A/N - Because I fear for my life, I'm going to post this chapter now. I'm begging all TWoP'ers to please put away the pitchforks, whips and stale timbits for the time being! I apologize for the ridiculously long wait, and I only hope that it wasn't all for not. Super special thanks to my support team. You guys are incredible.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 3
You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake -- Jeannette Rankin
"Hey!" Sandy called out, removing his sunglasses while approaching Ryan on the sidelines as the game came to a close. "Nice win. I only caught the last bit, but you looked good out there. It's…." He paused, looking at Ryan who was hunched over, panting heavily, hands on his knees. Glancing up and down at his dirty uniform, he finished, "Muddy?"
Ryan eyes fell over his mud-caked jersey and socks. The blue and silver were no match for the dark brown of the fresh, sticky substance.
"Yeah," Ryan replied with a small smile before coughing several times, still struggling to catch his breath after the maddening rush of the final play.
"Did you play the whole game? I thought you said you didn't expect to play." Sandy waited patiently for a response to his concerned question. 'Kirsten would flip,' he thought to himself.
Ryan rose up, shaking his head as he drew in another strained breath, "That was the plan," he panted, "but Luke… hurt his ankle."
Sandy grimaced as he scanned the torn-up field. "I must have missed that. Is he okay?"
Ryan shrugged, "Don't know… I went in as he came out… didn't look good."
"That's a shame." Sighing, Sandy turned back to face Ryan. "When's your next game?"
Ryan coughed again. "Two, I think."
"Why don't you go grab a drink, clean up a bit, then come and join me for a bite to eat?"
"Sure," Ryan nodded, "Just give me a sec…." He turned and walked tiredly across the field toward the rest of the team - where most of Southern California's players were sprawled across the grass or sitting on the bench in sheer exhaustion.
Sandy placed his glasses back over his eyes, an odd sense of pride washing over him as he watched Ryan join his teammates. Seth had never been big into playing sports - or sports at all for that matter - and though he never really felt as though he was missing out on much as a parent, coming to watch someone he considered his son compete, made his heart swell.
He would never tell Seth.
………………………………...............................
Ryan rapped his hand lightly on the tarp-like material of the medical tent in an improvised knock, as he stuck his head inside and scanned for Luke.
"Hey," an unenthusiastic greeting came from the corner.
Ryan squinted as his eyes adjusted and gave a sad smile when he came into focus on Luke's despondent form - his foot propped up on a chair, surrounded by ice packs.
"How is it?" Ryan asked tentatively, entering the tent fully and cringing slightly as his eyes settled on the already swollen ankle.
Luke gestured toward the foot fleetingly, a frustrated expression forming on his face, "Hurts like a bitch. It better not be broken…."
"You think it is?" Ryan was suddenly more concerned. He'd never seen someone try to walk on an a broken leg before, which had led him to assume it wasn't that severe an injury.
Luke shrugged. "I've broken it before and it pretty much felt like this." His face lightened significantly as he caught Ryan's eyes. "Did we win?"
"Yeah," Ryan mumbled while wiping at the sweat on his face with the back of his muddy arm. "You scored the winner."
Luke nodded as he stared blankly at an imaginary spot on the ground.
"So," Ryan continued when there was no response, "I guess that you'll be going home with your dad then?"
……………….
Luke thought about the comment for a second. He hadn't really considered going home, but it made sense - he was sure he wasn't going to see the field again in this tournament.
He felt guilty about eliminating himself from the team and even though he knew it was a freak accident that was nearly impossible to avoid, it was as if he had let Ryan down. The guy was not fit to play, and he felt somewhat responsible for putting him in that position - especially so early in the tournament. If he went home, Ryan would be stuck here - alone.
Alone at a tournament he wasn't even going to attend in the first place. Ryan had stuck with him through all the turmoil; he figured the least he could do was return the favor.
"Nah, I'll stay."
Ryan's eyes widened, obviously surprised and appearing mildly relieved. "Yeah? Why? I didn't think there was any hope of you playing again."
"No, there isn't, really. But, you know, I might as well ride it out. I don't want to give those assholes the chance to spread rumors behind my back."
