Page 76 of The Save

I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but it’s crazy to me that a sport like this, one these players love so much, would just end. I’m so sorry it ended for you. I know there are some things beyond our control, but maybe some things aren’t. Maybe we shouldn’t let go of the things we love so easily.

Anyway. Weekend thoughts. I hope you’re having a blast in Montana. Your letter more than makes up for your momentary lapse in judgement. Just don’t do it again.

Maddie

P.S. I would wear it but I don’t want it to stop smelling like you.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

The NHL playoffsbecame our soundtrack. Somehow, Blakely convinced the admins to play the games in the North Centre like they had during Nationals, which meant Crystal, Shar, and I were there most nights with the guys. Crystal printed the bracket, and we all made dollar bets. We watched the Devils claw through the rounds, and Shar never quite got over the Blizzard being knocked out in round one. When New Jersey took down Detroit in a clean sweep, Bear was the one who took home thirteen dollars.

After spending a week with my mom, I started a summer job in the admissions office—organizing files, scheduling tours, and answering phones. It may have been the position I was getting paid for, but the work I couldn’t stop thinking about was my research. Well, that and checking the mailbox for Chase’s letters.

We kept writing. I didn’t ask where he went after Montana, but when I got a letter postmarked from Vancouver, my heart dropped to my knees. It wasn’t a surprise, I knew he was going there eventually, but it still hurt like a punch to the throat.

This wasn’t just a summer gig. He was moving. He wouldn’t be coming back.

I did what I did best—put my head down and worked. Chase may have seen it is a strength, but I couldn’t help but start to look at it as only a coping mechanism.

As soon as applications opened for the Rhodes, I compiled my documents, completed my essays including a write up of my experiences with supporting student athletes on the committee, and included Lamont and Kowalski as references. After triple checking the information, I sealed the envelope and set it on my desk. I could turn it in right away, but I didn’t want to seem desperate. I opted to wait a few days before stamping it and dropping it in the mail.

That week, Tash was on a road trip with friends and Crystal was in Kamloops visiting her grandma, which meant I had nothing better to do than sit in the library. Emails had started rolling in a few days prior, but the responses were less than exciting.

Hi Madelyn,

Thanks for reaching out. Interesting idea, but unfortunately our current league structure focuses on junior and pro-development pipelines. There’s not a ton of demand for older athletes, and the logistics just aren’t feasible. Best of luck.

—D. Gerber, Operations Director, WHLA

I sighed, clicking on the next. They were all polite, and all dead ends. No one was outright dismissive, but none of the people I’d contacted seemed remotely interested in the data I’d sent.

Hi Maddie,

Appreciate your message. In our experience, most adult players who don’t go pro tend to move on from competitivehockey. Too many life changes, not enough time. A league for that age group would be hard to fund, let alone fill. Take care.

—G. Lewis, League Development, Canadian Minor Hockey Assoc.

“Still haven’t figured out how to take a break?”

I startled, spinning to find Professor Kowalski standing a few feet away, a coffee in hand.

“Hey, good morning.”

Professor Kowalski stepped closer, peering at the colour-coded sheets on the desk next to me. “I know this isn’t homework.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Nope. New project.” He raised an eyebrow, and I tried to give him the short version. “I’ve been researching adult hockey leagues.”

He grunted. “Any particular reason?”

How was I supposed to explain that? I turned my sheets toward him and slid them across the desk. “There are thousands of players in Alberta who don’t get to play competitively for some reason or another. If they don’t make the cut for the pros or graduate and leave their university teams, they’re done. There aren’t any options besides community rec leagues.”

“And that’s not a good option?” Kowalski thumbed through my notes.

“It’s not the same.” I stifled a yawn. “I’ve been emailing everyone I can find who runs a hockey league. Trying to see if there would be an option for a new league structure—something for players who age out of Juniors or college and don’t make it to the minors or NHL.”

He let go of the papers and stepped back. “Not your normal area of study.”

---