Gemotions

Liam stared at the pitcher’s mound, the clay feeling alien under his cleats. He’d always been a catcher, a leader, the heart of the team. He looked at his hands, hands that had known the sting of a fastball and the comforting weight of a mitt. His coach had explained, patiently, about the need for a strong arm on the mound.

The ball felt wrong in his hand, a stranger. His stomach twisted. He remembered the feeling of calling a game, of knowing every hitter’s weakness. Now, he was the one being read, the one exposed.

A teammate clapped him on the back, offering a word of encouragement. Liam forced a smile, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes.