Chapter Twenty-Five #2
The Convoy led 1-0 after the first, then extended the advantage in the second when Joona scored off a pass from Carver. Washington answered on a power play, the puck changing direction through a screen before Matvei could find it.
He did not react slowly.
He did not favor the hip when dropping into the butterfly.
If Tessa had not seen the moment in the first period, she would not have suspected anything.
Halifax won 3-1.
Matvei stopped twenty-eight of twenty-nine shots.
The game story wrote itself around the trade acquisition and the team’s continued rise through the standings. McCrae assisted on the empty-net goal after winning a battle near the boards. Matvei played well enough to receive the second star.
Tessa watched him leave the ice.
His stride looked normal.
She told herself she had imagined the hesitation.
Then the dressing room opened.
Matvei stood in front of his stall rather than sitting, one hand braced against the wood while he answered questions. His hair remained wet from the shower. A towel hung around his neck.
“Did you feel that was one of your cleaner games recently?” a reporter asked.
“Yes.”
“How important has the team’s defensive structure been during this run?”
“Very.”
Someone asked about McCrae.
Matvei said the winger was difficult to see around and better to have in front of the other team’s net than his own.
The answer drew a laugh.
Tessa waited until the questions moved back to the game.
“In the first period, on the backdoor save against Reynolds, it looked like you took a little longer getting up,” she said. “Did you catch an edge during the push?”
Matvei’s eyes met hers.
For a moment, the dressing room seemed quieter.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Any discomfort afterward?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Tessa knew it.
Nobody else did.
She nodded and moved on.
She did not ask again.
Matvei texted while she finished the game story.
Matvei: Come after?
Tessa looked toward the time.
She had expected to spend the night at his house. Her overnight bag was already inside her car, packed before the game with enough care that she could have claimed it belonged there accidentally.
Tessa: Are you sure?
The response took less than a minute.
Matvei: Why not?
She considered asking about the hip through text.
She did not.
Tessa: I’ll be there after I file.
Matvei: Food at house.
Tessa: What kind?
Matvei: Leftovers.
Tessa: Extremely romantic.
Matvei: We watch movie.
That improved the offer.
Tessa finished the story, sent a short notebook item on McCrae and left Atlantic Centre shortly before midnight.
Matvei’s house was quiet when she arrived.
The porch light waited for her. Snow along the driveway had begun melting into uneven piles as March softened the edges of winter.
Matvei opened the door wearing gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt.
His feet were bare.
His expression changed when he saw her overnight bag.
“You stay.”
“That was the plan.”
“Good.”
Tessa stepped inside.
He kissed her before taking the bag.
The kiss felt normal. Warm and familiar after a game, carrying the faint taste of whatever recovery drink he had finished at the arena.
His body felt less normal beneath her hands.
Matvei held himself slightly stiff through the right side.
Tessa noticed when he turned to place her bag near the stairs. The movement stopped briefly halfway through, his shoulders tightening before he continued.
She removed her coat.
“Your hip hurts.”
Matvei looked toward her.
“You said no discomfort.”
“At rink.”
“That was not a location-specific question.”
“You ask reporter.”
“I asked because I saw you struggle to get up.”
“I did not struggle.”
“You used your stick.”
“Goalies use stick.”
Tessa crossed her arms.
Matvei held her gaze for several seconds.
Then looked away.
“Small,” he said.
“What is small?”
“Hip tight.”
“From the save?”
“Push.”
“Did the trainers look at it?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing bad.”
The relief arrived before the frustration.
Tessa stepped closer.
“What did they actually say?”
“Probably muscle. Treatment tomorrow.”
“Did they tell you to rest tonight?”
Matvei’s mouth shifted.
“You are not doctor.”
“No, but I understand the concept of rest.”
“I rest.”
“You played another forty minutes.”
“And win.”
“That is not medical evidence.”
Matvei placed one hand at her waist.
Tessa resisted smiling.
“You think this fixes every conversation.”
“Sometimes.”
“Not this one.”
His thumb moved over the side of her sweater.
“Hungry?”
“A little.”
They ate reheated pasta at the kitchen island.
Matvei remained standing while the food warmed, though Tessa offered him the stool twice. Once seated, he adjusted his right leg beneath the counter until the hip seemed comfortable.
He did not grimace.
He was too practiced for that.
Tessa knew what to watch instead.
The pause before movement. The tension around his mouth. The way he used both hands against the counter when standing after they finished.
It was minor.
She believed him about that.
She also understood professional athletes used the word minor for anything that did not immediately prevent them from playing.
“Are you starting the next game?” she asked.
