Gemotions

The small office felt cramped, the air thick with the scent of old paper and stale coffee. Coach Jones sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the stack of files in front of him. He felt his mind, usually sharp, had grown sluggish. The decision weighed him down, the thought of telling Michael, his quietest player.

He leaned back in his chair, the springs groaning in protest. He could feel the familiar ache in his lower back. He’d spent hours agonizing over this. He knew Michael had been trying hard.

He went out and found Michael, who was already sitting on the bench outside the door. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to soften the blow. He simply handed the boy his bag. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He turned, the silence in the room as heavy as stone.