had to spend a lot of time at practice. And the Blaze traveled whenever she didn’t. But they were finally going to see each other after tonight’s game.

  “Hey, Mike! Ready for the game?” Bridget was so excited she wanted to jump up and down, but since she was in her cubicle at the pool, that wasn’t a good plan. She leaned back in her chair, hoping he could talk for a while, even if she was going to see him in a few hours.

  “Actually, I was wondering if you’d maybe pass your tickets on to someone else.”

  Bridget sat up, on the alert. “Why? What’s happened?”

  “Stop by after your practice. Come straight in when you get here. We’ll order in and watch the game here since I’m not playing. I’ll explain when you arrive.”

  Toronto was starting a home-and-home with Quebec, and Bridget knew how important this game was to Mike. If he could stare down his former team, there would be very little left to question in his game. Something was up if Mike wasn’t playing.

  Something big.

  * * *

  BRIDGET DROPPED HER tickets with her mom; she was sure Cormack could go with her dad. If not, one of the other guys would jump at the chance. Fortunately, her mother didn’t know hockey and didn’t press her with questions.

  If Mike wasn’t playing, and wasn’t going to be at the arena, there was a big problem. He should still be on the bench, even if he wasn’t starting. He had to step in if something happened to Turchenko. If Mike wasn’t at the arena, that meant the team had had to call someone up from the farm team to be backup.

  What was going on?

  Mike couldn’t have been traded; the deadline had passed. Was there some loophole? Traded players often sat out to make sure they didn’t get injured. They were normally at the games, though, watching from a box.

  So was he hurt? And if so, how badly? Would he be able to play again this season? If the team was going to be in Turchenko’s hands, their playoffs were over already, in Bridget’s opinion.

  She’d canceled the second swim practice to be able to attend this important game. She drove over to Mike’s hotel, left the car with the valet, and waited impatiently for the elevator. She jabbed the button to Mike’s floor repeatedly, trying in vain to speed up the elevator. She swiped the key card, and opened the door. The suite was dark. She started to feel for the switch when she heard Mike’s voice. “Leave the lights off, okay? I’m in the living room.”

  It wasn’t the reunion she’d been dreaming of. The curtains were drawn, and the place was dark and quiet. Dim lighting was romantic, pitch black led to stubbed shins and bruises.

  “Mike?” she asked. Why would he be in the dark?

  “I’m here. On the couch.”

  “Are you sleeping?”

  “Not really. But I’m supposed to stay in the dark.”

  She had a sinking feeling she knew what that meant. But she couldn’t say it. “What’s wrong?”

  “Concussion, possibly.”

  Bridget sank into the first chair she bumped into. “What happened?”

  “I had my helmet off for a minute at practice. Got hit in the head by a puck.”

  “Are you okay?” Most important question first.

  “I’m fine. But concussion protocol is strict, so I have to take a couple days off. Can you come over here where I can at least touch you?”

  Bridget smiled and felt her way over to the couch. She sat down by his head. He reached for her hand and gave it a kiss. Bridget felt herself unwind, letting her hand stay wrapped in his. He was okay, and she was finally feeling him in person, even if she couldn’t see him.

  “Welcome home,” she said softly.

  “Wish I could see you properly. I had planned this moment much better, but I’m not supposed to let myself get excited. This will have to do.”

  “So you really feel okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve had a concussion before and I know what it’s like, but head injuries are a big concern. So even though I told them I was good...” Bridget could hear the frus
tration in his voice.

  “Who was the idiot who hit you in the head?”

  Mike hesitated.

  “Troy Green?”

  She could hear Mike’s smile in his voice. “Yes. But he’s very sorry.”

  “Did he do it on purpose?”

  Mike laughed, reassuring her. “I really don’t think so. The whole team reacted in horror at the thought that I was out. The puck hit my head, I lost my balance, and I hit the ice. But it wasn’t going fast, and I know my head didn’t hit the ground. Still, here I am. They’re not taking chances.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this on the phone?”

