Chapter Twenty-Four #2
The contact was warm and brief at first, then lengthened when Matvei placed one hand at her waist. The tension from practice, the questions and the television screen eased slightly beneath her mouth.
Tessa pulled back.
“Are we talking about it now or after dinner?”
“Dinner.”
“You made something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Food.”
Her expression suggested she regretted every time she had encouraged his English.
Matvei led her toward the kitchen.
He had made salmon, rice and vegetables. Dessert remained unfinished on the counter, ingredients arranged beside a mixing bowl. His mother had sent the recipe for a simple apple cake after Matvei asked for something difficult to ruin.
She had replied that he ruined many things through impatience.
Tessa placed her purse on the stool nearest the island.
“No laptop?”
“In the car.”
Matvei looked toward her.
“I am trying.”
“Good.”
“I did finish the trade story before leaving.”
His shoulders tightened again.
Tessa noticed.
“It is mostly an analysis of why moving you would be risky,” she said. “Not that the Convoy should do it.”
“You think they should not.”
“I think teams intending to contend do not usually trade their starting goalie in February because the backup has played well in fourteen games.”
“Viktor says same.”
“Viktor is smart.”
“He also says not read.”
“That is probably healthier.”
Matvei carried the plates toward the table.
Tessa followed with the water glasses without asking where they belonged. She had spent enough evenings in his house to know.
The familiarity pleased him every time.
Her preferred tea remained in the drawer. One of her phone chargers now occupied an outlet beside the couch. A toothbrush stood next to his upstairs. She had left a pair of socks beneath the bed two weeks earlier and worn them again rather than taking them home.
Small evidence.
Nothing another person would notice unless they knew where to look.
They ate at the table beside the windows.
Snow fell beyond the glass, softening the backyard and covering the path Matvei had cleared that morning. Tessa told him about a conversation with a salary-cap analyst and the number of teams that could realistically afford both his current contract and the extension he might eventually seek.
“You made list?” Matvei asked.
“For the story.”
“How many?”
“Depending on what Halifax retained or took back, maybe nine.”
“You know teams?”
“Yes.”
“Tell.”
“No.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I am not participating in your trade speculation.”
“You write.”
“I wrote about the roster and cap logic. I am not helping you imagine yourself in nine other uniforms over dinner.”
Matvei cut into the salmon.
“One uniform maybe good.”
Tessa became still.
He looked down at the plate.
The idea had entered his mind that morning and remained there through practice. He had not wanted to examine it closely enough to decide whether it represented hope or fear.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“If trade.”
“I understand the words. Why might it be good?”
Matvei considered how to explain it without making the answer sound like he wanted to leave Halifax.
He did not.
The city had become home before he understood the word could mean something beyond where a person was born.
He knew the roads, the arena and the people inside it.
His house contained years of decisions. His sister knew the flight routes.
Viktor lived fifteen minutes away. Pat understood his game without requiring explanation.
Tessa sat across from him.
Leaving would mean leaving her too.
Except perhaps it would also remove the thing between them that made every ordinary moment difficult.
“If I play other team,” he said, “you do not cover.”
Her expression closed.
“No.”
“You are not reporter for me.”
“No.”
“We can go restaurant.”
“Matvei.”
“You come games maybe. Sit normal.”
“We would live in different cities.”
“Yes.”
“You would be traded away from the only NHL team you have ever played for, and I would stay here covering them.”
“I know.”
“Then how is that good?”
He placed the fork down.
“Source problem is gone.”
Tessa stared at him.
“You think being traded is a solution to my ethics problem.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
The answer came sharper than anything she had said since arriving.
Matvei’s jaw tightened.
“You say always cannot.”
“I say it is complicated.”
“Same.”
“It is not the same.”
“You hide because job. If I go, no hide.”
“We would barely see each other.”
“Road. Summer. You visit.”
Tessa stood and carried her plate toward the counter even though she had not finished.
The movement told him the conversation had become more serious than he intended.
Matvei followed.
“Tessa.”
She placed both hands against the edge of the island.
“You do not get traded to fix my career.”
“I do not choose trade.”
“You are talking about it like there is some upside because it might make my life easier.”
“Would.”
“It would not.”
She turned toward him.
“It would make this harder. It would make your life harder. You would leave your house, your teammates and the city you have lived in since you were nineteen. You might go somewhere you do not want to be and then need a new contract a year later. None of that becomes good because I would no longer interview you after games.”
