He smiled when he saw her. She smiled back, hesitantly. “So, what’s the plan?”
“The trainers are taking care of my leg, keeping the muscles working around the broken ankle. I need to do the upper body, and core work, maybe the rest of my leg work tomorrow. Since I can’t do any cardio until I’m okayed to swim, it’s just weights for now.”
Bridget cast an eye over his equipment. It was comprehensive.
“Looks like you should have everything you need. I was going to fill up my water bottle—some for you too?”
He nodded, already concentrating on setting up the bar for his first reps. She got the water and grabbed some towels. They began.
Bridget stood over the bar, ready to spot in case Mike got in trouble. He had more weights on it than she used, but he was a big guy, and he had different goals for his conditioning than she did. He settled in place, told her how many reps he was intending, and they started.
Once she was in a familiar routine, Bridget found she was calmer. She was also more aware of Mike as a man. She’d seen him, somewhat vaguely, at the pool, and she’d seen him in jeans when they played road ball and in dress clothes at the rink. But now he was wearing only those shorts and she could get a good look at just how fit he was.
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.