Crossing the Goal Line

by Kim Findlay

  “If I can help...” she offered, trailing off.

  “Actually, you can. It’s a lot to ask though.”

  He’d gotten her attention. Now, he just had to sell this right.

  “Hey, if I can help, I’m only too happy to do anything I can.” She’d perked up a bit.

  He reached across the table and held her hand. She curled her fingers around his and waited.

  “Did I ever tell you what it was like to play my first playoffs in Quebec?”

  She tilted her head. “You told me some of it.”

  “When I was called up, management asked very delicately if I thought I was up to it. It was just after Amber died, and they weren’t sure how I was going to cope. I wasn’t either, but the chance to be busy, not to sit around blaming myself—I told them working would be good therapy.”

  Bridget nodded.

  “So there I was, finally in the big leagues. I was supposed to be a bench warmer. They needed a second goalie and someone to take shots in practice when the starter was resting. But their backup struggled, and when they finally, in desperation, put me in, there were no expectations whatsoever. Quebec was an expansion team, so making the playoffs was a pleasant surprise. But I knew if I could manage not to embarrass myself, maybe the next year I’d have a shot.

  “So, little pressure, lots of support. I had an outlet for my anger and guilt, and things went better than anyone had imagined. And from then on, I was golden. No one was more popular in Quebec than I was. And I kept doing well. The team was with me, the city was with me...up until the coach retired.”

  Bridget was paying close attention. He could see it in her eyes. She knew what had happened after that, and how things had gone downhill.

  “So, as you and the hockey world all know, the playoffs here were different. I didn’t play well after the trade last year, and there was some doubt about how I’d do in the playoffs against Quebec. While we were preparing for the series, I don’t think I’d ever felt more isolated. And things did not go well.”

  He paused, remembering. His memories were bleak. He felt her fingers tightening around his, giving him unspoken support.

  “So, like the saying goes, it’s déjà vu all over again. I’m playing well now, and I think I can keep that up, but every time someone looks at me, talks to me, they wonder. They’re wondering in the locker room, they’re wondering in the press boxes, they’re wondering in the owner’s box. I’m wondering, too.”

  “Mike, you’re not in the same place as last year. You’re going to be great,” Bridget reassured him.

  Mike looked at her intently, her eyes enlarged behind the big frames. Having her here was helping him stay calm, stay the Iceman. He hoped she would agree to this plan.

  “Right now, everyone wants to be sure I’m as fine as I can be. Anything I want, they’ll do. And there’s one thing I think will help.

  “I still am not part of this team, not like I was in Quebec. I’m not part of this city. So I don’t have someone to unwind with, someone to spend downtime with, someone to talk to, especially on the road. I’m second-guessing everything I say to the team because I don’t want to scare them. I could use someone I can truly relax with.

  “I’d like you to come with me. Be that person for me.”

  He could see her eyes going wide. She hadn’t been expecting this.

  “I’ve talked to management. They’re on board for anything I want. I want you. And I thought maybe this would work for you, too, a distraction. And it might prolong the time Wally has left to breathe on this planet.”

  He watched the expressions flash across her face. “What exactly are you asking?”

  “To be with me through the playoffs. I can’t get you on the team jet for away games. But we’ll fly you to each city, and you’ll have a room at the hotel while we’re there. You’ll have a ticket to the game, get to come to practice, and you and I will hang out. For home games, you come to practice, and you’ll have a couple of tickets to each game. I just want you to spend time with me. When I’m not playing or practicing or doing press things, I don’t want to be sitting in a hotel room getting up in my head. I want company. But not just anyone. I’d like someone who understands, and someone I like to spend time with.”

  He paused. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Bridget wasn’t often speechless. He took a breath. He needed to lay it all out there before she decided.

  “A downside might be the publicity. But if we get swept in the first round, it will be a pretty short postseason.”

  She frowned. Mike could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

  “I don’t want you to answer right away. I’d like you to think about it. Let me know when you decide, and we’ll go from there. I can at least get you tickets to home games no matter what.”

  He didn’t press her further. He knew this would be good for him, but she had to choose if it was right for her. Playoff pressure was going to be tougher here in Toronto than any other place he could think of, so having someone on his side would be terrific. But she had her own career and she might need to focus on that. Here was that choice again: hockey versus something else. Selfishly, he hoped she’d choose hockey.

  * * *

  BRIDGET SAT ON her couch with her laptop, but it was hard to be motivated to research and plan when she had no one to coach. She had nothing to do but think, and her thinking wasn’t always productive. Short-term, there was Mike’s proposition to consider. Long-term, there was what Olivia Sandusky had talked about.

  She opened the browser to the playoff schedule and rubbed her forehead.

  She and Mike had started dating, knowing that the end game was up in the air. She hadn’t been worried at first. She could admit, at least to herself, that she’d fallen in love with Mike and had wanted to spend as much time with him as she could. Now that they were past the trade deadline, she knew Mike was in the city until the Blaze were out of the playoffs and had cleaned out their lockers for the season. That might be in a week and a half, or theoretically, it could be in June, if they went to the Cup finals. Mike’s contract expired June 30. And there was very little chance he’d be in Toronto after that.

