Gemotions

“Come on in, Jake,” Coach Evans said, gesturing toward his office. The small, cluttered space felt suffocating. Jake’s throat constricted. He hated this. He hated being alone. He hated not knowing.

He trailed in, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor. The pennants on the wall blurred. The smell of coffee mingled with the stale scent of paper, an unpleasant combination. He fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket.

He’d spent the last few weeks anticipating this, dreading this. He couldn't imagine life without the team. The anticipation of failure was almost as bad as the actual event.