Gemotions

The drive home was a blur. Michael gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white, his vision obscured by a film of unshed tears. The radio, usually a source of comfort, now blared meaningless noise, each song a jarring reminder of the joy that had just been ripped away.

He kept replaying the conversation with Coach Miller in his head, dissecting every word, every gesture, searching for a clue, a reason. The familiar route, usually comforting, felt alien, the scenery a dull, uninteresting backdrop to the turmoil within.

He pulled into the driveway, the engine dying with a sigh that echoed his own.