Chapter Nineteen
Tessa had been awake for most of the flight from Helsinki when the email arrived.
She had slept for perhaps forty minutes after takeoff, her forehead pressed against the window and her neck bent at an angle that made turning her head painful when she woke.
Since then, she had watched half of a movie without understanding the plot, opened the tournament standings out of habit and stared at the same paragraph of a notebook story until the words lost meaning.
The cabin lights had been dimmed for most of the flight. Around her, passengers slept beneath thin airline blankets or watched movies with expressions illuminated by seatback screens. A child several rows ahead had been crying at regular intervals since Finland disappeared beneath the clouds.
Tessa’s laptop rested unopened inside the bag beneath her feet.
Elaine had ordered her not to work.
Not suggested.
Ordered.
Four days off after she returned to Halifax. No practice, no games and no checking the Tribune’s publishing system unless the building was actively burning down.
Tessa had argued that the Convoy resumed practice before the four days ended.
Elaine assigned another reporter.
She argued that Joona’s return from the tournament would be a story.
Elaine reminded her that she had written fourteen stories in eleven days, crossed an ocean twice and covered enough hockey to justify spending a long weekend unconscious.
Tessa had finally agreed because the alternative was Elaine contacting human resources and formally recording that her employee did not understand the purpose of vacation.
Four days.
She had imagined using the first to sleep, the second to unpack and the final two pretending she had the kind of personal life that could fill a weekend without an arena schedule.
The plan had seemed reasonable before Matvei entered it.
He had landed in Halifax several hours earlier. His message arrived while Tessa waited to board in Helsinki.
Matvei: Home.
She had stared at the single word longer than it deserved.
Then replied:
Tessa: I’m boarding.
His answer came almost immediately.
Matvei: Too long.
Tessa had smiled at the phone in the middle of the gate area and spent the next several minutes making sure nobody nearby had noticed.
She still had not decided when she would see him.
He had said his house as though the issue were resolved by naming a location. Tessa had not agreed, though she had also not refused. Four days off offered more privacy than she would normally have, a fact she had become uncomfortably aware of before the airplane left the ground.
She could go home, sleep and then see him.
Or she could wait.
Waiting would be responsible.
Tessa was beginning to dislike that word.
The airplane’s wireless connection became more stable as they moved closer to Canada. Messages and emails that had been waiting for hours began filling the top of her screen.
Most were predictable.
Tribune newsletters.
Tournament statistics.
Three messages from Nina, each progressively more threatening about Tessa’s refusal to explain the text she had sent on New Year’s Eve.
Then an email appeared with a subject line written entirely in capital letters.
MEDIA ADVISORY: HALIFAX CONVOY TO MAKE MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT
Tessa opened it.
The message was brief.
The Halifax Convoy would hold a press conference at eleven the following morning at Atlantic Centre. Convoy ownership would be present, including Jeff Batemann, chairman of the Batemann Family ownership group, along with representatives from the local government and “additional invited guests.”
No topic was listed.
No players were named.
The advisory closed with language requesting that credentialed media confirm attendance before nine.
Tessa read it twice.
Then a third time.
A major announcement involving ownership almost never meant something small.
Arena renovation.
A sale.
A leadership change.
A major community initiative could technically qualify, though those press conferences usually included enough information in the advisory to ensure local television stations sent cameras.
This one offered nothing.
Tessa opened the Tribune’s internal messaging app and found Elaine’s name.
The timestamp in Halifax placed it shortly after noon. Elaine would be working.
Tessa: Did you see the Convoy advisory?
The reply came less than a minute later.
Elaine: I was about to message you. You are off.
Tessa: This is clearly news.
Elaine: We have other reporters. Seriously. Take the time off.
Tessa looked again at the advisory.
Jeff Batemann rarely appeared at routine organizational announcements.
The family had owned the Convoy since the team’s second season, but ownership mostly operated through the team president and business staff.
Batemann surfaced publicly for franchise milestones, major investments and moments requiring the authority of the person who ultimately controlled the organization.
Tessa typed:
Tessa: I want to cover it. I’ll take the other days off.
The response took longer.
Elaine: You will have been home less than 24 hours.
Tessa: I’ll sleep tonight. It starts at 11.