Matvei collected their bowls.
“Work question.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“It is a girlfriend question.”
He stopped.
The word remained unusual enough that both of them noticed whenever she used it.
Tessa had never called herself that inside Atlantic Centre. She barely used it even here. Their relationship had no official announcement or conversation defining the label, but the reality had outgrown the need for one.
Matvei placed the bowls in the sink.
“Yes,” he said. “Probably.”
“You should tell them if it gets worse.”
“I tell.”
“Promise?”
He looked back at her.
“Yes.”
Tessa chose to believe him.
She followed him upstairs.
The bedroom television had been Matvei’s idea.
Tessa had mocked him when it appeared in February, arguing that bedrooms were for sleeping and other activities that did not require streaming subscriptions.
Matvei said hotels had televisions.
Tessa said his house was not a hotel.
He installed it anyway.
Now she accepted that it had uses.
Matvei changed into a loose pair of sleep shorts and placed a cold pack against the outside of his hip. Tessa watched from the bed while removing her earrings.
“That looks more serious than nothing.”
“It is ice.”
“Yes. People traditionally use ice on things that hurt.”
“Small hurt.”
She changed into a T-shirt and shorts she had begun leaving inside one of his dresser drawers. Matvei had emptied the drawer without announcing it, moving his own clothing elsewhere until she discovered the space.
At first, she had brought only a toothbrush and charger.
Then sleep clothes.
Then a sweater.
The accumulation frightened her less than it should have.
Tessa climbed onto the bed beside him.
Matvei removed the cold pack long enough to shift beneath the blankets, moving carefully onto his back. Tessa reached across him and placed one hand against his chest.
The warmth beneath her palm pulled her closer.
Matvei bent to kiss her.
The first contact remained soft.
Tessa deepened it.
She had spent the game watching him, the postgame waiting to touch him and the drive imagining the privacy of his bed. Her body responded quickly when Matvei’s hand moved along her back.
She shifted over him, one knee settling between his legs.
Matvei kissed her again.
Tessa moved her hand beneath his shirt.
His stomach tightened beneath her fingers.
She kissed the scar along his jaw, then the place below his ear that always changed his breathing. Her hand traveled lower.
Matvei caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Enough to stop her.
Tessa lifted her head.
“What?”
“Take easy.”
The words were apologetic.
Her attention moved immediately toward his hip.
“Does that hurt?”
“No.”
“Matvei.”
“Maybe.”
Tessa sat back.
“You should have said something before I climbed on top of you.”
“I like when you climb.”
“That is not the point.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His expression held frustration, though none of it seemed directed toward her.
Tessa moved to his left side, taking her weight off him completely.
“We do not have to have sex.”
“I know.”
“You look like I told you something tragic.”
Matvei stared toward the ceiling.
“I want.”
“So do I.”
His gaze returned to her.
The admission softened his expression but did not eliminate the frustration.
Tessa rested one hand against his chest again.
“I would rather not make your hip worse because neither of us has self-control.”
“I have control.”
“You carried me up the stairs after Never Been Kissed.”
“Yes.”
“You kept condoms in the kitchen.”
“Prepared.”
“You are not winning this argument.”
Matvei frowned.
Tessa smiled and leaned over to kiss him once.
Slowly.
No pressure. No invitation to continue beyond it.
His hand moved into her hair.
When they separated, she reached for the cold pack and returned it to his hip over the thin blanket.
Matvei made a quiet sound of complaint.
“Cold.”
“That is generally the point.”
“You hold.”
“You are enormous. The ice pack does not require emotional support.”
“Hold.”
Tessa placed her palm over it.
The absurdity made her laugh.
Matvei looked offended.
“I am taking excellent care of you.”
“You laugh.”
“I can do both.”
He pulled her closer with one arm.
“What movie?” she asked.
“You choose always.”
“That is not true.”
“Yes.”
“You picked Never Been Kissed.”
“For journalist.”
“And you picked You’ve Got Mail.”
“Also work.”
“You have a theme.”
Matvei reached toward the remote.
“I choose.”
He opened the streaming service and moved directly toward a title he had apparently saved earlier.
Tessa recognized the yellow plaid outfit in the image before he selected it.
“Clueless?”
“Yes.”
“You looked this up.”
“Classic.”
The pride in his use of the classification made her smile.
“You are learning.”
“I know movies now.”
“You have seen four.”
“Enough.”
Tessa settled beside him, head against his shoulder and one hand still holding the ice pack in place.
The movie began.
For the first several minutes, Matvei watched without speaking.
That worried Tessa.