Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nina chose breakfast.
Not coffee, which would have allowed Tessa to arrive, explain the problem and leave before either of them had to acknowledge how badly she had been sleeping.
Not lunch, which could be delayed by practice or a phone call from Elaine.
Breakfast required Tessa to commit to meeting before the day collected enough obligations to become an excuse.
At eight-thirty the following morning, she sat across from Nina in a booth near the back of a small diner fifteen minutes from Atlantic Centre.
The Convoy did not practice until noon.
Tessa had already checked twice.
She had also opened the unfinished goaltending analysis before leaving her apartment and stared at the working headline long enough to make herself late.
Should Cole Bennett start for the Convoy in the playoffs?
The document still contained fragments rather than a story. Statistics without conclusions. Quotes without enough context. Several paragraphs that each attempted to answer a slightly different question because Tessa had not decided which one she was willing to ask.
Nina watched her remove her coat.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“That was concern.”
“It lacked tenderness.”
“You texted me after midnight and said you had a combined work and giant Russian man problem. Tenderness was never going to be the main event.”
Tessa slid into the booth and placed her phone facedown beside her.
Nina had already ordered coffee for both of them. She pushed one mug across the table.
“Start talking.”
Tessa wrapped both hands around it.
“I need you not to be excited that this involves Matvei.”
“I can be serious.”
“You laughed when I told you I slept with him.”
“That was a different emergency.”
“You asked whether he was good before asking whether I could lose my job.”
“I asked whether he was sweet.”
“You asked for an emotional review.”
“Which was thoughtful and mature.”
Tessa gave her a look.
Nina lifted both hands.
“Fine. Serious.”
The server approached before Tessa could begin. Nina ordered eggs, potatoes and toast. Tessa asked for the same because choosing something different required more attention than she possessed.
When they were alone again, Nina leaned forward.
“What happened?”
Tessa looked toward the window.
Morning traffic moved along the wet street outside. March had begun dissolving the last piles of snow into gray slush, leaving the city between seasons. Too warm for winter to remain intact. Too cold for spring to feel real.
“Matvei is hurt.”
Nina’s expression changed immediately.
“Badly?”
“No. At least, not badly enough that the team thinks he needs to stop playing.”
“What happened?”
“He tweaked his hip in a game a couple weeks ago. He finished the game and looked fine. The team knows about it. He is getting treatment and doing rehab. They believe it should be close to normal by the playoffs.”
“But it is not normal now.”
“No.”
“And people don’t know.”
“The public doesn’t. The team has not announced anything.”
Nina took a drink of coffee.
“How do you know?”
Tessa hesitated.
That was the entire problem reduced to three words.
“He told me.”
“At his house.”
“Yes.”
“Not in an interview.”
“No.”
Nina’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“What did he actually tell you?”
“That the trainers think it is muscular. Playing should not create a significant risk of making it worse. He has exercises. Treatment. They are reducing parts of his practice workload.”
“And all of that came from boyfriend Matvei, not hockey player Matvei.”
Tessa looked down at the coffee.
“Yes.”
Nina leaned back against the booth.
“Okay.”
“That does not sound serious.”
“It is serious. I’m organizing.”
“You are enjoying being the calm one.”
“A little.”
Tessa ignored that.
“He has had a couple bad games. The injury is affecting his movement. Nobody else knows why. Everyone thinks he has just lost his game again.”
“Like last season?”
“Yes.”
“And your editor wants a story.”
Tessa looked up sharply.
Nina shrugged.
“You would not be here if this ended with fans being mean online.”
“She wants an analysis on whether Cole Bennett should be the playoff starter.”
“The other goalie.”
“The backup.”
“The younger cute one?”
“Nina.”
“I am identifying him.”
“You do not need to identify everyone by attractiveness.”
“It helps me follow.”
“Cole is younger. He has played well. Matvei’s numbers have been worse lately, and if you only look at what is public, there is a legitimate argument that Cole should get more starts.”
“But you know why Matvei has been worse.”
“Yes.”
The server returned with water and silverware. Tessa stopped speaking until she moved away.
Nina unfolded her napkin.
“What are your options?”
Tessa had spent most of the night answering that question. The possibilities had begun repeating so often that they felt less like choices than walls.
“I could report the injury.”
“Can you?”
“I could write it. I know it is true.”
“That was not what I asked.”