………………
The excuse was weak, but Ryan wasn't going to argue. Without Luke - even a hurt Luke - he would become a huge, unprotected target. Under normal circumstances, he could handle that. He was used to being a target - an outsider. But this particular situation was different. He couldn't fight back. He had to find alternative methods of dealing with his enemies. The fists had to stay down - this was his team.
"So you're staying…." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement searching for validation.
Luke nodded while shrugging, "Not like I have anything else to do this weekend. Especially now." He pointed at his foot.
"Okay, man, well good luck at the hospital. I gotta jet. Sandy's waiting for me - we're gonna go grab something to eat."
"Thanks," Luke forced a smile as he received the well-wishes. "Hopefully I'll be back before then next game."
Ryan sighed, suddenly feeling very drained at the mere mention of having to partake in another exhaustive competition. "Right," he mumbled, "I suppose I'm in for that one."
Luke nodded. "You're the man now, Atwood. Rest up!"
Ryan allowed a small smile to cross his face at the subtle exhibition of humor that emerged from his ailing friend. "You're killing me, man."
Luke shrugged apologetically as Ryan tossed him a half-hearted wave before making his way back toward the bench to grab a drink and a towel - the latter of which he would use in an attempt to wipe off some of the mud and sweat that seemed to have enveloped his entire body.
………………………………........................
"Sandy!"
Sandy spun around, greeted by a grinning Carson Ward.
Extending a hand, he returned the smile. "Hey, Carson, how's it going?"
"Well," he replied, shrugging sadly, "Luke's pretty upset, so…"
"Yeah, Ryan mentioned he was hurt." Concern flooded Sandy's voice as he inquired about Luke. "Is he going to be all right?"
"Well, they think it's just a sprain, but I'm on my way to pull the car around to the other side of the field, load him up and take him to the hospital so they can rule out a break."
"Aw, that's too bad. Poor kid."
"Yeah." Carson nodded. "He's not in the best of moods. He loves the game."
"Absolutely. What's not to love?" Sandy joked as he lifted his right foot out of a puddle of mud. "I guess you're gonna take him home, then?"
"No, actually," Carson answered, shaking his head in surprise, "he just told me that he wanted to stay. You know, support his teammates."
Sandy, for some reason, found himself relieved that Luke wasn't leaving Ryan with the team he barely knew. "That's what I call an unbeatable team spirit!"
"Okay," Ryan's voice caused both men to turn. "Oh, hey, Mr. Ward," he added immediately.
"Hey, Ryan. You played a good game."
"Thanks," Ryan replied quietly, diverting his eyes to the ground as he rubbed one of the team towels over his face before continuing. "I talked to Luke, he said it might not be broken…."
"Yeah, we're hopeful anyway." Carson smiled at the kid, sounding sincerely pleased that Ryan cared about the well-being of his son. Jingling his keys, Carson turned his attention back to Sandy,
"Okay, well I better get Luke to the hospital - but we shouldn't be gone too long… hopefully."
"Yeah, we're going to go grab something to eat," Sandy responded, offering his hand out to Carson one more time. "Nice seeing you, Carson. And tell Luke I have my fingers crossed for him."
"Absolutely." He waved as he backed away, lightly jogging toward the parking lot.
"Luke's pretty disappointed," Ryan stated absently, rubbing the towel over his damp face.
Sandy nodded "Yeah, I know. I suppose I would be too. Hopefully it's just a sprain and he'll be back in action in no time." He paused, pulling his glasses forward as he, again, looked Ryan up and down skeptically. "So, you don't have any other clothes?" he questioned with his eyebrows raised.
"Just back at the hotel," Ryan answered.
"I guess I'm just gonna have to deal then," Sandy teased, patting Ryan on the shoulder as they strolled toward the crowded parking lot where the shiny Beamer awaited them.
………………………………..............................
"I can grab an extra pillow from the closet if you want to prop your leg up," Ryan commented while removing his watch and placing it on the nightstand beside his bed.
"I'll just use this one here." Luke struggled as he reached for his spare pillow while trying not to move his aching leg too much.
"That's good news, though… I mean, that it's not broken. You must be relieved."
Luke's face didn't bear the expression of someone who had received good news. He shrugged casually. "Sure… I guess so."
