Chapter Sixteen #3
This time, Matvei pushed across and caught it.
He closed the glove around the puck and held it against his chest.
Joona stopped near the crease.
Matvei looked at him through the mask.
The official separated them before either could create another tournament clip.
Tessa watched the clock.
Ten minutes.
Seven.
Five.
Russia defended more conservatively as the third period continued, collapsing lower and allowing Finland’s defensemen to hold the puck near the blue line. The strategy protected Matvei from passes through the middle but invited shot after shot through traffic.
He found them.
With less than two minutes remaining, Finland pulled its goaltender.
The arena stood.
Tessa did too, though reporters usually remained seated through the final minutes. Nobody around her appeared capable of treating the game as another assignment.
Finland moved the puck around the zone.
Joona remained near the left circle, waiting for the seam Russia refused to give him. A shot from the point struck a body in front and dropped into the slot. Players converged.
Matvei went down.
The puck disappeared beneath skates.
Then Finland’s center lifted it over the bodies and into the net.
Tie game.
The building shook.
Matvei rose slowly.
He looked toward the official, perhaps hoping the puck had been covered or the play stopped. The goal stood.
Thirty-seven seconds remained.
Neither team scored again.
Sudden-death overtime.
Tessa erased half the lead she had written for a Russian victory.
The tournament final would continue until someone ended it.
She looked toward the ice.
Matvei stood near Russia’s bench during the intermission, helmet pushed back while the coaches spoke. Joona sat at Finland’s end with a towel around his neck, chest rising heavily after the final shift.
One of them would win.
One would have to answer questions afterward about why he did not.
Tessa hated that her first thought was for Matvei.
She forced herself to begin outlining both endings.
Overtime began with Finland carrying the puck.
The tournament used five-on-five for the championship rather than the open three-on-three format of the NHL regular season. Every mistake carried too much weight to manufacture space artificially.
The first five minutes produced little.
Russia generated the best chance when a forward reached the slot alone, but Finland’s goaltender stopped the shot beneath his arm.
Matvei answered with a save on a partial breakaway.
The crowd rose and fell with every possession.
Tessa stopped typing.
She recorded notes by instinct, short phrases entered without looking down.
6:14 OT. Belov right pad on break.
8:02. Russia 2-on-1, Finland save glove.
10:47. Joona shot wide from left circle.
The players became more cautious as overtime stretched beyond ten minutes. Shifts shortened. Changes occurred quickly. Defensemen stopped pinching unless support was certain.
Joona left the ice after a long shift, bent over briefly at the bench and returned less than two minutes later.
Tessa noticed Matvei track him as he entered the zone.
Of course he did.
Joona carried the puck through center, moved it to the right wing and continued toward the net. The Russian defense forced the puck carrier outside. Matvei set at the top of the crease, reading shot.
The pass came instead.
Joona had slipped behind the second defenseman.
The puck crossed the slot.
Matvei pushed left.
Joona received it near the bottom of the circle and released immediately.
Matvei extended his glove.
For a fraction of a second, Tessa believed he had it.
The puck struck the edge of the pocket, changed direction and entered the net.
Joona froze.
The red light came on.
Finland’s bench emptied.
The sound that followed erased everything else.
Joona disappeared beneath teammates near the boards. Gloves, sticks and helmets scattered across the ice as Finland piled around him. The crowd screamed his name. His family’s section became a blur of arms, flags and tears.
At the other end, Matvei remained on one knee.
His glove rested against the ice where he had reached for the puck.
Russia’s defenseman skated toward him and placed one hand on his shoulder.
Matvei did not move immediately.
Tessa’s chest tightened.
Finland had won.
Joona had scored the sudden-death championship goal in his hometown.
It was the ending every writer would have invented and rejected for being too perfect.
Tessa began typing.
The first sentence came quickly.
Joona Salonen had imagined scoring for Finland in Helsinki since he was a child. He had never allowed himself to imagine this.
She built the story around the ending.
The pass through the slot.
The release.
The brief disbelief before the goal light appeared.
The pile of Finnish players against the boards.
His family watching from the same arena where they brought him as a child.
Tessa included Matvei because the game required him, but she did not make him the loser in Joona’s story. He had stopped thirty-eight shots. The winning goal touched the edge of his glove before entering. Russia had been less than forty seconds from winning in regulation.
None of that changed the result.
It gave it truth.
The medal ceremony followed.
Finland’s players received gold one by one, Joona nearly vibrating with exhaustion and joy when the medal dropped around his neck. Russia stood along the opposite blue line wearing silver.
Matvei removed his mask.
His face revealed very little.
Tessa knew better than to believe it revealed nothing.
When Joona lifted the trophy, blue and white confetti filled the arena. The crowd remained standing, singing while Finland circled the ice.
Matvei watched for several seconds.
Then he turned toward the tunnel.
The mixed zones became chaos.
Tessa went to Finland first.
There was no other choice. Joona had scored the championship winner. His story belonged at the center of the coverage.
He arrived wearing the gold medal over his uniform, hair soaked and eyes red. Champagne or water had darkened the shoulders of his jersey. He smiled before reaching the microphones and did not stop.
The first questions came in Finnish.
Joona answered through tears and laughter, sometimes both in the same sentence. His teammates shouted from farther down the corridor. Someone interrupted to place a blue-and-white hat on his head.
When the English questions began, Tessa waited.
“What did you see on the winning play?” a Canadian reporter asked.
“Pass.”
The group laughed.
Joona laughed too.
“I go back side. Defense looks puck. I think maybe pass comes, and it comes.”
“Did you know it was in?”
“No. First I see light.”
“What did you feel?”
Joona looked toward the medal resting against his chest.
“No word.”
The answer returned to his first availability.
This time, the room understood.
Tessa stepped forward when space opened.
“You said before the tournament that playing for Finland here felt like a dream while you were awake,” she said. “How does this compare to anything you imagined as a kid?”
Joona looked at her.
His expression softened beneath the overwhelming joy.
“Better.”
“Why?”
“My family sees. Friends see. Whole Finland sees.” He touched the medal. “And against Belly.”
Laughter moved through the group.
Joona’s eyes became wet again.
“He plays so good,” he said. “I know how much this means for him too. That part is hard.”
The answer turned the room quieter.
“Have you spoken to him?” Tessa asked.
“On ice. Little.”
“What did he say?”
Joona smiled through the emotion.
“Lucky.”
The room laughed again.
Tessa did too.
She asked one final question about his family, then stepped away.
Russia’s mixed zone waited across the arena.
Tessa reached it after most of the Russian interviews had begun. Matvei stood near the center surrounded by cameras. The silver medal hung around his neck, partially hidden beneath the open collar of his jersey.
He answered Russian questions first.
Tessa could not understand them, but his tone was controlled. He did not appear angry. He did not perform disappointment for the cameras either.