Tessa tightened her hands around the mug.
“No. Not ethically.”
“Because he told you privately.”
“Yes. It was not information given to a reporter. I learned it because I am in his house and because he trusts me.”
“Could you ask him if you can use it?”
“That does not fix the sourcing problem.”
“Why?”
“Because I would still have to explain to Elaine how I know. I cannot say a source close to the situation told me. He is the situation.”
Nina almost smiled but recognized the moment before it became visible.
Tessa continued.
“And even if Matvei agreed, he might only agree because he thinks it helps me. He would be turning private medical information into public information because my editor gave me an assignment.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It is.”
“What is the second option?”
“I write the story Elaine wants.”
“Should the other goalie take his job.”
“I would not write it that aggressively.”
“But that would be the point.”
“Yes.”
Nina studied her.
“Do you believe it?”
“I believe Cole has played better recently.”
“That was not the question.”
Tessa looked toward the window again.
“If the playoffs started tomorrow, with Matvei’s hip the way it is now, Cole might give them the better chance.”
Nina waited.
“But?”
“The playoffs do not start tomorrow. The team thinks Matvei will be close to healthy by then. He has been the better goaltender over the entire season. His ceiling is higher. He has carried them through playoff series before.”
“So the story would argue something you do not believe will still be true when it matters.”
“Maybe.”
“And you cannot explain why you think it will change.”
“No.”
“What happens if you write it?”
Tessa pictured the headline at the top of the sports page. Radio hosts reading it into microphones. Social media accounts turning careful analysis into a declaration that Matvei had lost the starting job. Reporters crowding his stall with versions of the same question.
“He gets asked about Cole every day.”
“He probably already does.”
“Not like this. The Tribune story would validate it. People would use it as evidence that the local beat believes the team should replace him.”
“And you would know the evidence was incomplete.”
“Yes.”
Nina took another drink.
“Third option?”
“I refuse.”
“Can you?”
“I can tell Elaine I do not think there is enough evidence to support the premise. I can offer something broader about how the Convoy should manage both goalies through the rest of the season.”
“What happens then?”
“Elaine might accept it.”
“And if she does not?”
Tessa looked down.
“She asks why I am suddenly reluctant to write about Matvei.”
“Would that be sudden?”
“Yes.”
Nina’s expression remained neutral.
Tessa disliked that more than judgment.
“I have written about his bad games,” she said. “I wrote Atlanta. I wrote the Florida loss. I have never avoided criticizing him.”
“So refusing now looks strange.”
“It could.”
Tessa sat back.
The food arrived before Nina continued. Plates filled the table between them, forcing the conversation to pause while the server offered ketchup, hot sauce and more coffee.
Tessa had no appetite.
She cut into the eggs anyway.
Nina ate two bites before speaking again.
“What is the clever fourth option?”
Tessa looked up.
“What?”
“The one you have been trying to invent since yesterday.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Treat a bad choice like a research problem. You think if you gather enough information, word something carefully enough or work three hours longer than everyone else, a new option will appear where nobody gets hurt and nobody is angry with you.”
Tessa placed the fork down.
“That is not what I’m doing.”
“It is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I am trying to find an ethical way to handle a complicated assignment.”
“No. You listed three ethical problems and then looked offended because none of them contained a hidden answer.”
Tessa stared at her.
Nina’s expression softened slightly.
“You want me to tell you how to make Elaine happy, protect Matvei, tell readers the whole truth and keep your relationship secret.”
Tessa said nothing.
“There is no version that does all four.”
“I know.”
“You do not believe it.”
“I believe it.”
“Then choose.”
“I cannot just choose without thinking through the consequences.”
“You have thought through them.”
“Not all of them.”
Nina leaned back.
“What did you do last night?”
“Reported.”
“After that.”
“I went through their numbers.”
“For how long?”
Tessa looked toward the untouched toast.
“Several hours.”
“Did the numbers reveal a fourth option?”
“No.”
“Did you write six different openings?”
Tessa frowned.
“How do you know?”
“Because you are you.”
“It was six.”
Nina nodded as though Tessa had confirmed a diagnosis.
“You are trying to outwork a choice.”
“That is not a real phrase.”
“It is now.”
Tessa took a drink of coffee.
She wanted to be irritated. Irritation was easier than admitting Nina had understood the problem almost immediately.