“We could be normal.”
“No. We could be long distance.”
Matvei looked away.
The distinction had not seemed as important inside his head.
He imagined Tessa in a visiting arena after a game, entering without a credential and leaving with him through the same door. He had not imagined the days between. The empty house in another city. Her schedule in Halifax. His road trips beginning from somewhere else.
Tessa’s voice softened.
“Do you want to leave?”
“No.”
“Do you want to leave me?”
His head turned back immediately.
“No.”
“Then stop trying to turn a trade into something good for us.”
“I try find way.”
“We will find a way here.”
The certainty in her voice stopped him.
Matvei studied her.
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That is not way.”
“It is more of one than you moving a thousand miles away.”
“What if team does not want pay me?”
“Then that becomes a problem when it is real.”
“You sound like Viktor.”
“Again, Viktor is smart.”
Matvei moved closer.
Tessa remained against the island, looking up at him.
“You want me stay,” he said.
“Yes.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Something in his chest loosened.
“In Halifax,” he said.
“Yes.”
“With you.”
Tessa’s expression softened.
“That is generally what I mean when I say we will find a way.”
Matvei placed both hands around her waist.
“You are angry.”
“I was.”
“Now?”
“Still slightly.”
He bent and kissed her forehead.
“That does not fix it.”
“I know.”
“You are doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Tessa tried not to smile.
Matvei kissed her mouth next.
She allowed it for several seconds before pushing lightly against his chest.
“Dinner is getting cold.”
“You do not finish.”
“Because you suggested being traded might improve our relationship.”
“Bad idea.”
“Very.”
“I know now.”
She returned to the table.
Matvei followed.
The rest of dinner became easier, though the trade deadline remained present in the spaces between subjects. Tessa told him nothing was guaranteed. Matvei told her he did not expect certainty. Neither pretended they could control what management decided.
But when Tessa reached across the table and took his hand, her earlier promise remained between them.
They would find a way in Halifax.
Matvei wanted to believe her.
The press release arrived at eight-forty-three.
Tessa had moved back to the island while Matvei cleared the plates. Her phone rested beside her purse, screen dark, until it began vibrating repeatedly against the counter.
She looked toward it.
“What?” Matvei asked.
“Emails.”
“You are not work.”
“I know.”
Another vibration followed.
Then another.
Tessa picked up the phone.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Oh.”
Matvei closed the dishwasher.
“What?”
“The women’s team.”
“Problem?”
“No. Name.”
She opened the email.
Matvei watched her eyes move quickly down the screen.
“They’re announcing it now?”
“Press release.”
“What name?”
Tessa looked up.
“The Halifax Tides.”
Matvei considered it.
“Tides.”
“Yes.”
“Good?”
“I think so.”
The professional part of her had already taken control. She scrolled farther.
“They’re using navy and silver.”
“Same Convoy.”
“Yes. Same ownership family, shared city identity. There is a different logo, though.”
She turned the phone toward him.
The image showed a circular crest built around a rising wave, the name TIDES cutting across the center in silver. The navy was familiar enough to connect the franchise to the Convoy without making the logo look identical.
Matvei leaned closer.
“Good.”
“You said that very decisively.”
“Better than no name.”
“That was the previous option.”
Tessa continued reading.
“Claire Dunning says they wanted something connected to Halifax and the wider region without using a name that already belonged to another team. Jeff Batemann says the colors reflect the shared ownership commitment.”
Her thumb moved rapidly across the screen.
Matvei recognized what happened next.
Tessa opened the Tribune’s messaging app.
“Elaine?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You work.”
“She asked whether I can turn something quickly.”
“You are off tonight.”
“I am not technically off. I finished my scheduled work.”
“Different?”
“To editors, deeply.”
Matvei leaned against the counter.
Tessa looked toward him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“We were having dinner.”
“We finish.”
“You were making dessert.”
“I still make.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
“I can do it quickly.”
“I know.”
She retrieved the laptop from her car.
The cold entered the kitchen when she returned, along with snow in her hair. Matvei brushed it away while she opened the computer at the island.
Tessa arranged the press release on one side of the screen and a blank document on the other. Her fingers began moving immediately.
Matvei returned to the apple cake.
The routine formed without discussion.
She worked.
He cooked.