Gemotions

“Coach,” a hesitant voice called from the doorway. Coach Peterson winced. He knew. He looked up, forcing a smile. It was Ben, the young man whose father had been one of Peterson’s college teammates. He felt a deep pang of regret, a knot forming in his stomach. The gymnasium seemed suddenly cold, the cheers of the previous games now distant echoes.

“Come on in, Ben,” he managed, his voice sounding strained. He gestured to the chair across from his desk. He looked at the paperwork spread before him, the stats, the evaluations, the cold, hard facts. He couldn't seem to focus on them; they blurred before his eyes. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.