Chapter Thirty-Three #3
“But you cannot hide always. You tell editor. Maybe different rules. Maybe other reporter writes me.”
The words tightened something inside Tessa.
She had not told him about the conflict with Elaine in March. He still did not know how close her secret had come to affecting the coverage or how carefully she had answered when Elaine asked whether context existed.
Disclosure waited.
She had delayed it until the season ended because the playoffs required enough attention without adding a professional crisis. Now the season had ended.
The conversation with Elaine could not be postponed indefinitely.
The Tides job offered an easier context for it.
That did not make applying the correct choice.
“I grew up watching women’s hockey,” Tessa said.
Matvei remained quiet.
“The Olympics mostly. My mother watched with me. We did not follow the professional leagues as closely because they kept changing or disappearing.”
“You play?”
“Not seriously. I learned to skate. Andrew and I played in the driveway. He always made me the goalie because I was smaller.”
Matvei looked offended.
“Bad.”
“I was also bad.”
“Goalie cannot be smallest.”
“That was not our most significant problem.”
His mouth shifted.
Tessa continued.
“When I was in university, I covered the women’s team for the student paper. Not every game. The sports editor assigned whoever was available.”
“You liked.”
“I did.”
“Why stop?”
“The next jobs I got were in men’s hockey.”
“Because NHL.”
“Yes.”
The word sat between them.
“The NHL was always the goal,” Tessa said. “Junior hockey, minor league, then here. You keep moving up.”
“Up.”
“Yes.”
Matvei looked toward her.
“You think Tides down.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Not answer.”
Tessa leaned back against the couch.
“I don’t know. The NHL is the best men’s league in the world. It has the history, money and audience. It has the Stanley Cup.”
Matvei’s eyes moved briefly toward the blank television.
“I just covered Game 7 of the Final,” she continued. “That is supposed to be the biggest thing I could do.”
“You say supposed.”
Tessa gave him a tired look.
“Elaine said the same thing.”
“She is smart.”
“Sometimes.”
Matvei moved his thumb slowly over her knee.
“What is peak?” he asked.
“The highest point.”
“I know word.”
“Then why ask?”
“Highest for who?”
Tessa stopped.
Matvei searched for the rest of the thought.
“Convoy has history. Tides start. Maybe first game is peak for them.”
“That is not how careers usually work.”
“Why?”
“Because people rank leagues.”
“People rank everything.”
“You do.”
“Yes.”
She smiled despite herself.
Matvei continued.
“You write Cup. Very big.”
“The biggest.”
“For Convoy.”
“Yes.”
“Tides first season also big for Tides.”
Tessa looked toward the kitchen.
The championship gifts covered the island, physical evidence of the story she had just written.
“What if I leave and miss all of this?” she asked.
“Cup?”
“The aftermath. The title defense. Viktor’s last season if he comes back. Joona trying to follow this postseason. Your contract.”
Matvei’s expression changed slightly at the final item.
“That is many stories.”
“Yes.”
“You want write.”
“I do.”
“Then stay.”
The answer came without disappointment.
Tessa looked toward him.
“You would be all right with that?”
“No.”
She laughed once.
“At least you are honest.”
“I am okay. Not same.”
“What would not be okay?”
“Hiding.”
“We would figure it out.”
“Yes.”
The confidence sounded borrowed from her own promise before the trade deadline.
Tessa squeezed his hand.
“What if I stay because I’m afraid people will think the women’s beat is lesser?”
“Bad reason.”
“What if I apply because it allows us to be public?”
“Bad reason.”
“What if I apply because the paper is treating it seriously and I want to write the first season?”
Matvei nodded.
“Good reason.”
“What if I stay because I love the Convoy beat?”
“Good.”
“What if I want both?”
Matvei considered it.
“Bad system.”
Tessa laughed and leaned against him.
Matvei placed one arm around her shoulders.
They sat quietly.
The house felt different without the schedule. No treatment appointment waited early the next morning. No practice prevented them from sleeping late. No road trip required Tessa to leave through the garage before neighbors woke.
The freedom should have made the decision clearer.
Instead, it revealed how much she wanted from both possible futures.
She could remain in Frank’s old seat, covering the defending champions and the most established league in the world. The season ahead already contained stories large enough to occupy every hour she gave them.
Or she could move several feet across the same press box and begin again.
New roster.
New league.
New sources.
A team without history asking someone to record the first version of everything.
Tessa thought about Claire Dunning speaking at the introductory press conference.
We are not here to create a women’s version of something Halifax already has.
The Tides did not need to be a smaller Convoy.
Perhaps the job did not need to be a smaller NHL beat.
“What did you think when you held the Cup?” Tessa asked.
Matvei’s arm tightened around her.
“Heavy.”
“I am asking seriously.”
“So am I.”
She lifted her head.
Matvei smiled slightly.
“I think about when young.”
“In Russia?”
“Yes. I watch games. I make Cup from bowl.”
Tessa pictured a smaller Matvei lifting something from his mother’s kitchen while pretending it carried engraved names.
“You always wanted it.”
“Yes.”
“Was it the peak?”
Matvei looked toward the championship hat on the side table.
“For hockey.”
“And now?”
“Now I still play.”
The answer stayed with her.
The peak had not ended his career.
It had not removed the next practice, contract or season.
Reaching the highest point did not require remaining there forever or believing nothing else mattered.
Tessa rested her cheek against his shoulder.
“What would you do?” she asked.
Matvei’s fingers moved through her hair.
“You ask again.”
“I know.”
“I do not say.”
“You really will not.”
“No.”