Chapter Twelve #3
Joona scored early in the second.
The play began on the power play. Finland moved the puck around the perimeter until Russia’s penalty killers shifted toward the right side. Joona waited near the left circle, stick raised.
The pass reached him.
He released it immediately.
Matvei pushed across, but the puck traveled above his pad and beneath his glove before he sealed the angle.
The goal light flashed.
Joona raised both arms.
The arena erupted around him.
Tessa looked toward the family section. Joona’s mother held both hands over her mouth. His father stood beside her shouting toward the ice while the rest of their group embraced one another.
Joona skated past Russia’s crease on the way to the bench.
Matvei tapped the back of his leg with the blade of his stick.
Joona turned and said something.
Matvei shook his head.
Tessa typed the sequence into her notes.
Joona Salonen scored for Finland in his hometown on Christmas Eve, beating the teammate who had spent three months telling him every goal was luck.
She stared at the sentence.
Too light for the opening of the game story.
Perfect for the feature she would write later.
Finland carried the lead into the second intermission.
Russia changed the game in the third.
They tied it less than four minutes into the period, then took the lead after forcing a turnover near Finland’s blue line. Matvei stopped nine shots over the final fifteen minutes, including another chance from Joona in nearly the same location as his goal.
This time, Matvei caught it cleanly.
He held his glove up for an extra second.
Joona stared at him.
Matvei returned the puck to the official with visible satisfaction.
Russia added an empty-net goal.
The final score was 4-2.
Tessa filed a quick version of the game story before leaving the press box. Her opening centered on the contrast: Joona had given his hometown the moment it wanted, but Matvei and Russia had taken the result.
The mixed zones were held on opposite sides of the arena.
Tessa went to Finland first.
Joona appeared disappointed but not crushed. He had scored in front of his family, and no loss in the opening game could erase that.
“What will you remember more,” a Finnish reporter asked, “the goal or the result?”
“The result now,” Joona said. “Maybe goal later.”
Tessa waited until several questions passed.
“What did Matvei say when you skated by after the goal?”
Joona’s expression improved.
“He says lucky.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
“What did you say after he stopped you in the third?”
Joona looked toward the Russian mixed zone somewhere beyond the wall.
“I say next one.”
Tessa smiled.
“That sounds familiar.”
Joona nodded. “He teaches.”
She gathered several more quotes, then crossed to Russia.
Matvei stood beneath a tournament backdrop wearing a red tracksuit and the expression of someone determined not to show how satisfied he was.
Russian reporters filled the first rows. Tessa waited until the English questions began.
“Was Joona’s goal lucky?” she asked.
Matvei looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
The surrounding reporters laughed.
“He seemed to think otherwise.”
“He is wrong.”
“What changed for you after Finland took the lead?”
“We stop giving puck away.”
“And personally? You seemed to settle into the game as it went on.”
“I was settled.”
Tessa lifted an eyebrow.
Matvei noticed.
“Mostly,” he amended.
That drew another laugh.
She asked about the save on Joona in the third period, then about the atmosphere. Matvei spoke briefly about enjoying a loud road environment and the challenge of facing Finland in Helsinki.
The answers were useful.
Nothing about the exchange felt personal.
That was probably for the best.
By the time Tessa returned to the press box, her first deadline had already passed.
She updated the game story, wrote a separate Joona piece and sent both to Elaine.
The editor responded with minor questions on the second story, then asked for a notebook item involving Canada’s practice the following morning.
Tessa made the revisions.
When she finally closed the laptop, most of the media workroom had emptied.
She checked the time and swore under her breath.
The final media shuttle back to the hotel had left seven minutes earlier.
Tessa had known the schedule. It was printed on the credential packet and saved as a photograph in her phone. She had simply stopped noticing time while finishing the Joona piece.
She packed quickly and followed the signs toward the media exit.
Outside, the temperature had fallen.
Wind moved in from the water, pushing loose snow along the pavement and finding every opening between Tessa’s scarf and coat. She pulled the fabric higher around her face and opened the rideshare app recommended in the tournament information.
The first screen appeared in Finnish.
Tessa changed the language setting on her phone.
The app remained in Finnish.
She closed it and reopened it. Nothing changed.
A map showed her location near the arena, surrounded by symbols she assumed represented available cars. Every button led to another screen she could not understand.
