Chapter Twenty-Four
The first speculation that Halifax might consider trading Matvei appeared on a Tuesday morning in the middle of February.
It came from a national television insider who spoke for nearly three minutes without reporting that the Convoy had actually discussed a trade with anyone.
The segment began with the approaching deadline, moved through Halifax’s place in the standings and ended with a question that remained on the screen long after the show shifted to another subject.
COULD BELOV BECOME DEADLINE’S BIGGEST NAME?
Matvei watched from his stall while an equipment employee folded practice jerseys several feet away.
The television had no sound. It did not need any.
A photograph of Matvei filled one side of the screen. Cole Bennett appeared on the other, younger and smiling beneath a graphic listing their ages, contracts and save percentages. The comparison reduced both of them to the information most useful in an argument.
Matvei, twenty-seven, one season remaining after this one, significant salary.
Cole, twenty-four, cheaper, under team control and playing well.
The lower portion of the screen listed Halifax’s larger financial decisions after the following season.
Several players needed new contracts. The salary cap would increase, but perhaps not enough to pay everyone.
Matvei’s next deal would begin when he was twenty-nine, old enough for people to ask whether the best years of a goaltender’s career had already passed.
Someone changed the channel.
A morning talk show replaced Matvei’s face with two people arguing about weather.
Joona sat down in the stall beside him and began taping the blade of his stick.
“They trade you, I take house,” he said.
Matvei looked toward him. “Why?”
“Good kitchen.”
“You are not invited now.”
Joona smiled and continued winding tape around the stick. “Maybe Atlanta wants goalie.”
“No.”
“You played very good there.”
Matvei kicked the bottom of Joona’s stall.
Joona laughed.
The joke attracted Cole’s attention from across the room. He had been speaking with one of the trainers but now looked toward the television, then Matvei. The discomfort arrived quickly enough that Matvei understood the younger goaltender had seen the segment too.
Cole had done nothing wrong.
He had played well whenever the Convoy needed him. He was not responsible for the contracts, speculation or public desire to turn every competent backup into a challenge to the starter. He worked, stopped pucks and answered questions without pretending he did not hear what people said about him.
Matvei respected him.
That made the idea more complicated.
If Cole were bad, Halifax would need Matvei.
Cole was good.
The Convoy could theoretically trade Matvei, receive players or draft picks and continue with a younger goaltender whose contract left more money for the rest of the roster.
It would be a dangerous choice for a team sitting third in the Atlantic Division and expecting to play into the spring, but dangerous did not mean impossible.
Matvei’s modified no-trade clause allowed him to submit ten teams he could block. He had made the list during the summer, before Tessa had entered the dressing room with a recorder and the determined expression of someone expecting him to answer questions.
He had chosen the teams for ordinary reasons.
Organizations he did not trust.
Cities where he did not want to live.
Teams too far from contention to justify uprooting his life.
The clause still left most of the league available.
At the time, Halifax had been the only place that mattered.
Now the list felt incomplete.
Tessa was not protected by it.
Viktor entered through the training-room door wearing workout clothes and the brace he had begun using again after the setback in his knee. He walked without crutches, though the slight unevenness in his stride remained visible to anyone who knew him well.
His gaze moved from Matvei to Cole, then toward the television.
“What did I miss?”
“Belly is traded,” Joona said.
Viktor looked toward Matvei. “Where?”
“Joona’s imagination.”
“Terrible market.”
Joona threw a ball of tape at him.
Viktor caught it with one hand and dropped into the empty stall beside Matvei.
“National guys bored?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“They usually are this time of year.”
Matvei tied one skate.
“You think team moves me?”
Viktor’s expression changed.
He did not answer immediately, which Matvei disliked more than a quick no.
“I think a team trying to win the Cup usually keeps its starting goalie,” Viktor said.
“Usually.”
“Belly.”
“What?”
“You want me to tell you nothing is possible?”
Matvei pulled the lace tighter.
“No.”
“Then I won’t. But I don’t think they’re looking to move you.”
“You know?”
“No.”
Viktor leaned forward, forearms resting against his thighs.
“I know what the room looks like. I know what management said before the season. I know they’ve spent four months trying to get themselves into position to play in May. Trading you would tell everyone in here they don’t believe in this year.”
