Actually, that wasn’t the worst part for Bridget. Her mom needed someone to take her to see Mike. She wouldn’t drive downtown. Bridget, who had time off in the middle of the day, was the one who would have to chauffeur this trip. She expected an awkward meeting, but Mike had said yes for some unknown reason, so they pulled into the closest parking garage and carried a bag with soup, rolls and pie into the lobby of Mike’s expensive hotel.
Mike had a suite on one of the top floors. Once the front desk let him know they’d arrived, a bellboy went up the elevator with them to let them into his suite. Bridget followed her mother down a hallway with a couple of bedrooms, and came out to the main room, with a combined seating, dining and kitchen area surrounded by windows with sweeping views of the lake. Not bad, Bridget thought.
“Mrs. O’Reilly, Bridget, thanks for coming. Sorry, I can’t get up very well...”
Bridget finally got a good look at Mike.
He was stretched out on a couch with his cast resting on a pillow. He had a couple of remotes beside him, as if he’d just turned off the TV or video gaming system set up across the room from him. He looked tired, stressed and not very welcoming. You didn’t have to invite us, Bridget thought. But then he smiled, a tired, but friendly smile.
“Please, have a seat.”
There were several seats to choose from: the room was bigger than Bridget’s whole apartment.
“I’ll take this stuff over to the kitchen area,” Bridget said, transporting the bags to the other side of the island.
Her mom put her coat on the edge of a chair. Then she crossed over to Mike and put a hand on his forehead. She adjusted a couple of cushions.
“How’s that? Are you doing okay? Don’t you have someone staying with you?”
“Much better, thank you. I’m doing as well as expected. I don’t need an attendant, as long as I’m careful.”
Her mother gave him a look she’d given to Bridget as well as her brothers many times.
“And of course you’re careful?” she said, disbelievingly. “I could tell you about my kids...”
Bridget paused as she put the soup in the mostly empty refrigerator. Just what stories was her mother planning to share? Fortunately there were more stories about her brothers than herself. Her mom apparently didn’t believe the broken arm she’d gotten in the superhero contest the boys had invented was very funny, but Bridget thought Mike was looking less gloomy. Misery loves company.
Bridget sat on the edge of the love seat that faced Mike’s couch while her mother learned the details of the injury, and the resulting recovery process. She looked around. It was a nice suite, though rather corporate—bland and not at all homey. She noticed some weights, a bench, and a complicated home gym over near the windows. She was sure that wasn’t part of the original hotel decor but it would explain the dining table pushed back against the wall. Mike must be working out here while he was recuperating. That made sense: she couldn’t really picture him hobbling to the hotel gym. She tried to imagine how much a suite like this would cost, and couldn’t even come up with a ballpark figure.
She came back to the conversation when she heard her name.
“Don’t you, Bridget?” her mother was saying with a disapproving look.
“Don’t I what?”
“You work out after your morning swim practices.”
“Yeees...” Bridget agreed cautiously.
“Mike wants to fit in some additional workouts when the team people aren’t around, so you could help Mike in the mornings. He has to be especially careful with that cast.”
Bridget’s mother cast a doubtful look at what was around Mike’s ankle. As kids, they’d always had the familiar plaster casts, but while Bridget had been fortunate enough to keep her bones intact while competing, she’d seen these casts. This one was blue plastic, with inflatable padding, and could be removed as needed. Mike had left it open, probably anxious to avoid as much muscle atrophy as possible.
Bridget had helped teammates do their workouts with those soft casts, but that was a whole different thing than working out with Mike Reimer. Bridget opened her mouth to object. Mike beat her to the punch.
“I couldn’t impose. I’m sure Bridget is too busy for that.”
Bridget looked at her mother. She was giving Bridget that look, the “didn’t I raise you properly?” look. What was her mother thinking? Mike could have all the help anyone needed, so why would he need her? She turned to look at Mike, and, for just a moment he looked—sad? Lonely?
“Don’t you have people from the team coming in every day?” Bridget asked.
“Of course, if I want to do additional workouts, I’ll be fine on my own. It’s not like I haven’t worked out before. I understand, you’re busy.”
Was he actually lonely, maybe bored here, all on his own? Where were the beautiful women coming to keep him company? His entourage? Did hockey players have those?
“And what are you eating? Do you only have access to hotel food?” Bridget’s mom spoke as if she were referring to a school cafeteria rather than a starred restaurant. “I’d be happy to send you some. I always make too much.”
Bridget knew her mother would be thrilled to have someone else to cook for. And she also knew who her mother would enlist to deliver the food. Well, if she was being pressed to come by anyway...she bit her lip. “Mike, it wouldn’t be a horrific inconvenience to come over sometimes and work out with you. But I feel like we’re imposing.”
Mike sighed, and his shoulders dropped. “Honestly, it would be nice to see someone from time to time. I’m not a good patient. Too much time on my own and I get a little...restless.”
Bridget’s mother smiled. “I know what it’s like. I raised six kids, and none of them were good at being sidelined. I can send some of the boys over in the evenings as well. Just till you’re back on your feet. You tell them when you’ve had enough and I’ll make sure they don’t overstay their welcome. Now, I’ll go warm up that soup for you.”
Her mother headed over to the kitchen area. An occasional mutter about the pots was all they heard from her for a while.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Bridget asked, watching him closely.
Mike let his head rest against the back of the couch. “Really, I don’t. Most of the day I have nothing to do but watch sports channels talk about whether Turchenko is going to be the permanent starter. If you could take pity on me, it would at least distract me for a while and I’d feel like I was doing something to keep my job.”
“Then I guess you’ve got a spotter for the duration. And a food delivery service, if I know my mother. Cormack’s the only one still living at home, so she has a lot of mothering not being used.”
* * *
THE NEXT DAY Bridget stood in front of the suite doorway, backpack containing her post-workout clothing on her shoulders, and carrying a cooler with her mother’s next installment of food. Her hair was still a little wet from the pool. Tony had been into splashing this morning. Bridget had restrained herself from drying her hair. She was only here to do a workout. How she looked didn’t matter. Still, she’d made sure to wear her least ratty sweats.
She’d been provided with a key card to get in so that she didn’t have to disturb the bellboys or make Mike hobble down the hallway. She’d texted him to let him know she was at the hotel. She was nervous, even though Mike sounded as if he’d like some company. She’d worked out with many people, including men, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe it was because he was such a highly paid athlete. Or because guys could have real ego issues if they were challenged by