Page 4 of The Way We Swing

“Hold up,” Easton said. “I think I see something. Can I show him, Tanner?”

My chest tightened as I realized he was asking my permission for something I thought was obvious he could do.

“Sure, bro.”

“You’re too straight,” Easton said to Gavin.

Gavin giggled. “I’m fine being too straight. I love boobs.”

“Shut up, Gav,” I said. “He’s right.”

Easton got down next to him. He placed one hand on Gavin’s back, the other on his chest, and adjusted his angle forward. Gavin let him do it without resistance.

“If the ball hits you here,” Easton said, tapping Gavin’s chest, “it drops right in front. But if you’re straight up, it can bounce anywhere. Stay low, and it’s easier to handle.”

Gavin nodded and adjusted, mimicking the motion. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Easton said. “Let’s get a few more in before you go.”

We went through another dozen balls. Gavin kept his form.

“How’d that look?” I asked.

“Excellent.”

“Felt good, too,” Gavin beamed.

Why was Easton so good with Gavin? We’d met this guy six hours ago, but he acted like he’d known us for six years.

“Go get changed. Your ride is going to be here soon,” I told him. It was 4:30, an hour and a half before our actual practice.

Zach snored on the deck. Ricky read, barely acknowledging that we were living what he was reading.

“Want to hit?” Easton asked. “You’re probably gonna get nailed at least once, but I can throw all day.”

“Sure. Help me get the screen.”

I hit a bucket, then we traded places. And, yeah, this kid could hit. Ball after ball smacked the screen or rocketed past me. He had that sound—when the ball caught the sweet spot and made everyone in the dugout go quiet.

“Where’d you learn to hit like that?”

“My dad. He used to throw to me all the time.”

"You guys still hit together?"

“No.” He turned away, the muscles in his jaw tensing like he'd said more than he meant to.

I opened my mouth to ask more, then bit down on the words. Not the time. Not my business. Not my man. “What about the lefty swing? Have you always done that?”

“When I was two, my dad tossed me a Wiffle ball, and I wanted to swing lefty. He let me. Says it’s the best decision he ever made.”

“I think I agree. What position do you play?”

“Middle infield. Normally shortstop.”

I laughed. “Then you’ll have to take that spot from me.”

“I will.”