Gemotions

The clink of the ice pick against the curling stone echoed eerily in the silent arena. Liam, usually calm and focused, found himself unable to stand still. He paced the length of the ice sheet, his breath misting in the frigid air. The coach's pronouncements still rang in his ears. Second, but he was best at the skip.

His palms were slick with sweat. He kept running his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it down. The other players were watching him. He could feel their gazes, a mixture of curiosity and pity. He had always been the leader, the one who called the shots, now he was in a completely new role. He felt adrift.