Page 116 of Roughing the Player
Epilogue
Five Years Later
Brock
“PITCH ME THE BALL, DADDY!”My son, Brock, Jr., all of four years old. Pretty much like Kaylee, he’s all me. Unlike Kaylee, though, he inherited my athletic ability. He wants to play ball which is fine with me. It won’t be football, though. Too much punishment for your body to take. Baseball’s much safer, so I’m teaching him to catch and pitch.
“Brock. It’s time for you to go.” Ellie yells from the porch. She’s plopped on a rocking chair, looking about ten months pregnant, although she’s only eight. With twins. Yeah. Her doctor put her on bed rest, but with Kaylee leaving for college, the best we could do was park her in a spot where she could watch the goings-on. If she so much as moves a muscle, I’ve threatened to hog tie her to that chair, though.
I’m driving our daughter to MIT. MIT! Who knew a kid of mine would be that smart? Harvard and Yale, along with every college she applied to, accepted her. But she chose MIT to study Bioengineering. Someday she’s going to design an entire body suit that people can wear to walk, talk, and move. So, so proud of her.
I lob the baseball one last time to Brock, Jr. He catches it in his mini-glove and beams me a smile. He might look just like me, but that grin is pure Ellie. Makes sense. He spends much more time with her than me.
I’m on the last year of my contract with the South Carolina Wolves. Last season, I took them all the way to the Super Bowl but lost. This year, I intend to win it all. But whatever happens, at the end of the season, I’m hanging up my cleats. I want to spend the rest of my life with my family—Brock, Jr., Kaylee, the babies, and Ellie. Always Ellie. God willing we’ll grow old together rocking those chairs on the porch.
“Gotta go, Ace.”
Brock, Jr. runs up and slings his little dude arms around my knees. “Do you have to, Daddy?”
I ruffle his honey blond hair. “Yeah, I do, Bud. Gotta drive Kaylee to school.”
“When is she coming back?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“That’s”—he counts on his fingers—“that’s three months away.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Hauling a suitcase behind her, Kaylee trips down the steps. Butch, ever her shadow, hobbles along next to her. His legs healed, just not 100%. Although he doesn’t have the vibrant stride of before, he still has the heart of a champion.
Tongue lolling out, Sundance bounds down the steps. Butch side-eyes him, seemingly saying, “How rude.”
Shortly after the whole family moved to South Carolina, we adopted Sundance, figuring Butch needed a buddy to play with. But Butch never warmed up to him. He’d already given his whole heart to Kaylee. Out of all of us, he’s going to miss her the most.
Ruth, a little grayer, a little older, walks onto the porch, a brown bag in her hand. “Kaylee, I made you some sandwiches for the road. Your favorite, peanut butter and jelly.”
Having stashed her suitcase in the car, Kaylee runs back to her grandmother and embraces her. “Grandma. You’re the best.”
And then it’s time to say goodbye to her mother. Not an easy feat. Even from where I’m standing, I can see the droop of her shoulders. Bending down, she gently hugs Ellie. “Mom.”
“Bye, honey,” Ellie pats her daughter’s cheek. “Call me and be careful.”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
Easier said than done.
Shortly after Kaylee’s 14th birthday, Ellie had ‘the talk’ with her. Something that was totally needed. Turns out Ellie had been right all along about Mitch. During his sophomore year, he’d grown six inches, replaced his coke-bottom glasses with contacts, and lost the dental hardware. And just like that, he’d turned into a stud. A nerdy stud, but a stud nonetheless.
When his friendship with Kaylee had blossomed into something more serious, I’d pulled Mitch aside and done a little talking of my own. I’d told him if he ever hurt my little girl, he wouldn’t live to see his next birthday. He’d nodded and said he had nothing but respect for her. A year ago, he’d left for MIT. To my surprise, their friendship hadn’t wavered. They Skype at least once a week.
Without parental supervision, these kids could get into a world of trouble. But they won’t. Because they know better. But in the end, all I can do is pray. And tuck a box of condoms into Kaylee’s suitcase.
At first, I attribute Ellie’s facial contortions to her attempt to keep from crying, but Brock, Jr. alerts me to the true state of things.
“Mom, you pe-peed.” He says pointing to the pool of liquid beneath Ellie’s rocking chair.
“Honey,” Ruth says, a note of alarm in her voice.
