I LACE UP MY CLEATS, making a double knot and tucking in the loops. Socks, belt, buttoned-up jersey. Dad’s necklace tucked underneath my collar, my baseball cap, my sunglasses. The pieces of my uniform come together the same way as they always do, one last time. I paint two thick stripes of eye black on my cheeks, then help Rafael with his.
The usual cheer in the locker room is subdued. We split the two previous games in this series, and it would be great to go out with one final win, not just for me but for the team, but it doesn’t feel nearly as exciting as it should. No matter how well we play, it won’t lead to a spot in the playoffs. This is the end of my baseball career. My last time jogging out to left field. My last time stepping into the batter’s box. My last time walking off the field at the end with my teammates by my side, win or lose.
I’m at peace with it. The letter went to the Commissioner’s Office this morning, and by the end of the game, Zoe Anders will have broken the story. She still wants to do a video interview, but I’m going to decline. I said all I needed to say in that letter. I don’t owe anyone more of an explanation.
And who knows, maybe one day, baseball fans across America will recognize me for my food instead.
It’s a perfectly warm, perfectly cloudless late June day in New York, the kind of baseball weather they depict in the movies. My family is behind home plate, ready to watch me play. Even if I go 0-for-4 or commit an error, I won’t care. I’ll have given it my all, one more time.
I just wish that Mia was here.
I check the time. She’s probably doing last minute preparations for her presentation. I hope she’s not too nervous; I’m sure she’s going to crush it. I saw how hard she worked on this project, day after day, night after night. By the end, before everything went sideways, she’d be up in the middle of the night with me, working at the kitchen table, bathed in the blue glow of the computer, while I cooked.
Today is an ending for me, but a beginning for her. I just hope her family came through on their promise and actually showed up.
“Ready?” Hunter says quietly. He’s the only one who knows the truth of today besides Coach Martin.
I adjust my cap. “I feel good. No regrets.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” He claps me on the back. “I’m going to miss you next season.”
“You’ll have to keep me updated.”
“You still think you’ll go to Europe? Even without, you know?”
I nod. “I’ll start there and see where I end up.”
“You should start a food Instagram or something.”
I snort. “The spotlight still isn’t for me.”
“Sebastian,” Coach calls from the other end of the locker room. “If you want to talk to the guys, now’s the time.”
I push past my teammates, most of them staring with interest thanks to the announcement, and stand next to Coach Martin by the door. When I told him my decision a couple days ago, he was quiet for a long time—longer, even, than Dad—before embracing me and telling me that he wished me luck. Now, he claps my back as he smiles at me. He wanted to make sure I had a chance to address the team on my own terms before Zoe posts the letter.
I take a deep breath. The royal purple and dark wood of the locker room has always been a warm, safe cave to me. The Reds locker room felt like that too; in my haziest memories, I can remember the excitement of being let loose in the room. My father would swing me over his shoulders if I got too nosy about the other lockers, tickling me until we both dissolved into laughter.
I take off my cap, run my hand through my hair, and clear my throat.
“Last game of the season,” I say.
The guys nod, murmuring to each other. My heart squeezes with love. I’m going to miss everyone, even the guys who are a pain in the ass, like Ozzy. By walking away, I’m giving up the practices and training sessions, the road trips and home games. The slammed locker doors and broken bats, but also the celebrations, all of us chanting and making up handshakes.
“It’s also my last game.” My gaze lingers on Hunter and Rafael. Hunter smiles at me, and Rafael gives me a thumbs up. “I’m withdrawing from the draft, and I’m going to graduate after next semester, so this is officially my last baseball game ever.”
The guys break into conversation, talking over each other.
Coach raises his hand, and the noise dies down slowly. “Let him finish.”
“I want to thank everyone,” I say. “Thank you for being the best teammates a guy could ask for. Thank you, Coach, for all your guidance. I’ve loved playing with you all, and I’m sorry it’s over, but this is what’s right for me.”
“Tell them all what you’re doing next,” Hunter calls out.
I shake my head, smiling. “Maybe after the game. Let’s go and do this fucking thing, yeah? Let’s end the season strong. We might’ve missed the playoffs, but we can set the tone for next season right here and now. I’m hanging up my glove, but I’m still a Royal.”
“Bring it in,” Rafael shouts. “Royals on three, Seb leading!”
We gather in the center of the room, putting our hands together. I miss this already, but in the way you miss an old friend. The memories are bittersweet. You wonder what might have been while still being grateful for what you had.
Across the circle, Ozzy gives me a nod. “I’ll miss seeing you in the majors, Callahan.”
I nod back. “Good luck, man. I’ll be waiting to hear your name on draft day.”
I lead the countdown for my team one last time.