Ryan sighed, letting his upper body fall flat back against the bed, too tired to search for another tactic to cheer up his depressed friend. He let his eyes close and just before drifting off, a voice pulled him back.
"How was it out there?"
Ryan pried his eyes open and tried to make sense of the question through his sleepy haze.
"Out where?" he mumbled.
"Well, you know… out on the field. Was Johnson a prick?"
Ryan processed the question for a few seconds. He didn't see any reason to convey Johnson's empty threats to Luke. The guy wasn't worth it. Besides, the game and a quarter that he'd actually played had been so quick and so intense that he didn't really have a lot of time to pay attention to Johnson and his idiotic comments.
The game against Phoenix had been just as fervent as the inter-California match-up. Though they had ultimately lost the match, it was a hard-fought, tight battle that had proved to be much more physically involving than any competition Ryan had ever been a part of. He knew coming in that the league was a sort of Western-America All-Star League, but he had had no idea the competition would be exponentially more zealous than in the Private School Athletic League.
He'd struggled to keep up with the well-tuned, athletically superior players of the opposition, the majority of whom were older - and much larger - than himself. That, combined with the fact that he was still on the backstretch of an ailment that had rendered him bedridden for a week, left him feeling significantly inadequate - not to mention extraordinarily exhausted. Needless to say, he had very little time or energy to devote to worrying about Johnson and company.
"I was trying so hard to keep up, I don't really remember." Ryan was mildly confused as to why Luke would ask such a random question anyway. "Well, I do remember him yelling at me to do something like hurry up, but that was probably deserved."
He turned his head toward Luke, who had been listening carefully and avoiding eye contact.
"Why?" Ryan added at the last second, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Luke shook his head, looking at Ryan for a split second before turning away. "No reason. Just curious."
Perplexed, Ryan closed his eyes, feeling slightly guilty about lying to Luke, not fully convinced that leaving out the details of Johnson's verbal attack was for the greater good.
Ryan knew he should have probably just told Luke that the guy was as much of an ass to him as he had been to his friend. At least then Luke wouldn't feel like he was the only one having to deal with that moron. However, Ryan was simply too spent to pursue the matter any further.
………………………………...........................
"Ryan…."
"Dude…."
Ryan turned away from the voice, but it continued to pester him relentlessly.
"Ryan, wake up, man."
The distinct sound of drapes being whipped open filled his ears and the brightness that followed caused a warm, orange glow to pervade his vision.
"Ryan!"
He cracked one eye open to see Luke hovering over him - a little too close for comfort.
Ryan immediately pulled both eyelids open and looked up with a glare that conveyed his sheer annoyance at being disturbed.
"What?!" he croaked, his voice raw and cracking midway through the irritated, monosyllabic response.
Luke smiled in surprise, holding his hands up defensively as he leaned back and out of Ryan's range of vision. "Don't get pissy with me! I've been trying to wake you for, like, twenty minutes!"
Ryan shook his head slightly, rubbing his eyes as he tried to sort through his thoughts, slightly disoriented after being roused from such a deep state of sleep. He lowered his hand, turned his head and blinked a couple times. As his awareness gradually heightened, he noticed that Luke was already dressed and propped up on his crutches - clearly ready to go.
"What time is it?" Ryan whispered, closing his eyes again and enjoying the sleep-like state for a couple seconds.
"It's nine-thirty, man. You've been asleep since like, nine-thirty last night."
"Ugh," was the only response Ryan could muster. His head hurt, his body ached and he certainly didn't feel like he'd slept through twelve straight hours. He prayed that he wasn't lapsing back into that horrid illness that had been so debilitating only a few days ago.
"You coming?"
"Mmmm," Ryan mumbled while nodding, stumbling from the bed and squinting out the sun that poured through the undraped window.
He grabbed his uniform from the top of the dresser and headed toward the bathroom, suddenly grateful that a Sandy had insisted on washing it for him in the hotel's laundry room after the last game.
Once he had clumsily managed to dress himself, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He sighed and deterred his eyes from his pale complexion before strolling back out into the main room - making a waving gesture with his arm toward Luke, implying, 'Let's go'.