Tessa tried a second app.
It required a local phone number.
She stood beneath the overhang near the arena entrance, watching the number of people around her decline. Team buses waited beyond the security barrier. Volunteers said goodnight and disappeared toward the tram station on the opposite side of the building.
The tram.
Tessa opened the transit map.
Three lines appeared to pass near the arena. None seemed to go directly toward her hotel. The directions required a transfer at a stop whose name she could not pronounce and another walk through streets she had not seen in daylight.
She could do it.
Probably.
A gust of wind pushed against her coat.
The wool blocked some of it.
Not enough.
Tessa shoved the phone into her pocket and tried the rideshare app again.
The Russian team emerged through the secured doors.
Players moved toward the bus in small groups, carrying equipment bags and wearing matching winter coats. Tessa stepped farther beneath the overhang. She had no interest in asking anyone for assistance, particularly not while carrying a credential identifying her as a reporter.
Matvei appeared near the end.
He wore a black knit hat and a heavy dark coat zipped halfway up his chest. A team bag rested over one shoulder. He spoke briefly with a member of Russia’s staff, then handed the bag to an equipment manager loading the bus.
The staff member gestured toward the open door.
Matvei shook his head.
He pointed toward the street.
The staff member looked unsurprised. He said something, received a dismissive wave in response and climbed aboard without him.
Matvei adjusted his gloves and started walking away from the bus.
He was going back on foot.
Of course he was.
His hotel was across from Tessa’s. The route would take him through the same part of the city.
Tessa looked down at the incomprehensible app.
Then she looked toward Matvei.
He had already seen her.
He stopped several yards away, eyes moving from her phone to the arena doors and back.
“You wait for someone?”
“No.”
Matvei glanced toward the road. “Car?”
“I’m trying.”
“You do not know how?”
“I know how rideshare works.”
He looked at the screen she was holding.
“This is not working?”
He stepped closer and accepted the phone when she held it out. He studied the app for several seconds, tapped two buttons and produced another Finnish screen.
“You know Finnish?” Tessa asked.
“No.”
“Then this is going well.”
Matvei returned the phone.
“Media bus?”
“I missed it.”
“How?”
“I was working.”
“You are always working.”
The observation would have felt teasing if it had not been true.
“I lost track of time.”
Matvei looked toward the road again. “Hotel is thirty minutes walk.”
“I know.”
“I walk.”
“I heard.”
“You heard?”
“I saw you decline the bus.”
His attention returned to her.
For a second, Tessa became aware of how closely she had been watching.
She shifted the laptop bag higher onto her shoulder.
“You like the cold,” she added.
“Yes.”
Matvei looked at her coat.
“You do not.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“This is becoming repetitive.”
“You still have bad coat.”
Tessa pulled the coat more tightly around herself. “I can walk.”
Matvei glanced toward the street, then back at her.
“Come.”
The word was not an invitation so much as an assumption.
He turned toward the sidewalk.
Tessa hesitated.
Walking alone through an unfamiliar city after dark was not ideal. Walking thirty minutes with a player she covered created a different collection of concerns, though none she could articulate without making the interaction more significant than it was.
They were staying across the street from each other.
He knew the route.
It was Christmas Eve.
She was freezing.
Tessa followed him.
For the first several minutes, they spoke only about directions.
Matvei had walked the route from the arena the day before, despite the team arranging transportation after practice. He preferred moving through a city on foot, he explained, particularly when the temperature drove most people indoors.
The sidewalks had been cleared, but snow remained packed along the edges. Holiday lights stretched above the streets, reflecting across windows and patches of ice. Shops had closed early for Christmas Eve, leaving only restaurants and hotel lobbies illuminated.
The city felt suspended.
Tessa walked beside Matvei with her hands buried inside her coat pockets. His stride was longer, though he adjusted it without making the change obvious.
“You really walked this yesterday?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“You could have taken the bus.”
“I know.”
“Most people would.”
“I am not most people.”
Tessa glanced toward him. “I had noticed.”
His mouth moved slightly.
The wind eased once they moved away from the waterfront. Without it, the cold became manageable again. Their footsteps created a steady rhythm against the pavement.
For the first time since meeting him, Tessa stood beside Matvei without a recorder, notebook or question she had prepared in advance.