  She looked up the page with the salaries of the players. Mike was in the top grouping. Unless he totally failed, that’s the kind of salary he’d be looking at again. She couldn’t wish any setback for him. She found the committed salaries for the following seasons for the Toronto teams. They couldn’t afford Mike-money if they wanted a competitive roster. Not much chance Mike would be here next year.

  And what about her? She wasn’t sure where her career was going. After her blowup with Wally the Weasel, she didn’t know if she’d even be able to keep her job at the club. They had no reason to get rid of her, based on the results she’d given them, but Wally was pretty weaselly. He’d already shown the lengths to which he’d go. He certainly wasn’t going to provide a good reference.

  She looked up the club website. The pool was still closed indefinitely. Wally had had to post a piece about how well the competitive swim team had done, but there was very little about the program for next year.

  She set the laptop aside. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to return there, which meant she’d be back to square one. She needed more time to decide if she was ready to face that again.

  If she were to start at someplace new...well, what were the chances that it would be in the same city, or even the same country as Mike? Pretty well nil unless they planned for it. Together. Assuming he wanted to do that.

  She stood up, and started pacing. She couldn’t ask him to give up his hockey dreams. His wife had. She remembered the pain in his voice when he’d talked about her that first time. She couldn’t put him through something like that again. Hockey was too essential to him. It was who he was. Last year, when he’d had to consider life without hockey, he’d been lost.

  Swimming
was important to her, but she had more in her life if it all went away. For him, hockey was everything. His mother was in Phoenix. He had no other family, no real friends in Toronto. He talked about the Sawatzky family, but only in the past tense. Hockey was his family, his financial success, his sense of worth and value. Hockey was Mike. No wonder he wouldn’t deny it, even for his wife. Bridget wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about her. They hadn’t been together that long, and she knew she couldn’t compete with the sport he lived for.

  So what did that mean for her, and for them as a couple?

  She would never have asked him to sacrifice his hockey in any case; she was an athlete, and she respected what that meant too much to ever consider making such a demand. But because she was an athlete, she had her own drive and her own goals. What would happen when they conflicted with his?

  Really, it should be a no-brainer. Assuming Mike wanted to keep this relationship going, he had a career that was established and made big money; she could ride on his coattails, and maybe keep coaching wherever he ended up. Work enough to keep her from being bored, but not enough to impede his career. Could she settle for that?

  She dropped back down on the sofa. And what if they got really serious, got married and had kids? Her stomach knotted. She knew the demands kids made, and even if they had paid help, someone had to be the person who took the sick days, went on school outings, took care of business when Mike was busy playing. Two parents with jobs that entailed a lot of travel, with strange hours and lots of pressure? That was a recipe for disaster.

  She didn’t think Mike would ask her to end her career for him, but if they were going to have a real chance, one of them was going to have to make that sacrifice. And how could that not have a negative effect on their relationship?

  Maybe it was fate that she didn’t really have a job right now. Maybe the choice was made for her.

  She’d say yes. She’d do the playoffs with him, however long that might be. Try out life as a hockey girlfriend, full-time. See what it was like. Maybe it would be better than trying to start coaching from scratch. Maybe. She pictured those silver-gray eyes looking at her, confiding in her, teasing her...maybe she could do this. She’d never considered it before, but maybe for Mike she could. Call it compromise. How much was she willing to give up?

  CHAPTER TEN

  FINALLY, IT WAS HERE. The playoffs. Since Toronto had qualified in the last playoff spot, they’d be starting every series on the road. Round one was in Philadelphia. Bridget’s flight to Philly was uneventful, and she caught a cab to the hotel and checked in. She scoped out the hotel’s pool, and was wandering back through the lobby when she saw the team coming in.

  They were all big guys, but Mike was one of the tallest. He was at the back, on his own. Mike had told her about the team dynamics, but it still bothered her. When he saw her, standing near the elevators, he dropped his bag and went to her, ignoring the rest of the team and leaned in for a kiss.

  “You made it,” he said.

  “People are staring,” she answered, a little breathlessly.

  “Let them. I feel like I haven’t seen you for days.” Mike grabbed her hand and towed her back to his stuff. A couple of the players nodded at her (she noticed Troy Green ignored her) and she helped Mike pick up his luggage.

  Bridget went up to the room with Mike. He had seniority and was a goalie, a breed that often had excessive quirks, so he had his own room. He threw his bag on the bed, and then suggested a late dinner in the hotel dining room, followed by an early night. Visiting team had first practice in the morning, and he wanted her to come along.

  In the restaurant, Bridget recognized the head coach and a manager at one table. Mike nodded to them but guided her to a table by themselves.

  “I see you didn’t shave. Growing the playoff beard?” she teased.

  Mike grinned. “Part of the playoffs.”