Ryan stood back and held the door open, letting Luke exit first and watching as his friend swiftly maneuvered his way into the hall on his crutches.
"So," Luke stated, turning his head around as Ryan pulled the door shut behind him, "Cohen called last night. I tried to wake you but… well… you know."
Ryan looked surprised. He couldn't recall hearing the phone ring. "Sounds like I was great company," he poked fun at himself, smiling a little while shifting his eyes around the hall as they wandered toward the elevator, before settling his gaze back on Luke.
"What did Seth want?"
"I don't know…." Luke looked confused as he tried to make sense of the conversation from the night before. "He was babbling on about meeting Summer's dad… and seafood and cars… I think. I don't know. It's Cohen." Luke shook his head as he pressed the
button to retrieve the elevator.
Ryan's face broke into a grin. That sounded like a typical Seth-conversation.
"The guy just makes no sense sometimes. He did want me to tell you something, though…" Luke paused, looking up with his mouth slightly ajar as he tried to recall Seth's exact words. "He said something like, 'Stick to the R.A.G.P'… no." He stopped and shook his head, obviously more sure of himself the second time around. "Stick to the G.P.R.A. You'd think I'd remember, he only made me repeat it like twenty times."
Luke stared at Ryan as if trying to determine whether or no the message made any sense.
Ryan laughed lightly while rolling his eyes.
"So that makes sense to you?" Luke questioned, surprised.
"Believe it or not, yes."
"Cohen's done weird things to you, man."
Ryan nodded. He wasn't going to argue with that.
"So, how's the ankle?" he questioned, suddenly swamped with guilt at not having asked earlier.
The elevator doors opened and both boys entered - Ryan pressed the button for the lobby.
"It's a little sore. Nothing I can't handle," Luke answered, grimacing slightly as he addressed the issue of his tender limb.
Ryan was impressed. For some reason, he'd tagged Luke as a whiner and he was pleasantly surprised to find that the guy was a lot tougher than he had given him credit for.
"Sandy seemed pretty excited yesterday," Luke commented eagerly with a change of subject.
"Yeah, I noticed," Ryan responded, smiling shyly. His smile reflexively grew as he recalled Sandy cheering loudly from the sidelines. Fortunately, the other parents and observers were nearly equally enthusiastic, and therefore, Ryan wasn't singled out by the attention.
Carson had gone home after returning with Luke from the hospital, and Sandy had taken it upon himself to take both tired boys out to dinner. The conversation was lacking as Luke struggled with the pain vibrating up his leg and Ryan tried to keep his eyes open, but Sandy didn't seem disappointed. In fact, he was so thrilled by the whole 'sporting experience', that he had informed Ryan would try to leave early from a meeting at the Lighthouse the next day, so that he could come back and watch the actual tournament. But not without adding, "If that's okay with you, of course.". Ryan didn't argue. He was a little overwhelmed by Sandy's excitement - and obvious pride - but not opposed to it, by any means.
"That's good though… right?"
Ryan nodded in agreement, but wondering if Luke was disappointed that his own father wasn't coming - even though he wasn't going to play. It made sense to Ryan. He didn't see why someone would bother making the journey if their own son wasn't even participating. Then again, Sandy had come the day before when he thought that Ryan wasn't even going to play - but he supposed that Sandy just wasn't aware of regular, sporting-event attendance procedures.
The doors parted and both boys made their way into the lobby to join their teammates.
Looks of disgust were exchanged and disparaging comments were whispered upon their entrance. Ryan caught Johnson's eye for a millisecond, in which his adversary effectively conveyed all of his hate and spite for the newcomer.
Ryan shrugged in exasperation as he broke the contact, letting out an exaggerated sigh. Even at such an early hour, it had already become clear that he was in for a very long day.
……………………………….........................
Ryan stared long and hard at the schedule board - as if memorizing every stroke made by the thick, black marker. Southern California was scheduled to start out against a team that had blown out the opposition in both of its exhibition games the day before, and that minimal knowledge incited a ball of nervousness in Ryan's stomach. He had thought the two teams they'd faced were tough enough, and the prospect of competing against a more talented squad was somewhat daunting.
The only good news was that Southern California wasn't scheduled to play until the second game on the first of three fields, which would allow him some extra time to prepare and, hopefully, wake-up.