  “I had people here, fussing around. I didn’t want to get into it with you while there was an audience, and I didn’t need you to hunt down Green. But I wanted to talk to you privately anyway, so this will work.”

  Bridget was suspicious. “What do you want to talk about?”

  Mike said, “Come closer.”

  He edged over on the couch and pulled her down beside him. “That’s better.”

  Bridget was tense for a moment, then began to relax. He wasn’t going to break up with her like this.

  “What were you so tense about?”

  “No good ever comes after ‘We need to talk.’”

  She felt the chuckle rumbling in his chest. “That’s not exactly what I said.”

  “Close enough. So what do you want to talk about?”

  “First, tell me about this idiot who answered your phone.”

  Bridget snorted. “Connor.”

  “Yes, Connor with the Olympic medal. I have two,” Mike responded.

  Bridget twisted to try to see his face. “Are you jealous?”

  “Why did he have your phone?”

  “He took it from me. There was a whole crowd of people—it was after the last dinner. Your ringtone came in, so I knew the game was over. I grabbed my phone—”

  “What’s my ring?” he asked.

  “Hockey Night in Canada.”

  Bridget felt his chuckle again.

  “So you grabbed your phone...”

  “And Connor grabbed it from me, and the rest you know.”

  “Why did he grab your phone?”

  “Who knows? He’s an idiot.”

  “Did you two go out?”

  Bridget sat up. “A couple of times. No biggie. You are jealous.”

  “I don’t know much about your past, Bridget.”

  “You don’t need to be jealous of Connor.”

  “No? What happened?”

  Bridget frowned. “We went out a couple of times. The last time, we went to an arcade, and I beat him in air hockey. He didn’t take it well, and the next day he asked out someone else. That was it.”

  “You beat him at air hockey and he couldn’t take it?”

  “Seems so.”

  “Hard to believe.”

  “That his ego was that fragile?” she questioned.

  “That he couldn’t beat you at air hockey,” Mike teased.

  Bridget jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Careful, I might have a concussion.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t give you one after that. Of course I beat him at air hockey.”

  “So I don’t have anything to worry about?”

  Bridget snuggled back down with him. “Not a thing.”

  He wrapped an arm around her, and Bridget felt she was perfectly happy. It was hard for her to grasp that he might feel just as lucky.

  “Oh, another thing happened,” she said. This she’d wanted to tell him in person, but she’d been picturing seeing his face while she talked to him.

  “Anything to do with Conner?”

  “Nope. I met Jonesy.” She paused to let that sink in.

  “Is this supposed to mean something to me?” Mike asked after a pause.

  Bridget sighed. “I guess not. Jonesy is probably the top swim coach in Canada. He’s from Australia, and they managed to lure him to Canada about five years ago. He and my coach, the one I worked with before I joined the club—” Bridget felt Mike nod behind her and she continued “—they’ve been friends for a while. Well, my former coach was in Atlanta of course, and I bumped into him when he was with Jonesy, so he introduced me. The three of us went out for coffee, and had a really good talk. There’s so much to learn from them.” They’d also been very complimentary about her, but she didn’t want to brag.

  When Mike still didn’t seem to realize what a big deal this was, she continued. “It was a sign that I’m making it. It would be the same as you having a get-together with—” Bridget thought, and then rattled off the names of some hall of famers.

  “They’re nice guys. Just don’t get Patty angry.”

  She sighed. Of course Mike had already met his idols. He probably had their personal cell phone numbers in his contacts. It reminded her of the gap between his accomplishments and hers. She wasn’t done, though. One day she’d be at the top in her field.

  “Should I be warning Jonesy not to get you angry?” he teased, tugging on a lock of her hair.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bridget replied. “I don’t have a temper.” Deciding to change the topic before he challenged her on that, she asked, “What did you want to talk about?”

