hard to keep
him off base, and it was good to know a few still respected his ability,
despite his dismal showing so far this season. He stepped back into the batter’s
box. His next swing connected with leather, rocketing the ball foul down the
first base line.
God, it felt
good to connect again, to feel the sharp bite of energy when two moving masses
collided.
He loosened his
grip on the bat and repositioned his fingers, searching for the perfect grip.
Satisfied, he lifted the bat to his shoulder and focused on the pitcher’s hand.
His gaze narrowed to the slash of white showing between the pitcher’s fingers.
He tuned out everything. Nothing existed but the orb hurtling toward him. Four
hundred milliseconds to see the ball, calculate speed and trajectory, commit to
the swing, and follow through. His brain committed to action, and the bat
became an extension of his hands.
He shifted his
weight to his back foot then using the muscles in his legs, he lunged forward,
twisting first his shoulders then his upper torso, transferring energy from his
lower body to his arms to the bat. Simple physics. Point the knob of the bat
toward the target, and swing through.
Less than half a
second from pitch to impact.
The ball
collided with the bat in that elusive sweet spot where eight thousand pounds of
force literally crushed the ball before sending in the opposite direction at
nearly one hundred ten miles-per-hour.
No sting in his
hands. Just a pleasant vibration traveling along his arms, through his
shoulders, and down his spine. Every cell in his body responded to the
stimulus. Fireworks exploded in his mind. His heart raced. He didn’t need to
watch, but the miracle never ceased to amaze him. Jogging toward first base, he
tracked the ball until it fell into waiting hands in the right field bleachers.
A homerun.
As his foot
touched each base in turn, a calm certainty built inside him. He was back in
the game. All the doubts he’d harbored since the first pitch of the season vanished.
This was his year. Jason Holder was on top—in more ways than one. He crossed
home plate into a crowd of teammates gathered to celebrate with him. Over their
heads, he caught the gaze of his sister-in-law, Megan, in the stands. Bouncing
on her toes, she waved and blew him a kiss. Too bad his brother was stuck in
the bullpen and couldn’t share this moment with him. Jeff would make it up to
him later. Their lockers side-by-side, they always had time together before and
after the game.
Jason entered
the dugout. The team manager, Doyle Walker, clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice
shot,” he said. “Glad to see you’re back.”
“It’s good to be
back,” he said. And good to have the team manager’s favor again, he
added silently.
Doyle had been a
good friend to Jason and Jeff since he’d recruited them from the University of
Texas almost seven years ago. But his job was to win games, and a player not
pulling his weight had to go—friend or not. Today’s homerun, though not enough
to get him completely out of the woods, bought him time to prove himself.
He shelved his
helmet, using the after batting routine to savor the moment privately. It was
just one homerun, but he knew it was the first of many. He couldn’t really
pinpoint the change, but something had shifted inside him. He felt different,
more alive, more in charge of his life and body. Until that feeling had returned,
he hadn’t noticed it’d been was missing. Funny how a person could go through
each day without giving a thought to whether they were happy or not. Then— Wham! Happiness hit him like a fastball to the helmet, and his whole world had
shifted into focus.
An image of
Carrie, naked and on her knees, flashed in his mind. She truly was a work of
art. A plan formed in his mind for the next time they were together. No
punishment, just pleasure. Lots and lots of pleasure. Yeah, life was good.
* * *
Carrie waited,
none too patiently, to be with him
him off base, and it was good to know a few still respected his ability,
despite his dismal showing so far this season. He stepped back into the batter’s
box. His next swing connected with leather, rocketing the ball foul down the
first base line.
God, it felt
good to connect again, to feel the sharp bite of energy when two moving masses
collided.
He loosened his
grip on the bat and repositioned his fingers, searching for the perfect grip.
Satisfied, he lifted the bat to his shoulder and focused on the pitcher’s hand.
His gaze narrowed to the slash of white showing between the pitcher’s fingers.
He tuned out everything. Nothing existed but the orb hurtling toward him. Four
hundred milliseconds to see the ball, calculate speed and trajectory, commit to
the swing, and follow through. His brain committed to action, and the bat
became an extension of his hands.
He shifted his
weight to his back foot then using the muscles in his legs, he lunged forward,
twisting first his shoulders then his upper torso, transferring energy from his
lower body to his arms to the bat. Simple physics. Point the knob of the bat
toward the target, and swing through.
Less than half a
second from pitch to impact.
The ball
collided with the bat in that elusive sweet spot where eight thousand pounds of
force literally crushed the ball before sending in the opposite direction at
nearly one hundred ten miles-per-hour.
No sting in his
hands. Just a pleasant vibration traveling along his arms, through his
shoulders, and down his spine. Every cell in his body responded to the
stimulus. Fireworks exploded in his mind. His heart raced. He didn’t need to
watch, but the miracle never ceased to amaze him. Jogging toward first base, he
tracked the ball until it fell into waiting hands in the right field bleachers.
A homerun.
As his foot
touched each base in turn, a calm certainty built inside him. He was back in
the game. All the doubts he’d harbored since the first pitch of the season vanished.
This was his year. Jason Holder was on top—in more ways than one. He crossed
home plate into a crowd of teammates gathered to celebrate with him. Over their
heads, he caught the gaze of his sister-in-law, Megan, in the stands. Bouncing
on her toes, she waved and blew him a kiss. Too bad his brother was stuck in
the bullpen and couldn’t share this moment with him. Jeff would make it up to
him later. Their lockers side-by-side, they always had time together before and
after the game.
Jason entered
the dugout. The team manager, Doyle Walker, clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice
shot,” he said. “Glad to see you’re back.”
“It’s good to be
back,” he said. And good to have the team manager’s favor again, he
added silently.
Doyle had been a
good friend to Jason and Jeff since he’d recruited them from the University of
Texas almost seven years ago. But his job was to win games, and a player not
pulling his weight had to go—friend or not. Today’s homerun, though not enough
to get him completely out of the woods, bought him time to prove himself.
He shelved his
helmet, using the after batting routine to savor the moment privately. It was
just one homerun, but he knew it was the first of many. He couldn’t really
pinpoint the change, but something had shifted inside him. He felt different,
more alive, more in charge of his life and body. Until that feeling had returned,
he hadn’t noticed it’d been was missing. Funny how a person could go through
each day without giving a thought to whether they were happy or not. Then— Wham! Happiness hit him like a fastball to the helmet, and his whole world had
shifted into focus.
An image of
Carrie, naked and on her knees, flashed in his mind. She truly was a work of
art. A plan formed in his mind for the next time they were together. No
punishment, just pleasure. Lots and lots of pleasure. Yeah, life was good.
* * *
Carrie waited,
none too patiently, to be with him
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