Chapter Thirty-One #2
She spoke with the defense, then McDonough and Joona.
Matvei noticed.
His eyes followed her briefly as she left the room.
A message arrived nearly an hour later.
Matvei: Nothing for me?
Tessa smiled despite the loss.
Tessa: You stopped thirty-two of thirty-five shots and received almost no help. What did you want me to ask?
Matvei: I do not know.
Tessa: You are criticizing me for not wasting your time.
Matvei: Maybe.
Then:
Matvei: I like your questions.
The tenderness entered the conversation so unexpectedly that Tessa stopped typing.
Tessa: I’ll ask one next time.
Matvei: Good.
She did not correct him.
Halifax tied the series in Game 4.
Matvei allowed nothing.
Seattle generated forty shots. Some came from distance. Enough did not.
The defining save occurred late in the second, when Seattle moved the puck behind the net and found a forward alone near the opposite post. Matvei pushed across and caught the shot with the edge of his glove.
He landed on his side.
The puck remained inside it.
Halifax scored once in the first and again in the third.
The Convoy won 2-0.
The series returned to Halifax tied 2-2.
After the game, Tessa asked Matvei about the glove save.
He explained the read.
She followed with a question about remaining patient through a game in which Seattle spent long stretches controlling the puck.
“You cannot make four saves at same time,” he said. “Only one.”
Next puck.
The answer had become the center of his postseason.
Tessa used it in the game story.
Their only private contact came when Matvei passed her in a corridor after his press conference.
Players moved in one direction.
Media moved in the other.
They did not stop.
His fingers brushed hers once as they crossed.
Nobody noticed.
Tessa felt the contact for the rest of the night.
Game 5 became Joona’s announcement that the Final belonged to him too.
He had already scored three times in the series. The national broadcasts continued referring to him as an unlikely rookie contributor, as though the previous three rounds had not established that he was one of Halifax’s most dangerous forwards.
Game 5 removed the qualifier.
Seattle scored first.
Joona tied it with a shot through a defender late in the opening period.
Seattle restored the lead early in the second.
Joona tied it again, redirecting Viktor’s pass near the crease.
The game entered overtime at 2-2.
Tessa watched Joona’s shifts grow shorter and faster. He seemed incapable of conserving energy even after more than sixty minutes. Every time he reached the bench, Viktor spoke near his ear. Joona nodded, drank water and returned as though the game had started over.
The winner came eleven minutes into overtime.
Carver retrieved the puck behind Seattle’s net. Joona moved through the slot, drawing a defender with him, then turned sharply toward the right circle.
Carver found him.
Joona released immediately.
The shot struck the underside of the crossbar and entered.
Atlantic Centre erupted.
Halifax led the series 3-2.
Joona disappeared beneath another pile.
Matvei remained inside the opposite crease for a second longer than usual, both hands resting on his stick as the crowd shook the building.
Then he skated toward the celebration.
Tessa’s first story focused on Joona.
The angle was obvious and increasingly difficult to write as surprise.
He had not been a lock to make the roster in September.
He now led the playoffs in goals.
Tessa interviewed him afterward while he wore the same uncontrolled smile he had carried through the first week of training camp.
“Did you know where you wanted to shoot when Carver found you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you see the opening above the goaltender’s shoulder?”
“Yes.”
“Did you consider passing?”
“No.”
Viktor, seated nearby, laughed.
Joona looked toward him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You think I should pass?”
“No. For once.”
Tessa smiled.
Matvei sat several stalls away, watching the exchange.
She reached him later.
“You stopped all six shots Seattle generated in overtime,” she said. “Did anything change defensively after regulation, or did the chances simply become more isolated?”
“Both.”
Tessa waited.
Matvei’s mouth shifted.
“We were tired. They were tired. Less structure.”
“How difficult is it to remain patient when one mistake ends the game?”
“Same as all game.”
“Does it feel the same?”
“No.”
A few reporters laughed.
Tessa asked the final question.
“What did you think when Joona’s shot went in?”
Matvei looked toward the rookie.
“Lucky.”
Joona shouted something in Finnish from across the room.
Nobody needed translation.
Halifax flew to Seattle one victory from the Cup.
The city behaved as though Game 6 would end the wait.
Tessa did not.
Neither did Matvei.
Seattle won 3-1.
The game remained tied until the final six minutes. Halifax had chances to take the lead. Joona missed the net from the slot. Viktor struck the outside of the post. Carver’s rebound remained beneath the goaltender long enough for the whistle to sound.