  Bridget noticed that he was more...more something. He was never given to extremes, but though he looked calm, she sensed he was wound up. She recognized the feeling from racing—standing in the blocks, poised to start, waiting for the buzzer and controlling the tension enough to avoid a false start. The playoffs were what he lived for. Mike was starting his race.

  She had been right. He was hockey, and this was his chance to reclaim his position as one of the best. For some, this pressure would be paralyzing. For Mike, and for her, and for others who lived to compete, this was what they thrived on.

  He asked about her family, how they were doing. They talked about Philadelphia. Bridget had competed here, and Mike was usually here at least once a year. They didn’t talk about hockey. And yet, somehow, it was buzzing under everything.

  After Mike signed for the meal and they headed out of the restaurant, Bridget finally got close to the H word.

  “So, what is my schedule?”

  Mike asked what floor she was on, and pushed the button on the elevator.

  “Can you come to morning practice?”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

  “Good.” He smiled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What, what?”

  “You look smug about something.”

  “I have a surprise for you tomorrow. Don’t ask.”

  Bridget closed her mouth.

  “Then I’ll work out a bit, get a massage. Nap, meal and head to the rink. You’re welcome to join me. You’ve got a ticket at the desk for the game. You sure you don’t want to sit with the other team guests? Or if there’s someone you know in the city, I could ask for another.”

  Bridget shook her head. She’d be fine on her own.

  The elevator opened, and Mike walked her to her door. He leaned down, gave her another of those tantalizingly brief kisses, and then strode off. Bridget went to sleep dreaming about the kiss.

  In the morning, Mike sent her a text, asking her to meet him for breakfast in the lobby. It was early but she was used to early rising and was already awake. She had time to swim laps before showering and meeting him. He was waiting at a table for her, and she couldn’t help smiling at him. The playoff beard was just playoff stubble now, but it looked good.

  Some fans from Toronto had made their way to Philly, and Mike was greeted and offered good wishes. An occasional glance was thrown Bridget’s way, but the focus was always on Mike.

  There was a bus waiting to take the team to the rink, but Mike hailed a cab. He answered her questioning look. “Surprise.”

  At the rink, he gave her a lanyard with a security pass, and they made their way into the warren of dressing rooms and workout rooms that were off-limits to fans. The rest of the team wasn’t there yet, but the trainers, coaches, valets and equipment managers were all at work. Mike directed her to head out toward the ice, saying he’d join her soon.

  She made her way through the tunnel the team used to reach the ice, staring up where thousands of rabid fans would soon be filling the seats, yelling, cheering, playing along with their team in spirit. She watched the Zamboni leaving the ice, thinking how quiet the arena was now. A man was standing at the bench, and looked up when she had made her way there.

  “Bridget?”

  She nodded. She had never seen this man before, so didn’t know who he was. But he bent over and straightened back up with a pair of hockey skates.

  “You wear a men’s eight?”

  Puzzled, she nodded again, slowly.

  “Try these on.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Reimer wants you skating.” The tone was neutral, but Bridget could guess that this was not normal protocol.

  She sat down and slid her foot into a skate. “Perfect,” she said. She went to lace up the skates, but he laid her foot on his lap and started tightening them for her.

  “I can do that,” Bridget protested.

  “No problem,” he said, deft
ly tying the laces, and then holding out the other skate.

  When he was done, Bridget stood up. She moved her feet; they felt good.

  The man waved to the ice. Bridget looked at it, unbelievingly. “Really?”

  He nodded.

  “Thanks...” She paused.

  “Jack,” he said.

  “Thanks so much, Jack,” she said, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the sheet of ice.

  It was exhilarating. She hadn’t been able to skate much this year, and having the huge ice to herself was a treat. She lapped the boards, skated forward, then back.

  She turned around at a sound, and saw Mike arriving from the tunnel. He was wearing his pads and carrying his helmet as well as two sticks, and a bucket of pucks.

  Bridget skated over. “This is fantastic! Excellent surprise.”

  Mike grinned. “Oh, that’s not the surprise. I’m giving you a chance to win your bet.”

  Bridget realized one stick was his goalie stick. The other was a skater’s stick, which he passed to her, along with the bucket of pucks. “Let me finish my warm-up and I’ll be with you.”

  Bridget looked at him incredulously. Then she dumped some pucks on the ice and started shooting.

  Mike finally finished his stretches and skated to the net. He scuffed the ice in the goalie crease with his skates, tapped the goalposts, did a rotation around the net and then settled into his goalie stance.

  “Start from the blue line, anytime.”

  Bridget grabbed a puck with her stick, and made her way back to the blue line. She stared at the net, considering. Then she chose an angle to one side and made her first attempt.

  She wasn’t bad, she knew. But there was no denying Mike was not just good: he was the best. He had some ability to sense where she planned to shoot before she did. She didn’t give up. Sometime he’d be just a little too slow, and then the McLaren was hers for at least one drive.

  It might have been fifteen minutes, then the rest of the team started to arrive. They were startled to see a girl firing pucks at their goalie. Most weren’t sure what to say, but Troy Green was always happy to shoot his mouth off.