epilogue 19 years later - nate
I looped the tie around my neck and studied myself in the mirror. I still had a full head of hair, but the gray had spread. Retirement felt like the right choice; my body creaked, reminding me again of why I had made the decision. Still didn’t make it easy.
Folding the notes that held my speech, I followed my wife’s voice as she wrangled everyone into the Suburban.
“Nate? Are you ready?” Olivia walked up beside me, and we both stood there and watched each other in the mirror.
“I thought I was. But fuck, Livvie, where did the years go?”
She smiled softly. In her, I remembered everything. With her, we had everything.
“They went—but man, they were good.”
* * *
The lights flashed as I stood at the podium.
The room was filled, and my family was in the first row.
Hundreds of faces waited expectantly for me to sum up a career that had meant more to me than words could ever express.
I wiped a stray tear and looked to Olivia to settle me—always Olivia.
And man, she let the tears flow. Her sister-in-law, Lindy, gave her a soft hug while Austin squeezed her hand.
Cooper and his wife, Juniper, wrangled their own kids. Twin boys, who ran off and sat on their uncles’ laps. My bonus son had joined me on the Minutemen, and when I’d moved mostly to the designated hitter position, he took my spot at shortstop.
And then the four boys, Olivia, and I shared together.
Jared, seventeen, held one of his squirming nephews.
He’d always been the most patient, but the least athletic of the boys.
When he quit Little League, he worried he had let me down.
Once I realized he was never going to play the game, our relationship improved so much.
That boy taught me so much about being a better human.
Cole, fifteen, had Olivia driving all over town to ice rinks until he realized he was better at baseball. Cole was enough like me to realize he loved being good at something, so he chose the sport he played best.
Travis and Tate were twins, and we swore they would be our last. At thirteen, they were still figuring things out. But right now, soccer looked like it had their hearts.
Skylar had shocked us all. We thought our family was complete after the twins, but this girl came screaming into our lives.
At seven, she ran roughshod over her brothers.
Her mop of curly blond hair, her mom’s, and those great big baby blue eyes—I loved my wife more every time I saw pieces of her in these kids.
I looked out at the crowd, filled with former teammates and their families. Also, now part of my own extended family. Kids and babies who had grown into adults with their own families.
I smiled at Sam Drummond, the man who had inspired me to be the best stepdad and family man I could be, all while juggling a crazy career.
His wife and kids surrounded him. Crew had followed in his biological father’s footsteps and played hockey, while Cam had joined me on the Minutemen last year, taking my place as the youngest rookie to complete a season.
Someone cleared their throat, and I realized just how long I’d been standing there mute. I began.
* * *
Twenty years later, the text of Nate’s speech hung on the wall of the Baseball Hall of Fame Museum, Cooperstown, New York.
Transcript of Nate Reaves’ retirement speech:
I’ve been blessed. Who am I to deserve this life? When I put on that uniform for the first time, I couldn’t have imagined what the future held for me.
This game has given me so much. The baseball gods somehow saw that kid, barely out of high school from a small town in Alabama, and handed him the keys.
And through this twenty-year career, yeah, I’m old. Old as dirt, as my daughter tells me. I watched men come and go, lose careers to injuries, bad plays, and personal mistakes.
I got to play ball with my son—Coop—those were some of the best games of my career. Not because I played better, but because you were by my side. I’m so proud of the man, husband, and ballplayer you’ve become. I love you.
I once dreamed of having a ring for every finger, and while I’m missing one with only nine, it would only ever be the second to the most important ring on that finger, second to the one my wife slipped on there the day she made me hers.
Behind every ballplayer, there’s their person.
For me, that’s Olivia. If you know me, you’ve heard me talk about my wife.
She’s the one who held my family, all eight of us, together while I spent half the year on the road chasing balls and championship rings.
I love you, babe. I’ve got the school drop-offs and pickups for the rest of your days. Turn the alarm off—I got this.
To my kids, I’m ready to be a stay-at-home dad. The bus leaves at seven.
And to the players with whom I chased those titles—how lucky were we? To do what we loved and get paid for it?
It wasn’t hard to make the decision to retire; my aching bones made it for me. But as I finished out this season, with my son as my teammate, I watched the next generation take over. Cam Drummond? Has anyone heard of him? Cam, I loved playing with your dad, and you’re better than him.
And today, I truly understand the words of Lou Gehrig. Because in his words, “Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”
The end