  Bridget could feel his body tensing, just as hers had. This couldn’t be good.

  “I’d forgotten about a commitment I made, back before Christmas. It’s a team thing.”

  Bridget knew he had a lot of team commitments, but he didn’t discuss them all with her. She waited to hear why they were talking about this one.

  “It’s kind of a silly event, but it’s for Sick Kids Hospital, so we agreed to it.”

  Bridget kept quiet.

  “Certain members of the team are going to be in a kind of, well, fashion show.”

  Bridget chuckled.

  “I hope I get to see pictures.”

  “I’m sure you will. But we aren’t just walking out there on our own. We’re each teamed up with someone.”

  Bridget sensed this was going to be the kicker.

  “Some of the guys are walking with their wives or girlfriends,” Mike said, and then paused.

  She froze. He couldn’t possibly want her to... But no, he’d said this had come up months ago. Who was walking with him?

  “Since I didn’t have anyone then, I’m paired up with a model from the designer who’s rigging me out.”

  Bridget was still.

  “Bridget?”

  “So you’re like, on a date with her for the evening?”

  Mike sighed. “No, it’s not a date. The only thing we do together is walk down a runway. I did ask if I could get out of it, but apparently, they’ve been working with the measurements they have for Appollonia and me, and it’s too late to change. I’m supposed to go for final fittings this week.”

  “Appollonia?”

  “She’s the model.”

  Of course she is. “You’re going for fittings this week? When is this event?”

  “Saturday. When you’re in Winnipeg for Nationals. I’d rather be there with you, but I can’t.”

  Bridget lay still. Her thoughts were chaotic. This is what it was like to date someone like Mike.

  Mike wrapped her a little closer to him. “Bridget, I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t forgotten, but I did. I wanted to tell you in person. It’s probably going to be covered by the press, and I didn’t want you to come across the pictures without warning. But it’s just a publicity thing—I’ve hardly met this woman.”

  Bridget nodded. It wasn’t Mike’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But still, it made her feel insecure.

  “You ready for the next thing?” Mike asked.

  “There’s more?” Bridget asked, heart sinking.


  “There’s another team event, a dinner. They dreamed up this one after we clinched a playoff spot. It’s another fund-raiser. There’s going to be a player at each table. People buy tickets, silent auction, all that stuff. Each player is supposed to have a plus one. I hope you can be mine.”

  Bridget gave herself a mental hug. He wanted her to be his plus one. Her grin faded. Wait, could she?

  “If I can’t?” Might as well know the worst up front.

  “I’m supposed to show up with someone. If my mother was closer, and her husband wasn’t bedridden, I could bring her, and that would be fine. But...” He left it there.

  “When is it?”

  “A week from Saturday.”

  Bridget did the math. A week from Saturday, the first weekend after Nationals. Was that the swimming awards?

  “I’ll have to check and get back to you.”

  “I’m sorry to dump all this on you. This wasn’t what I’d hoped for when we could finally spend some time together again. It’s part of the baggage that comes along with my job.”

  For a moment, Bridget wished he was a plumber.

  Mike had said he was sure he didn’t have a concussion, but he still followed doctor’s orders. They got room service and ate by candlelight, then listened to the game on the radio, snuggled on the couch. It could have been very romantic. Unfortunately, the game was a disaster.

  The loss couldn’t just be blamed on Turchenko: the whole team fell apart. It was as if losing Mike meant they’d lost their ability to follow the game plan. It didn’t help that the announcers were speculating that Mike wasn’t on the ice because he couldn’t face his former team. Bridget would have yelled and thrown something if it weren’t for Mike’s possible head injury. Mike just grew more and more quiet. She imagined all that tension and anger being channeled inside and then coming out on the ice: that was Mike’s way. Just as well he didn’t play a position where he was checking other players. He might knock them through the glass.

  The after-game radio show was more of the same. To change the subject, Bridget asked Mike when he was going to start driving the McLaren.