Gemotions

The locker room felt cold, even with the late afternoon sun slanting through the dusty windows. Mark clutched the faded jersey in his hands, the number 12 a brand against his palms. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Coach Miller had called him in, a summons that had struck a discordant note in his otherwise optimistic day. He’d envisioned a pep talk, maybe even a strategy discussion for the upcoming game. This… this was not what he'd expected.

His throat felt constricted, making it difficult to swallow. He attempted a casual smile, but it felt brittle and forced. He focused on the knot in the wooden table, anything to avoid meeting Coach Miller’s gaze. The words hung in the air, heavy and blunt, and he couldn’t seem to process them. This couldn’t be real.