Gemotions

"You're big, you're strong," the coach had said, "We need you in the scrum." James scowled, his brow furrowing. He was a winger, damn it. He was built for speed, for open field running. He loathed the thought of being squeezed in the middle of a scrum.

He let out a long, slow breath, trying to calm the racing of his pulse. He'd spent years perfecting his sprints, his agility. He wanted to sprint down the field and hear the roar of the crowd. He wasn’t going to lie down and let them move him.

His jaw tightened. He walked to the water cooler, the metal a little too cold against his palm. He clenched his teeth and poured the water into his mouth. He was going to have to prove that he was an offensive player no matter what.