The End of the Season
"How ya feelin', Two-Three?"
I peer over, expecting to find Holloway's expression dripping with sarcasm or mockery, but instead, it's earnest. His body's still, his eyes are locked on me, and his brows are lifted as he waits for my answer.
"I feel good," I say, scanning the outfield. My eyes float past the open grass like they have a million times before, but this time feels different—final. "Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."
Jace blows out a heavy breath and nods, turning back toward the game. "I can't lie, I, uh…" He clears his throat, digging his heel into the ground. "I'm not sure I feel the same."
I chuckle softly, flexing my hand inside my glove. "You'll be just fine, Rook."
He shakes his head, his eyes forward. "Big shoes to fill, man."
My hand stills.
A lot has changed over the last six months, one of the biggest things being that Jace and I have gotten close—closer than I would have expected. I know his past now, his goals. The failures he thinks define him. And I've learned that beneath the buzz and bravado is a kid just trying his best—worried he's not enough. A heart that's been bruised. An ego that isn't nearly as loud as people assume.
After a beat of silence, Jace glances up, catching my stare. I grin, and his shoulders finally drop.
“Nah,” I say, my eyes dropping to my glove, tracing the worn creases in the leather. “When I first took this spot, I thought the same thing—thatI had to be exceptional. Perfect. Better than the last guy.” I run my finger along the seams. “But this dirt? It's borrowed. Always has been. It's yours to take care of until it's someone else's turn.”
He looks at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Always so fucking deep,” he mutters.
We laugh as the next batter steps into the box, and instinct pulls us both back into position.
"This next gig of yours is gonna be perfect," Holloway says.
I huff out a breath. "Yeah." I nod, smiling. "That's what I'm hoping for."
And it is.
But I think he's right too.
Jace was really the start of it all—my plan for the future. By helping him, I saw I wasgivingwhat I actuallyneeded—advice, insight—a buffer to guide me into the next chapter of my career. And the idea only solidified as I heard about Jo's story—watched it unfold over these last few months.
No one really understands what it's like to completely reroute your life, especially when you're still smiling, still living—still talking trash on the internet or raising a daughter in a life that, despite the change, is so incredibly full. No one besides the people who have been there before.
And that's what I've been doing for Jace—it's what any mentor does for someone just starting out. But what about those of us at the opposite end? The ones who are done. Leaving. Walking away from everything we've built to enter a world that might seem more open to some, but one where that freedom is also paralyzing to others.
That's why I'm starting Extra Innings—a post-career transition program that will assist freshly retired or soon-to-retire players of all sports by giving them what they're so used to already: coaching. Former players and coaches will guide them through the adjustment with unfiltered experience—working through the things that scared me the most. The future. The physical decline. The loss of routine.
Figuring out who the hell you are without the game.
Mitchell inhales deeply before delivering the pitch, and just like that, I'm pulled back in—breathing with him, the way I've done for the last fifteen years.
The game has moved smoothly so far tonight. A few hits. A few runs. A ground ball through the hole and a close call with a catch against the fence. But through it all, we've managed to stay ahead—steady, calm. Almost as if the game itself knows this is the end.
Mitchell releases the ball, and it sails down the middle just before the ump punches his right fist into the air. Strike one.
The crowd erupts like I'd expect when a strike is thrown in the top of the ninth—one out left, up by two. But instead of adrenaline, I feel… peace. Not because I care less. But because no matter what happens next, I finally know what comes after.
My eyes drift like they always do—to the first row behind the wall. To the family I've always been able to count on. To my daughter—my world. To Tessa.
To the life I'm walking into.
Tessa's changed everything for us. She's given Levi and Alex another person in their corner and Ruthie someone to look up to and confide in. She's exactly what my daughter has needed—a role model, a friend. Someone who stays.
She's teaching her what she's learning herself—true strength isn't just solving problems and fixing messes. It's not being afraid to ask for help too. She loves Ruthie, not because it's her job—which it isn't anymore—but because it's her heart.
