Gemotions

“Thanks for your time, Michael.” Coach Davis’ voice was smooth, too smooth. Michael forced a smile, a grimace fighting for control of his features. He couldn't leave yet.

He picked up his gear bag, slowly, deliberately, the worn leather familiar beneath his fingers. He paused, turned back. “So, just to confirm… no chance for a tryout later in the season?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken resentment.

Davis’ expression remained unchanged. Michael walked to the door, took a deep breath, and stepped outside, into the harsh afternoon sun, his shadow a long, disapproving silhouette. He wasn't done.