Gemotions

Coach Ramirez’s fingers traced the faded team photo taped to the wall. He ran his thumb across the image of a younger him, a grin stretched across his face, flanked by his own team. The trophy, gleaming gold, seemed to mock him now. He sighed, the sound echoing in the empty, silent office. This wasn’t a trophy-winning team; it was about to be a team without its heart.

He’d known Mateo since Mateo was in diapers. He remembered Mateo’s first wobbly attempts to dribble a basketball in the driveway. Now, Mateo was a senior, the glue that held the team together, always the first to offer a hand, always the last to leave.

He heard the tap on the door. He stood, straightening his tie, and opened the door. Mateo stood there, his usual goofy grin missing, replaced by a quiet intensity that mirrored Coach Ramirez’s own. “Come in, son," he said, his voice unusually gravelly.