Gemotions

The clipboard felt surprisingly light in his hand. Coach Reynolds had always seemed so imposing, a titan of the gridiron. Now, facing him in the dimly lit locker room, the man seemed…deflated. His shoulders slumped, the lines around his eyes etched deeper. “Alright, Liam,” Reynolds started, his voice a low rumble. Liam crossed his arms, the action a casual counterpoint to the gravity of the situation. He let a barely perceptible smile play on his lips.

“I’ve had to make some tough choices,” the coach continued, gesturing towards the bench where several players sat, shoulders hunched. Liam took a slow, deliberate sip from his water bottle, the condensation cold against his palm. He knew, of course. He’d seen the way the plays had been drawn up. He’d seen the glares directed at the younger players.

"We need to cut one more player," Reynolds sighed. Liam’s chest puffed out, just a fraction, the movement hidden by his jersey. He met the coach's gaze, a flicker of something in his eyes, something that seemed to sparkle in the bad lighting.

"And it's… it's Ben."