Chapter Eight
By the final preseason game against New Jersey, Tessa had stopped checking her credential every time she entered Atlantic Centre.
She no longer needed to follow other reporters through the lobby to make sure she was heading toward the correct elevator, and she had learned that the security guard at the media entrance would wave her through before the scanner finished reading the barcode.
She knew which coffee machine on the press level produced something drinkable, which drawer contained the spare lineup sheets and how long she could wait before going downstairs without getting trapped behind a television crew carrying three cameras and a lighting kit.
The building had begun to feel familiar.
Not comfortable, exactly. Every day still brought some new procedure everyone else seemed to understand without explanation, and she remained aware that one missed detail could expose how recently she had arrived.
But the initial sense of trespassing had faded.
She could sit at the Tribune’s desk without thinking of Frank Donnelly every time she lowered herself into the chair.
Most of the time.
The final preseason game carried more energy than the others had.
The roster had been reduced enough that the lineup resembled the one Halifax would use when the season opened, and the few remaining competitions had narrowed to players who had given the coaches legitimate reasons to keep them.
Fans understood what was at stake. Even warmups drew louder reactions than they had a week earlier.
Joona Salonen was in the lineup.
So was Matvei.
Cole Bennett sat on the bench in a navy baseball cap, serving as the backup after playing the previous game.
The younger goaltender had allowed one goal in each of his two preseason starts and looked every bit like the player who had taken over the crease the previous January when Matvei’s season unraveled.
Nobody inside the organization had called the opening-night job a competition.
Everyone outside it had.
Tessa settled into her seat with more than an hour remaining before puck drop and arranged her materials across the desk.
The roster sheet went to the left of her laptop.
Her notebook sat on the right beside a fresh cup of coffee.
She opened one document for the game story and another for notes related to the final roster decisions expected the following morning.
Her editor had emailed shortly before she left home.
Need something on the goalie decision after tonight. Belov vs. Bennett will move.
Tessa had read the message twice, irritated by the phrasing even though the assignment made sense.
The Convoy had an established starter coming off the worst season of his career and a younger backup who had played well enough to replace him for several weeks.
Of course readers wanted to know who would start opening night.
That did not mean the choice needed to become a feud.
Cole had never publicly suggested he deserved Matvei’s job. Matvei had never criticized the team for playing Cole. In practice, they spoke easily and often stayed on the ice together after the rest of the team left. The competition existed, but not in the form people preferred.
Tessa had begun to understand how quickly a reasonable question became a story larger than the answer.
She opened the statistics from the previous season and added them to her notes anyway.
Cole Bennett was twenty-four, an American from the University of Minnesota who had been drafted in the third round and spent two full seasons developing in the minors before earning the backup role in Halifax.
When Matvei struggled in January, Cole had started eight of eleven games and won six of them.
His numbers dropped later in the season, but by then the question had been planted.
Was he the future?
More immediately, was he the better choice now?
Tessa looked toward the ice, where arena staff had begun placing pucks near each net for warmups.
The conversation with Nina had followed her longer than she wanted to admit.
It had seemed harmless at lunch, a joke made by someone who viewed professional athletes through the same distant lens as every other fan.
Nina had called Matvei attractive. Tessa had eventually agreed, because denying something obvious had made her sound more invested than admitting it.
She had expected the awareness to disappear once she returned to work.
It had not.
Now, when she found him on the ice, she noticed things she had previously filed away as irrelevant details.
The width of his shoulders beneath the practice jersey.
The dark hair curling at the base of his mask.
The way he pushed the mask onto his head during stoppages and dragged a hand through hair damp with sweat.
None of those things changed who he was.
They changed nothing about her job.
They were simply more difficult to ignore now that Nina had given them a name.
Tessa opened her notes and forced her attention back to the game.
When the Convoy emerged for warmups, Matvei skated directly toward the crease and began the same routine she had watched throughout camp. He scraped the ice near each post, tapped the left one with his stick, then the right. He stopped the first few shots without difficulty.
Joona joined the rush group at the opposite end, skating on what appeared to be the third line.
The final forward position had come down to him and Ben Carver, a twenty-five-year-old Canadian winger who had spent most of the previous three seasons with the Convoy’s minor-league affiliate.
Carver had dressed for twenty-one NHL games and knew the system, the coaches and nearly everyone in the organization.
Joona offered more offensive upside, but less certainty.
Both were in the lineup against New Jersey.
One would probably be gone by the following afternoon.
Tessa watched Joona circle through the slot and snap a shot inside the far post. He smiled as he returned to the line, receiving a tap on the shin pads from the veteran center beside him.
At the other end, Matvei removed his mask and leaned against the crossbar, his expression focused but no longer severe enough for Tessa to mistake concentration for anger.
Nina’s voice appeared unhelpfully in her mind.
He’s the cute one.
The final preseason game did not count.
For several players, it felt as though it counted more than anything else had.
Joona scored seven minutes into the first period.
The play began along the wall, where he absorbed a hit from a New Jersey defenseman significantly larger than him and managed to keep the puck moving. He slipped free, cut toward the net and redirected a pass from the slot before the goaltender could seal the post.
The goal horn sounded while Joona continued behind the net, raising both arms only after he saw the puck resting inside it.
Tessa entered the details into her notes.
7:04 first. Salonen wins battle on wall, drives net, redirects Sundberg pass. Exactly kind of play coaches wanted to see on smaller ice.
The fans cheered louder when his name was announced. Joona’s push for the final roster spot had become one of the few uncomplicated stories of camp. He was young, talented and new enough that nobody had accumulated reasons to resent him yet.
His teammates leaned over the boards when he returned to the bench, tapping his helmet and shoulders. Matvei remained near his crease at the opposite end, but even from the press box Tessa saw him knock his stick against the ice once in acknowledgment.
Ben Carver scored less than five minutes later.
His goal was less impressive but no less important. He drove toward the net while a point shot traveled through traffic, collected the rebound and lifted it over the goaltender’s pad.
Tessa added another note.
Linda leaned across the aisle. “Coaches are going to love this.”
“They’d probably prefer one of them make the decision easy.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The first period ended with Halifax leading by two. Matvei faced only six shots, none especially dangerous. He remained largely invisible, which was usually the best possible outcome for a goaltender playing behind a team controlling the puck.
The second period offered more of a test.
A turnover sent New Jersey toward him on a two-on-one. Matvei held his position, waited for the pass and pushed across in time to stop the shot against his right pad. The rebound kicked toward the boards instead of into the slot.
Tessa noticed.
She no longer knew whether she was watching him more closely because his game had become a central story or because Nina had made her aware of his face.
The question annoyed her enough that she refused to answer it.
Matvei stopped another chance through traffic minutes later, finding the puck after it changed direction off a defenseman’s stick.
The save drew a whistle and sent several players toward his crease.
He stood immediately and moved one of the opposing forwards away from the paint with a blocker to the chest.
The forward said something.
Matvei answered.
The linesman stepped between them before either seemed particularly committed to escalating the exchange.
On the bench, Cole laughed.
The camera found him, and his grin appeared on the video board above center ice.
There was no visible tension between them. No sign that Cole wanted Matvei to fail or that Matvei viewed Cole as the person who had taken something from him. They were teammates first, competitors second.
Tessa wondered how much of that would survive the questions waiting for them after the game.
Halifax allowed a goal late in the period when a screened shot from the point deflected off a defenseman’s leg. Matvei reacted too late to reach it. He looked behind him, then toward the official, as though checking whether the puck had gone in cleanly.
There was little he could have done.