Chapter Nine #2
Instead, the omission made him think of the quote more often. She could have used it. Nobody except Matvei would have known when he said it or whether he believed the conversation had ended. The sentence would have made him sound generous, perhaps even less threatened by Cole than people assumed.
She had left it out because it did not belong to her.
Matvei closed the article and set the phone facedown on the nightstand.
One careful decision did not mean she deserved space in his pregame thoughts.
He stayed in bed until the alarm sounded, though he had been awake the entire time.
The Atlantic Centre looked different when Matvei returned.
Television lights illuminated the plaza outside. Fans packed the sidewalks in navy and silver, though clusters of red Ottawa jerseys moved between them. Security directed the crowds toward the entrances while music carried across the concrete from speakers near the main doors.
Inside the players’ area, everything remained familiar.
His clean jersey hung inside the stall. His mask rested on the shelf above it, freshly wiped and positioned beside his gloves. Two sticks leaned against the wall, both taped exactly the way he preferred.
The order helped.
Matvei changed slowly, following the routine without needing to think about each step. Base layer. Socks. Pants. Skates loose until after warmup. He retaped the knob of one stick even though he had done it that morning.
Joona sat a few seats down staring at the floor.
Matvei watched him for several seconds.
“You sick?”
Joona looked up. “No.”
“You look sick.”
“First game.”
“Ah.”
Joona frowned. “You never nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Matvei picked up his glove and inspected the palm. “Nervous is fine.”
“You say goalies crazy.”
“Also true.”
Joona lowered his voice. “What if first shift bad?”
“Then second shift.”
“What if second bad?”
“Third.”
“And if all bad?”
“Then coach sends you Finland.”
Joona stared at him.
Matvei waited.
The winger finally shook his head. “You are asshole.”
“But now you are not nervous.”
A laugh escaped Joona before he could prevent it.
Viktor passed him and tapped the rookie’s helmet. “Belly’s right about one thing. First shift doesn’t decide your career.”
“He say coach send me Finland.”
“That part’s probably true.”
Joona rolled his eyes, but the tightness had left his shoulders.
Across the room, Cole finished taping his stick and looked toward Matvei.
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
Cole held out a fist.
Matvei bumped it once with his own.
“Have fun,” Cole said.
Matvei almost laughed. Goaltenders told one another that before games because nobody else understood how unreasonable it sounded. There was very little fun in standing alone while eighteen thousand people watched for the moment you failed.
Still, as Matvei pulled the mask over his head and followed the team toward the tunnel, he felt something close to it.
The arena announcer’s voice filled the building. The roar waiting beyond the doors grew louder. Then, the Convoy were released onto the ice.
The first Ottawa shot came thirty-four seconds into the game.
A defenseman lost the puck along the offensive blue line, sending Ottawa back through the neutral zone with two forwards against one. The puck carrier stayed wide while his teammate drove the middle, forcing Halifax’s lone defenseman to protect the pass.
Matvei came beyond the top of the crease.
The shooter looked toward the middle and released the puck low toward the far pad.
Matvei held his feet until the shot left the stick, dropped and kicked the rebound hard toward the boards.
The crowd cheered as though he had stopped a breakaway.
He rose immediately.
That was what he needed.
Not a spectacular save. Not proof that anything had changed.
The first puck had reached him, and he had stopped it.
Ottawa controlled the opening minutes. Rivalry games often began that way, both teams moving faster than necessary and finishing every available hit to establish something everyone already understood.
A Halifax defenseman drove an Ottawa forward into the glass behind Matvei’s net. The crowd roared. On the next shift, Ottawa answered with a hit along the opposite boards that sent Joona briefly to the ice.
Joona stood quickly and stayed in the play.
Matvei noticed.
Six minutes into the game, he stopped a point shot through traffic and held the rebound against his chest. An Ottawa forward jabbed once at his glove after the whistle.
Matvei stood and pushed him away with the blocker.
The forward said something Matvei could not hear through the crowd.
“What?” Matvei asked.
The forward leaned closer. “Long season, Belly.”
Matvei looked toward the scoreboard.
“Longer for you.”
A defenseman arrived and moved the forward away before the conversation became more interesting.
Halifax found its footing midway through the period.
Joona created the first goal.
