Chapter Twenty-Six #2
It was not a complete lie. He could play. The team did not consider him injured enough to sit. In hockey language, that often counted as healthy.
Tessa knew the difference.
“How much confidence do you have that you can work through this before the playoffs?” Rick asked.
“All.”
The answer sounded like the Matvei from September.
One word.
Final.
Tessa asked only one question.
“On the rebound goal, were you trying to deaden the puck beneath your pad or direct it beyond the crease?”
Matvei looked toward her.
“Direct.”
The answer was usable. Tessa clicked off the recorder after the scrum ended.
She left without speaking to him privately.
Her game story led with the Convoy’s offensive struggles, then moved into Matvei’s performance. It noted that he had allowed seven goals across his previous two starts and that several came on shots he had routinely stopped earlier in the season.
Measured. Fair. Incomplete.
The incompleteness bothered her more than the criticism.
She filed shortly after midnight.
Matvei did not text.
Tessa understood why.
He had treatment. Team meetings. Video to review. Anger with himself to carry home.
She told herself not to contact him first.
Then she did.
Tessa: Are you all right?
Ten minutes passed.
Matvei: Yes.
She almost laughed at the predictability.
Tessa: Do you want me to come over?
A longer pause.
Matvei: Not tonight.
The answer hurt, though she understood it.
He did not want her sympathy.
He did not want to explain the same goals again outside the dressing room.
Tessa replied.
Tessa: Okay. Sleep.
He sent one final message.
Matvei: You too.
Neither did.
Elaine called the following morning.
Tessa had been awake for less than an hour. She sat at her dining table with coffee and the laptop open to the standings, attempting to calculate how the loss affected Halifax’s chances of finishing second in the division.
Elaine did not begin with small talk.
“I want a goalie analysis for tomorrow.”
Tessa’s fingers stopped above the keyboard.
“What angle?”
“You know the angle.”
She did.
Tessa looked toward the window. Rain streaked the glass.
“Whether Cole should get more starts?”
“Whether Cole should be the starter in the playoffs.”
The words landed exactly where Tessa feared they would.
She kept her voice neutral.
“That’s a big jump from two bad Matvei games.”
“It’s more than two.”
“Not many more.”
“He hasn’t looked right for three weeks.”
Tessa said nothing.
Elaine continued.
“Cole has the better save percentage. He’s cheaper, younger and steadier right now. Matvei has the history and the contract. Fine. But if the playoffs started tomorrow, who gives them the better chance?”
The correct answer depended on information Elaine did not have.
If the playoffs started tomorrow, Matvei’s hip would still limit him.
Cole might give Halifax the better chance.
If the playoffs began when they actually did, and the medical staff was correct, Matvei would be close to healthy again. The question could look absurd within a month.
Tessa chose her words carefully.
“The playoffs don’t start tomorrow.”
“That’s why it’s analysis.”
“Matvei has been their starter all season.”
“And Cole has played well enough to make the conversation legitimate.”
“He has.”
“So write it.”
Tessa lifted the coffee but did not drink.
“What exactly do you want?”
“A real examination. Not a hot take. Compare their numbers, styles and recent workloads. Talk to Pat if he’ll give you anything. Talk to the defensemen about how the team plays in front of each. Make the case both ways and tell readers whether McDonough should consider changing the depth chart.”
That was a fair assignment.
A good one, even.
If Tessa did not know what she knew.
“Do you need it by tonight?” she asked.
“This weekend. Give yourself time.”
Time would not solve the problem.
Elaine trusted her expertise. Readers trusted her to explain what they could not see.
Tessa now possessed the most important fact and had no ethical way to use it.
“I’ll work on it,” she said.
“Good.”
Elaine ended the call.
Tessa remained at the table with the phone against her ear.
The standings blurred on the laptop screen.
She had three options.
None were defensible.
She could report the hip injury.
The team had not announced it, but injuries were news. If she confirmed that Matvei had been playing through a physical limitation, the information would explain the decline and change the public conversation immediately.
The problem was sourcing.
She did not know the injury because a trainer, coach or teammate had trusted her as a reporter. She knew because Matvei had stopped her hand in bed and admitted he was afraid sex might make the pain worse.
She knew about the rehabilitation because she watched him complete exercises on his living room floor.
She knew the medical staff expected him to be close to normal for the playoffs because he told her after treatment while they ate dinner in his kitchen.
None of that belonged to the Tribune.
She could not transform intimacy into reporting because the information would improve a story.
Even if she asked Matvei for permission, what would she tell Elaine?
A source with direct knowledge confirmed the injury?
The source would be the subject and her boyfriend.
The conflict would remain, only hidden behind anonymous language.
Tessa could write the piece Elaine requested without the injury.
She could compare the statistics, workloads and recent goals. She could explain that Cole had played better over the previous month. She could conclude that McDonough should consider giving him the crease until Matvei recovered his form.
That might be the most supportable conclusion based on the public evidence.
It would also mislead readers.
Matvei had not simply lost the mechanics he rebuilt during the summer. His body prevented him from executing them consistently. Writing that he had lost his game without acknowledging the reason would make the analysis fundamentally incomplete.
Worse, it would intensify the pressure against him.
Fans already called for Cole after every stoppable goal.
A Tribune analysis validating the debate would spread beyond one morning.
Radio shows would quote it. Social media accounts would reduce it to a headline.
Matvei would be asked whether he had lost the starting job every day until his next appearance.
Tessa would have helped create that environment while knowing the premise was missing its central fact.
The third option was refusing the assignment.
She could tell Elaine she did not believe the evidence supported the angle strongly enough. She could argue that two poor starts did not erase months of work and suggest a broader analysis of how Halifax should manage the tandem through the end of the regular season.
Elaine might accept the alternative.
She might also recognize that Tessa was avoiding the obvious story.
Why would the reporter who had written the most nuanced coverage of Matvei’s season suddenly refuse to examine the largest question surrounding him?
Tessa closed the laptop.
The apartment felt too quiet.
She wanted to call Matvei.
That instinct frightened her.
He was the one person she could not involve.
Telling him about the assignment would force him to carry her problem while dealing with his own.
He might offer permission to report the injury because he believed that would protect her.
He might become angry that Elaine wanted the story.
He might worry Tessa secretly agreed with the argument or feel responsible for placing her in an impossible position.
None of those outcomes helped.
This belonged to Tessa.
She had chosen the relationship while keeping the beat.
Now the cost had arrived.
She attended practice that afternoon.
Matvei did not skate.
The Convoy described it as a maintenance day.
Cole and the third goaltender from the minor-league affiliate handled the full session. Pat ran an extended sequence focused on rebound control, the exact area in which Matvei had struggled the previous night.
Tessa watched from Frank’s old seat.
She opened a new document.
Should Cole Bennett start for the Convoy in the playoffs?
The working headline appeared at the top.
She stared at it until the words became shapes.
Around her, reporters discussed the same question.
“Give Cole the next three,” one said.
“More than that,” another answered. “You can’t wait until Game 1 to decide.”
“Belly’s earned patience.”
“How much?”
Tessa listened without joining.
Every argument depended on what people could see.
Cole’s numbers. Matvei’s goals allowed. The standings. The shrinking schedule.
Nobody discussed the hip because nobody knew it existed.
Tessa began collecting data anyway.
Cole’s performance by month. Matvei’s save percentage before and after the international break. Expected goals saved above average. High-danger save percentage. Halifax’s defensive results in front of each goaltender.
The numbers made a compelling case that Cole had been better recently.
They did not explain why.