Chapter Twenty-Six #3
After practice, Tessa spoke with two defensemen.
Neither wanted to choose between the goaltenders. Both praised Cole’s consistency and Matvei’s history.
Pat offered little.
“Cole’s playing well,” he said. “Matvei’s working through some things.”
Tessa looked up from the notebook.
“What things?”
“Technical things.”
“Such as?”
“Timing. Reads. Rebound placement.”
All symptoms.
No cause.
“Are you considering changing the starter?”
“That’s Mike’s decision.”
McDonough reacted poorly when asked.
“We have two goalies,” he said. “We’re going to use both.”
“Do you still consider Matvei the No. 1?”
“I don’t number them.”
“You have all season.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“Who starts Game 1 if the playoffs began tomorrow?”
“They don’t.”
The answer echoed Tessa’s own response to Elaine.
McDonough left before anyone could ask again.
The notebook contained enough material for the story.
Tessa felt no closer to writing it.
Matvei appeared briefly in the dressing room after treatment. He wore workout clothes and moved without a visible limp. Reporters surrounded him immediately.
“Why didn’t you practice?”
“Maintenance.”
“Anything specific?”
“No.”
“Do you expect to start the next game?”
“Ask coach.”
“How concerned are you about your recent play?”
“I need better.”
“Do you feel like Cole deserves more starts?”
“Cole plays good.”
“Should he be the playoff starter?”
Matvei’s face closed.
Tessa remained outside the group.
“Playoffs are not tomorrow,” he said.
The answer hit her with enough force that she stopped writing.
Same words.
He could not know about Elaine’s assignment.
Still, for one irrational second, Tessa felt exposed.
The scrum ended.
Matvei looked toward her.
She had asked nothing.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Tessa lowered her gaze to the notebook and walked toward Carver.
She felt Matvei watching until she left the room.
A message arrived before she reached the elevator.
Matvei: You are strange.
Tessa stared at the screen.
Tessa: Long day.
The typing indicator appeared.
Matvei: Come tonight?
Her chest tightened.
She wanted to.
That was precisely why she could not.
Sitting in his house while secretly deciding whether to write that another goaltender should replace him would feel unbearable.
Tessa: I have a big story to work on. Rain check?
Several minutes passed.
Matvei: Yes.
Then:
Matvei: Tomorrow?
Tessa swallowed.
Tessa: Hopefully.
She hated the word as soon as she sent it.
The document remained open until midnight.
Tessa wrote six different beginnings.
She deleted all of them.
The first framed the debate around Cole’s recent numbers.
Too simple.
The second began with Matvei’s decline.
Too harsh.
The third argued that the Convoy did not need to choose immediately.
Too evasive.
She created a chart comparing both goaltenders and removed it because the time periods felt selectively chosen.
She wrote three paragraphs explaining why teams rarely changed starters shortly before the playoffs, then realized she was building an argument toward the conclusion she wanted rather than the one the public evidence supported.
Her phone rested beside the laptop.
Matvei sent no further messages.
Tessa imagined him at home completing the rehabilitation exercises, ice against his hip while he watched television or read. He believed she was writing something important.
She was.
He had no idea it was about him.
Elaine had hired Tessa for this exact reason. She trusted her not to retreat from difficult conclusions because readers or players might dislike them.
Tessa had spent the entire season proving she could write honestly about Matvei.
Now honesty itself had divided into incompatible forms.
The apartment lights reflected against the window. Her birthday notebook sat near the edge of the table, still almost entirely blank.
For stories that are yours.
Tessa opened it.
She had written only three things inside.
A list of romantic comedies Matvei had not seen.
A recipe for the long drink he made.
One sentence after the Press Gang dinner that she had immediately crossed out, though the words remained visible beneath the ink.
I think I am falling in love with him.
She turned to a new page.
For several minutes, she wrote without thinking about publication.
Matvei is hurt. The team knows. The public does not. Elaine wants me to write that Cole should replace him. I cannot use what he told me. I cannot pretend I do not know it. I cannot explain why I cannot write the story.
She stopped.
The problem looked worse on paper.
Tessa closed the notebook.
She needed someone who understood her well enough to recognize the answer she was avoiding, but who existed entirely outside hockey.
Her phone showed twelve-thirty.
Nina would probably be awake.
Tessa opened their conversation.
She began with three different messages and erased each one.
Finally, she typed:
Tessa: Can you meet me tomorrow? I have a problem.
The response arrived before she could put the phone down.
Nina: Work problem or giant Russian man problem?
Tessa stared at the question.
Then answered:
Tessa: Yes.