Chapter Five #2
She had learned years ago that reading reactions during a game made it harder to see what was actually happening.
Fans remembered the story they expected.
If Belov allowed another goal, the first would become evidence.
If he stopped the next twenty shots, many of the same people would forget they had posted anything.
Her job was to watch.
The Convoy tied the game before the end of the period, but Belov faced the more difficult chances. He stopped a breakaway with his left pad after a defenseman lost the puck at center ice. Less than a minute later, he tracked a deflection through traffic and held it against his chest.
The saves weren’t dramatic. There was no windmill glove or sprawling desperation.
He simply looked set.
The early goal had not changed his pace.
During the first intermission, Tessa rewrote the beginning of her game story three times. The original version focused on Halifax’s young forwards. The next led with Belov’s early mistake. The third attempted to balance the two and became so awkward she deleted the entire paragraph.
The second period gave her more to work with.
Halifax took the lead four minutes in on a power-play goal from Sundberg.
The visitors responded with sustained pressure, forcing Belov to stop three shots in less than ten seconds.
The first hit his pads. The second came through a screen and caught the top of his blocker.
The rebound dropped into the slot, where another forward attempted to lift it over him.
Belov pushed across and stopped the shot with the edge of his glove.
The building erupted.
Tessa looked down at her notes and realized she had stopped typing.
The replay appeared above center ice. Belov’s movement looked even better in slow motion. He had tracked the rebound immediately and stayed compact rather than reaching with his upper body.
She added the sequence to her notes.
Late in the period, he stopped another rush from nearly the same angle as the first goal. This time he remained patient, held his feet and directed the shot into the corner.
Tessa noticed the adjustment.
She wondered whether anyone else had.
By the third period, she had settled into the deadline rhythm she had watched other reporters follow for years. She wrote during stoppages, looked up before faceoffs and kept one hand near the keyboard whenever the puck entered the offensive zone.
Halifax added another goal early in the period.
Pittsburgh scored during a delayed penalty with six minutes remaining, cutting the lead to one.
Belov had little chance on the play. A pass through the crease left him moving in the opposite direction, and the puck reached the shooter before he could recover.
The final minutes felt longer than the first fifty-four combined.
Pittsburgh’s goaltender went to the bench with just under two minutes remaining. Halifax failed twice to clear the zone, and Belov stopped a shot from the point through three bodies. A rebound fell near the side of the crease, but he covered it before anyone could reach the puck.
The final faceoff came with eleven seconds left.
Tessa stopped writing.
The puck dropped, the Convoy won the draw and Sundberg sent it down the length of the ice as the horn sounded.
Halifax 3. Pittsburgh 2.
Belov had stopped twenty-eight of thirty shots.
Not perfect.
Good.
The distinction would matter.
The press box emptied quickly after the horn. Television crews hurried toward the elevators while writers remained at their desks, filing quick versions of their stories before heading downstairs for interviews.
Tessa saved her document and read the first paragraph once.
Matvei Belov’s first preseason start began with the kind of goal that defined too much of his previous season. It ended with the Convoy goaltender looking far more like the version Halifax believes it can trust again.
She liked it.
Maybe.
There wasn’t time to decide.
Tessa grabbed her recorder and notebook and followed the crowd toward the elevator.
The hallway outside the dressing room felt different after a game.
Players and staff moved quickly between the training room and coaches’ offices.
Equipment carts crowded the walls. Reporters checked the time repeatedly, calculating how many minutes remained before their deadlines became uncomfortable.
Tessa stood behind the gray line and looked through her notes while they waited.
Her first question for Belov was already written.
She crossed it out.
Then rewrote it with fewer words.
When the dressing room opened, the media moved immediately toward the players who had scored. Sundberg drew the largest crowd near the center of the room, while several reporters gathered around a young defenseman who had played nearly twenty-five minutes.
Belov remained seated in the far corner, still wearing his base layer and hockey pants. Sweat darkened his hair, and a towel hung over one shoulder. His expression gave no indication whether he was satisfied with the performance.
A television crew reached him first.
Tessa stayed near the outside of the group, holding her recorder between two other microphones.
“How important was it to get a win in your first start?” the television reporter asked.
“It is preseason,” Belov said.
“But after last year, did you feel like you needed a strong performance tonight?”
Belov’s jaw tightened slightly. “I want strong performance every game.”
“Did the first goal bring back any of the frustration from last season?”
“No.”
“Were you disappointed with it?”
“Yes.”
The reporter waited for more.
Belov looked toward another questioner.
A radio host asked about the second-period sequence. Belov credited the defense for keeping the play outside, despite the fact that the entire sequence had taken place directly in front of his net.
Another reporter asked how his knee felt.
“Good.”
“Any issues when you had to push across on the rebound chance?”
“No.”
The scrum began to thin. The television crew had enough for its postgame segment, and several reporters moved toward other players.
Tessa remained.
Belov’s eyes shifted toward her, then briefly to the recorder in her hand.
She asked before she could overthink it.