Whoosh.
He swung and hit nothing but air.
“Damn,” he hissed.
“Good,” Adrian said.
Gage blinked. “Good?”
“You didn’t hesitate. Again.”
Whoosh.
He swung too early.
“Again.”
Whoosh.
Too late, but he clipped it.
Someone in the next lane muttered, “That guy sucks.”
Fire sparked under his ribs as he squeezed his fingers tighter around the bat.
Adrian stepped closer. “Stop trying to force it. You’re hunting for it. Let it come to you.”
Gage nodded as he tilted his head…and listened.
Whoosh.
He swung.
CRACK.
The impact vibrated up his arms and straight into his chest.
The ball slammed into the back netting with a satisfying thunk that told him he’d hit it hard.
Gage froze before his mouth spread into a huge grin.
Adrian laughed, soft and proud. “That’s what I’m talkin ’bout.”
“Yeah!” Gage yelled.
“Nice. Now do it again,” his teacher ordered.
The next pitch he missed by a hair, but he could feel why.
The third one he hit.
The fourth got knocked out of the park.
He started hearing the exact moment it left the machine, and his body moved as if it’d only been waiting for his permission.
His swing became a rhythm.
CRACK.
