Gemotions

He stared at the manager, his jaw slack. "You want me… to pitch?" Leo, a shortstop his entire career, felt his legs go rubbery. His focus had always been the infield, the quick throws, the double plays. The mound? A foreign, intimidating territory. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of uncertainty.

He blinked, trying to process the information. The manager was still speaking, but the words seemed to bounce off his ears. The crack of the bat during batting practice seemed deafening now, the shouts from the dugout fading into a dull roar. He ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't made in years.

He looked down at his glove, the familiar leather strangely alien in his grip. Pitching? It was a different game entirely. He was dumbstruck.