He chased an Ottawa defenseman behind the net, took away the reverse and forced the puck up the wall. Viktor intercepted it near the half boards and sent a quick pass toward the slot. Joona continued through the middle, drawing both defenders with him and leaving the trailing center open.
The shot beat the goaltender high glove.
The Atlantic Centre erupted.
Joona raised both arms, then turned toward the scorer before realizing the puck had not touched his stick. Viktor wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pointed toward him as the rest of the line joined the celebration.
The assist would be Joona’s first NHL point.
Matvei remained in his crease at the opposite end and tapped his stick against the ice.
Joona saw him.
Even from that distance, Matvei could see the smile spread beneath the rookie’s visor.
Halifax carried the lead into the first intermission.
Matvei had stopped eleven shots.
As he skated toward the tunnel, the crowd stood and cheered. The noise followed him from the ice into the corridor, fading only when the locker room doors closed behind the team.
McDonough entered several minutes later carrying the period summary.
“Good start,” he said. “Now stop playing like Ottawa insulted every one of your mothers. We don’t need eight guys below the hash marks every time somebody throws a hit.”
A few players laughed.
McDonough pointed at the defensemen. “Manage the puck. They’re waiting for us to force plays through the middle.”
Then he turned toward Joona.
“Nice work on the forecheck, kid.”
Joona nodded.
McDonough continued speaking before the praise could become an event, but Matvei saw the winger sit a little straighter.
The second period opened with Halifax on the penalty kill.
Ottawa moved the puck around the perimeter, forcing Matvei to track through a screen near the top of his crease. The first shot hit him in the chest. The second missed wide and caromed hard off the end boards.
The puck reached an Ottawa forward below the circle before Matvei could recover to the opposite post.
He pushed across and sealed the ice.
The forward tried to lift the puck beneath the crossbar. Matvei caught it against the outside of his glove and pulled it into his body before it dropped.
The whistle sounded.
The crowd rose.
Matvei remained on one knee for a moment, feeling the puck secured inside the glove. A year earlier, he might have reached too quickly and opened the post. He might have pushed farther than necessary and lost his balance.
This time, his body had gone exactly where he asked it to.
He returned the puck to the official.
Ottawa tied the game eight minutes later.
The play began with a faceoff loss in Halifax’s zone. A shot from the point changed direction twice before reaching the net, first off a defenseman’s stick and then off the shaft of an Ottawa forward’s stick near the hash marks.
Matvei reacted to the original shot.
The deflection went the other way.
He looked behind him as the puck struck the netting.
The building fell quiet, though only for a second. The Ottawa fans gathered behind the visiting bench stood and cheered while the rest of the arena settled into an uneasy murmur.
Matvei skated toward the corner and took a drink.
There was nothing to fix.
He knew that, but the goal still felt familiar in the worst way. The silence. The eyes. The instant suspicion that one puck might become another.
Cole leaned over the boards as Matvei skated past the bench.
“Nothing you can do.”
Matvei nodded, then returned to the crease.
The next shot came less than a minute later, a low attempt from the right circle. He directed it cleanly toward the corner. Then he stopped another through traffic and froze the rebound.
The building loosened around him.
Halifax regained the lead late in the period on the power play. Viktor finished a pass through the crease, giving Joona the secondary assist and his second point of the night.
The third period began with Halifax leading 2-1.
Ottawa pushed immediately.
The rivalry changed once the clock became a factor. The hits remained, but the careless emotion disappeared. Every decision became sharper. Defensemen pinched lower. Forwards stayed on the ice longer. Ottawa sent pucks toward the crease from every angle, hoping for a rebound or deflection.
Matvei saw twenty-one shots through the first two periods.
He faced fourteen in the third.
The most dangerous came with just under four minutes remaining.
Halifax failed to clear the zone, and an Ottawa defenseman kept the puck inside the blue line.
A pass moved quickly toward the right circle, pulling the penalty killers across with it.
The winger held the puck long enough for Matvei to set, then sent it through the slot toward a teammate near the back post.
Matvei pushed left.
The receiver released the puck immediately.
For an instant, Matvei knew he was late.
He extended the glove anyway.
The puck struck the edge of the pocket and disappeared inside it.
The sound that followed seemed to shake the glass behind him.