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Chase,

I’m sorry it took me so long to write. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, too. When we met, I was dead-set on applying for the Rhodes, and I know right now you’re yelling at this paper saying “You’re still going to apply for that damn scholarship” so don’t hate me for what I’m about to say next.

I’m not going to submit. Not because of you, so you can breathe easy.

I realize that you’ve committed to your job in Vancouver and it’s probably unlikely that the two of us will cross paths in any long-term way anytime soon.

That breaks my heart a little. I didn’t say anything when you left, not because I didn’t want to, but because you’d made it clear that you didn’t want to try.

So here goes. This is my best attempt at explaining the thousand things running through my head in some sort of conglomeration that makes sense.

I think I love you. There. Got that out of the way. You told me once that wanting doesn’t make a difference. That it either is or it isn’t. To that I say (as you taught me), “No thank you.” Wanting makes all the difference, and here’s my proof:

Before we met (again) I wanted the Rhodes.

It pushed me to work my hardest academically, but also to search for some way I could serve and make a difference.

If I hadn’t wanted that, I never would’ve walked into your office.

I never would’ve said yes to serve on the committee, and I never would’ve discovered new pieces of myself in the study room while trying to explain differential equations, or in that hotel room in Clearwater.

And not wanting makes all the difference, too.

Did you know I’ve heard from three other guys on the Outlaws that you helped them with something?

Nick’s car, Tim’s textbook fees, and a donation to Rob when he bought that ring for Sharla.

You didn’t want your guys to suffer, so you helped them in ways you absolutely didn’t need to.

I hope you know they love you for it. Axel mopes around like a wounded puppy talking about how much it sucks you won’t be back for Kaplan in the fall.

I’m better because I wanted. Which leads me to my final point.

The whole reason I wanted the Rhodes? I’ve been staring down graduation with no idea what I was going to do with a math degree.

You and I aren’t so different. We both worked our hardest to follow the “one” path we were supposed to.

Yours ended a bit earlier, but I would’ve been sitting there with you in another year.

Maybe I would’ve found direction going to Oxford, but because I wanted—and because you wanted to be a good coach (and possibly to spend time with me . . . I’d be lying if I didn’t hope that was part of your motivation), I found direction here.

I’ve already met with Kowalski and Lamont, and I’ve been approved to start a project I’m calling the Elite League Initiative.

(If you hate it, tell me. Not sure it’ll stick.) It’s a partnership between the math department and athletics, and it’s going to serve as my independent research project for senior credit.

The idea is to create a sustainable post-collegiate hockey league for players who age out of Juniors or university play but don’t move on to the minors or NHL.

I’m using practical mathematical analysis and predictive modeling to study player longevity, cost-efficiency, and long-term participation metrics.

It’s small right now. Just a few scrimmages.

I’m hoping I’ll get enough guys to show up.

But it’s already changing how I see things.

I used to think math was only about answers.

Equations. Certainty. But the truth is, I love the messy parts.

The unpredictable human variables. That’s what makes the numbers matter.

And Chase, you were the variable I didn’t see coming.

You nudged me outside of my comfort zone. Made me ask different questions. Ones I didn’t know how to solve.

Thank you for being unpredictable. For not making sense. Maybe not a typical compliment, but I hope you’ll take it as such.

So, dear sir, I call bullshit on your thesis. The numbers don’t add up. While it’s scary as hell to admit all of this, I don’t want to stop wanting.

Love Maddie