Gemotions

The locker room felt like a pressure cooker. Sweat beaded on Marcus’s forehead despite the cold air circulating. He tugged at the collar of his jersey, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. His stomach churned with a feeling he couldn’t quite name, a knot tightening with each passing second. He knew what was coming. Coach Miller had been unusually quiet during practice all week.

He avoided eye contact with the other players, pretending to meticulously tape his ankle, even though it was already perfect. The rhythmic slap of the tape against his skin was supposed to be calming, but it only amplified the thudding in his chest. He heard the muffled voices of Coach Miller and the assistant coach in the hallway.

His palms were slick. He fumbled with the clasp of his locker, struggling to open it. He wanted to scream. He imagined the words, the inevitable sentence. *I'm sorry, Marcus, but…* He braced himself, steeling his resolve. He just wanted to go home.