Gemotions

He stared at his reflection in the dark, dusty window of the team van. The bus was usually bustling with energy, loud chatter and anticipation. Now, everyone seemed to be whispering, avoiding his gaze. The final roster had been posted, and his name was not on it.

He felt the familiar knot in his stomach, but it didn't feel like worry, or even anger. It was more like a slow, dull ache, a feeling of resignation. He had spent his whole life dreaming of this. He was now on the outside looking in.

The coach climbed in, the air filling with the scent of leather and stale coffee. He looked at him, his face a mask of sympathy. "Can we talk?" he asked, his voice low and quiet. James turned away, staring back out the window.