Gemotions

The setting sun cast long shadows across the field, mirroring the lengthening shadows of doubt that stretched across Coach Evans's mind. The air hung heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass, a smell he usually loved. Now, it only made his stomach churn. He'd rehearsed the speech a dozen times, but each time it felt clumsy and inadequate.

His throat constricted. He hated this part of the job. He rubbed his palms together, trying to warm them, but they remained ice-cold. He kept envisioning the disappointment in the boy’s eyes.

He thought he was going to be sick.