Seattle scored after a failed clear.
Then again into the empty net.
The series would return to Halifax.
Game 7.
The two words absorbed everything else.
Matvei sat in front of his stall after the loss, still wearing part of his equipment when the room opened. He looked less angry than sealed off.
Questions came from every direction.
“How do you turn the page after being one win away?”
“Next game.”
“Does returning home help?”
“Yes.”
“How do you keep the pressure from becoming overwhelming?”
“Play.”
“Do you feel like the team missed an opportunity tonight?”
“Yes.”
Tessa waited.
She knew there would be no private insight. No glance revealing what he had not said.
Matvei had gone somewhere inside himself.
She asked one technical question about the winning goal. He answered.
Then she left him there.
Her final message that night contained only three words.
Tessa: I love you.
Matvei replied almost an hour later.
Matvei: I love you.
Nothing else was necessary.
Game 7 began long before the puck dropped.
Tessa reached Atlantic Centre before two o’clock for an eight o’clock start.
Television trucks lined the street. Fans had already begun gathering near the plaza, some carrying folding chairs and coolers as though preparing for an outdoor concert. Police barricades waited near intersections. Bars opened early. The team store sold out of several sizes before the gates opened.
The media workroom filled with reporters from across North America and Europe.
Tessa found temporary name cards placed along additional rows. Conversations moved between English, French and several European languages. Camera operators competed for space near the windows. Producers conducted live interviews from every available corner.
The Tribune had prepared for every possible outcome.
Elaine sent two versions of the front page.
One for a Halifax championship.
One for a loss.
Tessa opened both and immediately closed them.
She had six stories assigned.
A live game story.
A Joona feature.
A Matvei analysis.
A city reaction piece if Halifax won.
A season-ending column if it lost.
A notebook containing everything else.
The possibilities sat in separate documents across her screen.
Tessa had never felt more prepared.
She had never felt less capable of imagining what came next.
Matvei sent no message.
She did not send one either.
He knew she was there.
She knew he was inside the building.
That was enough.
Warmups began beneath a wall of sound.
Matvei led the Convoy onto the ice.
He tapped each post.
Left.
Right.
Crossbar.
Tessa watched him through the glass.
The routine had carried him from September to June.
His mask turned briefly toward the press box.
She did not know whether he found her among the additional reporters, cameras and people standing near the windows.
Tessa placed one hand against the edge of the desk.
Four months earlier, in Helsinki, Matvei had told her he always knew when she watched.
She believed him.
The lights dimmed.
The introductions began.
Viktor’s name came last.
The captain skated onto the ice beneath a roar that seemed capable of lifting the roof.
Matvei stood near the crease.
Joona circled once near center.
The puck dropped.
Joona scored eighty-two seconds into the game.
Halifax entered Seattle’s zone on the opening shift, moved the puck below the goal line and kept it there through two changes. The pressure did not produce a shot until Carver won a battle near the corner and sent the puck toward the front.
Joona arrived before his defender.
He redirected it beneath the goaltender’s arm.
For one second, Tessa saw the puck inside the net before the sound reached her.
Atlantic Centre erupted.
Joona skated directly toward the glass, mouth open in a shout. Carver struck him from behind. Viktor reached them next.
Tessa typed through the noise.
Joona Salonen scored 1:22 into Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final.
The sentence looked impossible.
Seattle responded with pressure.
Matvei stopped four shots before Halifax recorded another. The largest came through traffic, striking his blocker and moving into the corner.
He looked calm.
Tessa knew calm was not the absence of emotion.
It was control over where the emotion went.
Joona scored again midway through the first period.
The play began with Viktor intercepting a pass in the neutral zone. He moved the puck to Carver, who carried it over the blue line and delayed near the left circle.
Joona entered behind him.
Carver passed.
Joona shot before Seattle’s defense recovered.
The puck entered high beneath the crossbar.
Two goals.
Atlantic Centre became something beyond loud.
Fans jumped against one another. Towels filled the air. The public-address announcement disappeared beneath the reaction.
Joona’s face on the bench contained disbelief.
Viktor said something near his ear.
Joona nodded without appearing to hear.
Tessa looked toward the clock.
More than forty-nine minutes remained.
A two-goal lead was not safety.
Not against Seattle.
Matvei knew.
He stopped every shot through the rest of the period.