Gemotions

He stared at the note in his hand, the words blurring slightly. Coach Thompson wanted to see him. Just him. After a losing streak, this was never good news. He ran a hand through his hair, already slick with sweat from the training session. He walked slowly to the office, each footstep heavy.

The office was dimly lit, the blinds drawn against the harsh afternoon sun. Coach Thompson was slumped in his chair, looking older than he had that morning. He began speaking, something about finding a "better fit" for the team's style.

Michael’s jaw clenched. He’d been the leading scorer for two seasons. He listened, his gaze sweeping the room. The awards, the team photos, they all seemed mocking now. A vein throbbed in his temple. He swallowed hard, trying to stay composed, though he felt a rising tide of disbelief.