Chapter Two #2
Instead, he appeared to reconsider.
“Good luck.”
Tessa smiled. “Thanks.”
She assumed he meant with the interview.
Belov noticed her before she reached his stall. His gaze settled on her as she crossed the final few feet, his expression neutral enough that she couldn't tell whether he was waiting for her to speak or hoping she would change direction.
Up close, he was somehow more imposing than he'd appeared from across the room.
He wasn't only tall. He was broad through the chest and shoulders, built in a way that made the folding chair beneath him look too small.
His damp hair had started to dry in uneven waves around his ears, and his eyes were a softer brown than she expected.
They flicked briefly toward the credential hanging from her neck before returning to her face.
He didn't recognize her.
Of course he didn't.
She was another new face in a room full of reporters, holding the same recorder and notebook as everyone else.
Tessa offered a small smile anyway.
“Hi. Tessa Brantley, Halifax Tribune.”
Belov didn't react to the name. He gave a single nod, acknowledging the introduction without offering one of his own.
“It's nice to meet you,” she said.
Another nod.
That was fine. Not especially warm, but fine.
She clicked on her recorder and glanced once at the questions in her notebook before looking back at him.
“You've talked this summer about wanting to get back to your game after last season. What was your biggest focus during the offseason?”
Belov didn't answer right away.
His gaze moved from her face to the recorder in her hand. For a moment, Tessa wondered whether he hadn't understood the question or whether the room was too loud for him to hear it clearly.
Then his eyes returned to hers.
“Winning.”
She waited.
The single word sat between them while conversations continued throughout the room. A reporter laughed somewhere behind her. A trainer zipped an equipment bag closed. Belov reached for the towel around his neck and rubbed it over the back of his hair.
There had to be more.
Tessa had expected a polished answer about consistency or technique. Even a vague response about giving the team a chance to win would have given her somewhere to go.
Belov offered nothing else.
She tried again.
“Was there anything specific you wanted to work on? Your positioning? Your movement? I know you spent time back in Russia with your old goalie coach.”
His expression changed almost imperceptibly.
The warmth she'd seen when he was speaking with teammates had already disappeared, but now his eyes narrowed slightly. Not enough to appear openly angry. Just enough for Tessa to recognize that something about the question had bothered him.
“You know already.”
She blinked.
“I'm just wondering what-”
“You know answer.”
The interruption stopped her.
For the first time since entering the room, Tessa became aware of how exposed she was standing beside his stall. The conversations around them hadn't stopped, but the space between them suddenly felt much quieter.
She kept her voice even.
“I'd rather hear it from you. I'd like your perspective.”
Belov leaned back in his chair and studied her.
His expression was unreadable, but his silence didn't feel uncertain. It felt deliberate, as though he were deciding how much patience the conversation deserved.
“You don't.”
Tessa tightened her fingers around the recorder.
“I do.”
He gave the slightest shake of his head, not quite dismissive and not quite amused. It was the reaction of someone who believed she'd just confirmed whatever he had already decided about her.
“You already have story.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Tessa had spent most of the previous night preparing because she didn't want to walk into the room with a story already written.
She wanted his voice. His explanation. She had carefully avoided framing the questions around blame, decline or pressure, and somehow he had heard all of those things anyway.
Before she could explain any of that, Belov planted both feet on the floor and pushed himself to his full height.
Tessa had to tip her chin upward to maintain eye contact.
He slung the towel over one shoulder, then nodded once toward the recorder in her hand. The gesture felt like an accusation.
Without another word, he stepped around her and walked toward the training room.
Tessa remained beside the empty stall with the recorder still running.
She watched Belov disappear through the doorway, half expecting him to turn back or for someone from communications to stop him. Neither happened. The trainer's room door swung shut behind him, and the rest of the locker room continued as though nothing unusual had occurred.
She clicked off the recorder.
Tessa had been part of awkward interviews before. She had asked poorly worded questions, stumbled over names and spent entire conversations trying to pull usable sentences from teenagers who answered everything with “yeah” or “I don't know.”
She had never been dismissed before she'd gotten a quote.
Embarrassment spread warmly across her face and down the back of her neck. She resisted the urge to look around and see who had witnessed it. The answer, she suspected, was everyone close enough to hear.
A quiet, sympathetic chuckle came from behind her.
“Told you.”
Tessa turned and found Rick standing several feet away, his microphone dangling loosely from one hand. He gave her a shrug that was equal parts apology and amusement.
“Don't take it personally.”
Tessa looked back toward the hallway where Belov had disappeared. The empty stall felt like evidence of something she still didn't understand.
“Does he always do that?”
Rick smiled.
“No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“He usually gives us even less.”