Cole crossed behind them toward his stall.
Viktor lowered his voice slightly.
“That isn’t about Cole. He’s been excellent.”
“Yes.”
“But management spent years looking for two goalies they trust. It would be strange to celebrate finally having them by trading one.”
The logic made sense.
It did not eliminate the possibility.
Matvei looked toward the training-room doors.
“Contract after next year.”
“I know.”
“Maybe they do not want pay.”
“Then that’s a summer problem.”
“Deadline before summer.”
Viktor’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been reading too much.”
“I did not read.”
“You watched.”
“Same information.”
“That is why I don’t watch.”
Joona looked up from his stick. “You watch everything.”
“Nobody asked you,” Viktor said.
Pat called Matvei and Cole toward the ice.
The conversation ended because work began.
It did not leave.
The trade questions reached the dressing room after practice.
A national reporter had joined the usual Halifax group, traveling through several Eastern Conference cities to collect deadline material. He waited until Matvei finished answering questions about the next opponent before asking about the television segment.
“Your name has started coming up in some trade speculation,” the reporter said. “I’m wondering. With Cole playing well and your contract situation after next season, have you given any thought to whether this could be your last deadline in Halifax?”
Matvei stared at him.
The question contained three separate assumptions and wanted him to react to all of them at once.
“No.”
“Has management given you any indication that they might ask you to waive part of your no-trade protection?”
“No.”
“Would you be willing to?”
“Nobody asks.”
“But hypothetically, if the team came to you with a destination outside your list, would you consider helping facilitate a deal?”
Matvei felt his patience narrowing.
“Nobody asks.”
The reporter tried another direction.
“You’ve been in Halifax your entire NHL career. How difficult would it be to leave?”
The answer arrived before Matvei decided whether to give it.
“Very.”
His eyes moved past the reporter.
Tessa stood near Ben Carver’s stall, listening while Carver answered a question about his increased role with Viktor still unavailable. Her notebook rested open against one hand. She did not look toward Matvei.
The national reporter followed his gaze briefly but found nothing meaningful in it.
“Is that because of the organization, the city or teammates?”
“All.”
Matvei kept the fourth answer to himself.
The interview ended several minutes later. He reached for the towel beside his stall and saw Tessa move toward Cole.
That was the correct interview.
If the public argument centered on whether Cole could replace him, the younger goaltender deserved an opportunity to speak.
Tessa kept the questions away from conflict.
She asked about handling trade speculation involving someone he worked beside every day and whether the possibility affected their relationship.
Cole answered carefully.
“Belly’s been great to me since I got here,” he said. “I don’t look at it as me against him. We both want to play, obviously, but my job is to be ready when they need me.”
She did not ask Cole whether he believed he could be the starter.
Another reporter did.
Cole looked uncomfortable but answered that he believed he could play in the league, then immediately returned to praising Matvei.
Tessa closed her notebook after that.
Their eyes met.
The concern in hers was visible to Matvei because he knew it now. Nobody else would have seen more than the usual focus of a reporter scanning the room.
She did not approach him.
His phone vibrated after she left.
Tessa: Are you all right?
Matvei read the message but did not answer until he reached the players’ parking garage.
Matvei: Yes.
The response came while he placed his bag in the truck.
Tessa: Convincing.
Matvei: Dinner tonight?
The typing indicator appeared.
Tessa: Your house?
Matvei: Yes.
Tessa: I have one story to finish first. Seven-thirty?
Matvei looked toward the empty passenger seat.
Matvei: Seven.
Tessa: Seven-fifteen.
Matvei: Seven.
Tessa: I will arrive at seven-fifteen out of principle.
His mouth moved despite the morning.
Matvei: Bad principle.
Tessa arrived at seven-twelve.
Matvei had expected this.
He opened the door before she knocked.
The February air followed her inside along with a light dusting of snow across the shoulders of the coat he still hated. She wore black trousers and a soft gray sweater beneath it, work clothes without the blazer she usually carried into the arena.
Matvei took the coat.
“You are early.”
“I am twelve minutes late.”
“Three minutes early.”
“Only according to your invented time.”
He hung the coat beside his.
Tessa looked toward his face.
The teasing faded.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She stepped closer and kissed him.