Crossing The Goal Line. Kim Findlay

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СКАЧАТЬ surprised. While he was confident he was better than she was, she was obviously athletic, practiced at road hockey and highly motivated. So was he.

      “So what are the rules?” he asked once they were back on the road. He knocked the sidebars of the net with the stick to check its size and stability. Then he tapped the stick on the road a couple of times and turned to see what she was planning. He could see her focus through the thick glasses.

      “I’m going to score. You’re going to try to stop me. Play to five?”

      “We’ll need to stop before that. You’re not going to score.”

      Eyes blazing, she started.

      * * *

      SHE WAS GOOD. He had to give her that. Much better than he’d expected. She occasionally whiffed completely, but she was fast, smart and very determined. She could place the ball exactly where she wanted, and with a lot of force.

      Mike, however, was better than good. He was one of the best. He’d grown up playing road hockey and it wasn’t a difficult transition from the ice back to the pavement. He had lightning-fast reflexes and could read a player’s intentions from their body language and expression. He was soon in his zone, watching her every move and glance. She didn’t score. She did come close, tested him pretty well, but he was just as determined as she was, and this time, it was his element, not hers.

      After fifteen furious minutes, Bridget called time. Pulling up her face guard, she looked at Mike. He stood up to his full height, shoving up his face guard as well.

      “I guess I owe you an apology,” Bridget said after a pause, her previous anger clearly dissipated.

      Mike looked down at her. “It’s okay. I admit to provoking you. And this was actually a lot of fun. You’re not bad—for a girl.” He grinned at her.

      “You’re not bad, either—for a...for a guy from Quebec,” she countered. “But I should probably get you back now—”

      A car had pulled up on the street behind hers. She turned, and stiffened. A man got out of the car. He was older than Mike and had flaming red hair that matched Bridget’s. Not old enough to be her father—a brother? Uncle? Another car followed, and two more guys got out, neither with the red hair.

      “Hold on, Bridge! We’ll join you in a minute,” said the red-haired man.

      He jogged up to the house and went in the front door. The two non-redheads were pulling gear out of their trunk. Bridget sighed and turned to Mike.

      “Sorry, that’s my brother Patrick.”

      “I’d guessed that.”

      “And two of Cormack’s friends.” She gestured toward the other men who had now opened the garage and were grabbing another net.

      “Cormack must have told them we were playing. They think they’re joining us. If you want to get in the car, I’ll throw this stuff in the garage and we can get you out of here.”

      The sound of the front door closing interrupted her. “Three on three?” Patrick hollered. “Who’s your guy, anyway?”

      “Put your mask back down. I’ll tell them we’re done and get rid of them.”

      Mike thought for a moment. He had no place to go except his hotel, and he’d seen more than enough of that. Maybe it would be fun.

      “Or we could play. Think we can take them?” he offered.

      Bridget whipped back to face him, eyes sparkling. “Really? You have no idea how much I would like to take them down a notch, or ten.”

      Mike had to smile at the way her face lit up. “Sure. I’m having fun. Are you going to tell them who I am?”

      “Are you nuts?” she asked and waved at his mask.

      Mike put the face guard back down. He had no idea where this was going, but it was certainly more interesting than watching hockey on TV alone at the hotel. Playing on the road, no stakes beyond pride: this was what it was like growing up, when he always played goalie because he was the smallest. He wasn’t the smallest anymore. He thought he had at least four inches on any of the others, but that flash of joy he’d felt back then was here.

      * * *

      CORMACK, ANOTHER REDHEAD, came out the front door dressed up in goalie pads while his two buddies set up the second net. Mike wondered what the family was like when all the redheads’ tempers flared.

      Bridget crossed her arms as the four men came down the driveway. “You know, we were just having a bit of fun here. I don’t think Mike wants to play anymore.”

      Mike stood, arms resting on his goalie stick, waiting to see what was coming next. Had she changed her mind?

      “Ah, come on, Bridgie. I’m sure Mike won’t mind a few more minutes. Just a bit of fun,” said the older redhead, Patrick.

      Patrick smiled at Mike. It was a charming smile, meant to sell: either Patrick himself or whatever goods he had on hand. Mike had seen smiles like that, and it put him on his guard. Behind the smile, the eyes were assessing. Assessing him as a player, or as someone spending time with his sister?

      Mike shrugged, leaving Bridget to take the initiative.

      “I’m kind of tired,” she said.

      “I thought you were at the game today?” Cormack asked, a note of resentment in his voice.

      “I was at the game with eight kids,” Bridget corrected him. “That’s not exactly a day at the spa. And no, before you ask, I didn’t get much chance to watch the new guys.”

      “Well, Bridgie—” Patrick began.

      “Don’t call me Bridgie,” she interrupted.

      “We could make it interesting.”

      “Interesting how?” she asked, head tilted oh, so, casually. Mike thought he’d be wary if he were Patrick. Surely he knew his sister by now.

      “A little wager. I’ve got some leaves that need raking.”

      Bridget considered. “My car could use a cleaning.”

      “First to five?”

      “Or whoever is ahead after half an hour. Are you okay with that, Mike?” she asked, turning to look at him.

      Mike nodded.

      “So who’s playing with Mike and me?”

      One of Cormack’s friends, Bernie, was chosen.

      Patrick stopped near Mike and asked casually, “So where did you two meet?”

      Mike looked at Cormack and saw that he was waiting for that answer as well. Bernie also seemed pretty interested. So, the assessment was from a brother, not a player.

      “He’s the guy who got the tickets for the game today,” Bridget answered.

      She СКАЧАТЬ