Gemotions

Coach Miller called him into the cramped, equipment-strewn office. The air smelled of sweat and old leather. Liam knew. He’d seen the writing on the wall, the dwindling playing time, the growing chill in the coach’s eye. Still, when Miller began, the words struck him like a physical blow. He didn't blink. He stared directly at Miller, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and listened without interruption.

He thanked the coach, his voice tight, and turned towards the door. Miller started to offer a platitude about effort and improvement, but Liam cut him off with a curt nod. He didn't want to hear it. Walking back to the locker room, he shouldered past his teammates without a word, slamming his locker shut with a crash that echoed through the room.

He didn't remove his gear. He just sat, hands fisted, staring at the floor. The sting in his eyes wasn't sadness. It was something else entirely. Something sharp, like shards of ice lodged in his chest.