Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty practice field, painting the grass in hues of gold and amber. Coach Davis rubbed his palms together, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he possessed. The air held a strange, charged quality, a stillness before a storm. He felt it, prickling his skin.

He'd spent the morning rehearsing the conversation in his head, a meticulous script designed to soften the blow. He'd failed. His mouth felt dry, and his heart hammered against his ribs. He watched as Emily, the player he needed to speak with, slowly made her way across the field. Her gait, normally confident, seemed hesitant.

“Emily, can you come over here for a sec?” The words, he noted, came out in a huskier tone than usual.