Elaine: That sentence does not reassure me.
Tessa smiled.
Tessa: It’s my beat. Let me do the announcement and then disappear.
She watched the typing indicator appear, vanish and return.
Elaine: Fine. But if you answer another email after filing, I’m changing your password.
Tessa: Deal. Any idea what it is?
Elaine did not answer immediately.
Tessa returned to the advisory and examined the wording for clues.
Representatives from local government suggested public funding, civic partnership or a building project. Additional invited guests could mean almost anything. A press conference on the arena floor would point toward facilities. A media room event might involve hockey operations.
The location was simply listed as Atlantic Centre.
Her phone vibrated.
Elaine: Wild guess, but could Viktor be announcing he’s retiring after the season?
Tessa’s stomach dropped.
She read the message again.
The possibility fit badly enough to feel plausible.
Viktor was thirty-four. His knee injury had cost him what he believed might have been his final opportunity to represent Sweden in a best-on-best tournament.
He had spoken afterward with the careful resignation of someone who understood that time no longer offered endless replacements for what had been lost.
He had not announced anything.
He had also never promised to play beyond the season.
Ownership’s involvement seemed excessive for a standard retirement announcement, but Viktor was not a standard player.
He had spent almost his entire career in Halifax, captained the team for years and become one of the most recognizable athletes in the city.
If he had decided the end was coming, the Convoy might turn the announcement into the beginning of a season-long farewell.
Tessa felt an immediate, unreasonable sense of dread.
She pictured his empty seat at the tournament. The brace around his knee. His attempt to joke when Sweden replaced him.
The team would continue without him eventually.
She did not want eventually to begin yet.
Tessa: Do you know something?
Elaine: No. Pure speculation. But vague advisory, ownership present, major announcement. He’s the first thing I thought of.
Tessa looked toward the darkened airplane window.
Her own reflection stared back, tired and pale beneath the overhead light.
Tessa closed the conversation.
The dread remained.
She opened Viktor’s contact in her phone, then stopped before sending anything.
Calling directly to ask whether he planned to retire would be intrusive without more evidence. He was also still injured and likely tired of people interpreting every comment about the tournament as a statement about the end of his career.
Tessa searched local social media instead.
Nobody appeared to know anything.
Rick had posted a screenshot of the advisory with three question marks and an emoji with raised eyebrows. A television reporter speculated about arena renovations. Fans suggested everything from a new alternate uniform to a sale of the team.
No mention of Viktor had gained traction yet.
Tessa hoped Elaine was wrong.
She closed the phone and looked toward the flight map on the seatback screen.
Two hours remained before Toronto.
The four-day reset had lasted approximately six minutes.
Pearson International Airport felt louder than Helsinki.
Tessa emerged from customs into crowds, rolling luggage and overhead announcements that seemed determined to compete with one another.
Her connection to Halifax did not leave for another three hours, giving her enough time to find coffee, charge her phone and begin asking questions she was not supposed to be working long enough to ask.
She sent messages to the Convoy’s communications director, a city hall contact and one person who worked on the business side of Atlantic Centre.
The communications director answered first.
All details tomorrow. Sorry.
The city contact confirmed the mayor would attend but claimed not to know the subject.
The arena employee did not answer.
Tessa called Rick.
He picked up after the first ring.
“You’re supposed to be over the Atlantic.”
“I’m in Toronto.”
“That’s less interesting.”
“Do you know what tomorrow is?”
“Nope.”
“Nothing?”
“Batemann’s office isn’t talking. Team isn’t talking. City isn’t talking, which means either they all signed something terrifying or somebody finally taught Halifax officials how embargoes work.”
Tessa found an empty seat near her departure gate.
“Elaine thinks it might be Viktor.”
Rick paused.
“Retirement?”
“At the end of the season.”
“Huh.”
The single sound made her grip the phone more tightly.
“You think it could be?”
“I think if Sundberg were retiring, they’ve done a hell of a job keeping him out of his own press conference.”
Tessa leaned back.
“So no.”
“I didn’t say no. Maybe he enters through a trapdoor.”
“Helpful.”
“Ownership makes it weird. Jeff doesn’t usually come down for player announcements.”
“That’s what I thought.”