Gemotions

He’d arrived early, as always. Liam sat on the bench, fiddling with the laces of his cleats, his gaze perpetually glued to the entrance of the locker room. The scent of liniment and sweat hung heavy in the air, but all he smelled was Coach Thompson. The thought of seeing him, even just catching a glimpse, sent a buzz through his veins.

The door swung open, and Coach Thompson walked out, already in his coaching gear. Liam stood up immediately, brushing imaginary dust off his shorts. He tried to appear casual, like he hadn't been waiting, but the way his palms were sweating betrayed him.

"Liam," Coach Thompson said, his voice a low, gravelly sound. It sounded like music to Liam’s ears.

The coach approached, his expression unreadable. Liam tried to meet his gaze but found his eyes darting around the room, trying to avoid his.

“Come here for a second.” He followed, his mind racing, a symphony of hope and dread playing simultaneously.

He didn't have to look at the list. He knew.