Shar’s expression sobered. “Yeah?”
I hesitated. “What if we started a conversation? Talked with some of the people who already run leagues for under-eighteen athletes. What if we showed them these numbers and asked about the potential for expanding things?”
Shar blinked at me, then slowly grinned. “Do you think they’d talk with us?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Shar put a hand on her belly. “That’s good enough for me.”
We chatted for another hour or so, spitballing ideas for what our cold calls or emails would even look like. When I finally got home at nine thirty, the sky was streaked pink and gold. Damn, I always loved the start of summer.
I walked to the mailboxes at the corner of our street and pulled out my key. Inside I found a small stack of mostly flyers and advertisements, but as I closed the metal door, a white envelope caught my eye.
I re-locked the box and pulled it out from between a tanning bed coupon and a reminder that Stampede tickets were going on sale.
When I saw the handwriting and the name and address in the top corner, I dropped my keys.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Maddie,
I meant to write to you the week I left, but I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to say. Then I realized I needed to thank you for coming to my house that day. Not sure how you got my address (sound familiar?), but I’m grateful. I didn’t know I needed you until I saw you sitting on the front step.
I’m not in Vancouver. Right now I’m in Montana with a couple of guys I used to play Juniors with. We rented a place near Flathead Lake. It’s quiet. Still too cold to get out on the water, but we’ve been catching up. Doing a bit of fishing.
That makes me think of my dad, surprisingly. It was one of the only things he did with me when I was little that didn’t make me afraid of him.
Sorry. That was depressing.
Let me make up for it by telling you something I meant to tell you in the study room, but every time I thought to, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.
You’ve always scared the hell out of me.
Not in a bad way. But you were always such a hard worker. You’d sacrifice sleep or parties when you had homework. You’d sit at that kitchen counter until the middle of the nightif you didn’t understand a problem (I know because that’s when I usually wandered in).
And watching that made me feel like I’d been skating through half of my life. Like maybe I only ever gave fifty percent. But there you were, giving a hundred and ten without blinking. When I moved up in hockey, that memory lit a fire under me. It made me want to be better.
You asked why I didn’t contact you about the tutoring. Well, that’s why. I felt threatened. I was watching my players sink and wasn’t making any headway with administration. Then you waltzed in telling me my plan sucked (my words, not yours) and there you were showing me up again. It took me a few days to swallow my pride.
Then when you walked into that committee meeting? I felt about two centimetres high.
I’m sorry I didn’t email. It was a soft play. Hoping this letter makes up for it.
Chase
P.S. Do you wear the sweatshirt or is it sitting in your room somewhere?
_____
Chase,
Sometimes I think you’re remembering someone who’s not me. It’s flattering that you had such a high opinion of me. The truth is, I didn’t have many parties to sacrifice, and I struggled with insomnia. So math was kind of an escape. I know, total nerd.
I’ve never been good at sitting in uncertainty. I like knowing things. Predicting outcomes. Making sense of the information I have access to. You’ve never made sense, and sometimes that’s still a bit maddening. Just when I think I have you figured out, I find out you’re volunteering with a youth organization or you’re known for being a stickler for grades with the Outlaws (gasp).
I’d like to tell you I didn’t think your plan sucked, but you got me there. However, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me. About a university team being a hockey player’s plan B and how they might only get these last couple of years.