"We've got some time to kill. You wanna grab a coffee or something?"
Ryan glanced sideways to see Luke lumbering up on his crutches, respectfully followed by little Johnny Prusek.
"The coach said that we should probably watch the first game, since we could end up playing them next. That is, if we win the first one," Ryan trailed off as he watched Luke shake his head.
"Naw! I'm sure he's just saying that so he can keep an eye on everyone. You know, so no one takes off."
Ryan tilted his head, unconvinced by Luke's conjecture.
"Seriously!" Luke tried to build on his case, smiling in the face of Ryan's skepticism. "C'mon, you look like you could use the caffeine."
"Thanks, pal," Ryan threw back at him, but he couldn't deny that his tired body was in dire need of stimulants. "Whatever…." He shook his head. "Coffee it is."
The three boys slowly made their way to the large refreshment tent that was set in the center of the three fields, providing a view of different games from every side. Ryan directed them to the furthest side that overlooked the first field - if he was going to have to watch a game, it might as well be the one that the coach had recommended he study.
"You guys can sit, I'll go get the coffee," Johnny offered quietly, and before either Luke or Ryan could thank him, he was halfway to the concession stand. Ryan noted that the speed of Johnny's walk was similar to his swiftness on the field.
Luke leaned his crutches against the table and carefully lowered himself into a chair while Ryan sat down directly across the table.
Immediately, their attention was drawn to a boisterous group not too far away, as Johnson's loud, cocky voice carried swiftly through the air. "He's such a prick! I'm gonna kick his punk-ass!"
……………..
Luke didn't have a clue what the moron was talking about - nor did he care - he just wasn't sure he could endure listening to the idiot talk for very long without getting wound up. 'There's just something about that guy,' he thought to himself, cringing as Johnson loudly proceeded tell another 'I kicked his ass' story.
Luke glanced across the table at Ryan, whose eyes were unfocused as he stared across the field to his left.
"You hearing this guy?" Luke's voice was hushed as he posed the rhetorical question.
"Trying not to," Ryan mumbled, not bothering to change his trance-like expression or face his friend as he spoke.
Luke's ears were suddenly graced with Johnson's arrogance once more. "Stupid fucks…."
"How do you think he'd look with a crutch up his ass?" Luke cracked, only half joking, but his crude comments managed to draw Ryan's eyes back into focus.
……………………..
Ryan turned, internally amused at Luke's idea, but aware that he would be better off discouraging any sort of physical altercation between the two - especially when he would also be directly involved.
"He's probably not even talking about us," Ryan tried to reason.
"You sure about that?"
Before Ryan could come up with something better to placate his friend, Johnny returned with three steaming cups of coffee.
"Thanks," Ryan smiled gratefully at his smaller teammate, relieved that the distraction allowed him the opportunity to change the subject.
Johnny dropped a handful of cream and sugar packets on the table, most of which Luke quickly snatched up, immediately adding their contents to his cup. When his friend dumped the third packet of sugar, Ryan raised a questioning eyebrow while sipping his black coffee.
"What?" Luke looked from Ryan to Johnny - the latter of the two appeared slightly startled by the question.
Ryan just shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Would you like some coffee with your sugar?"
"Shut-up, Chino." Despite the attempted seriousness, Luke couldn't hide the grin that spread across his face at Ryan's rare humorous statement.
"Uh oh! Trouble in paradise!"
The levity was instantly transformed into an atmosphere of thick tension. Ryan and Luke both stiffened at the goading commentary. Johnny shrank down in his chair, trying his hardest to disappear.
Ryan caught Luke's eyes for an instant - silently pleading with his friend not to pursue the matter any further.
"What? You two fags got nothing to say?"
Luke straightened in his chair, seeming taller. Apparently, he was willing to ignore the pain from his ankle if it meant he could do some damage to the asshole that never seemed to lay off.
"Luke, don't!" Ryan quietly demanded through clenched teeth when he saw the sudden, rage-induced movement.
"What are you? His mother? Or should I say, his daddy?" Muffled laughter bubbled from Johnson's entourage, as the last comment touched on the real reason behind his tormenting.
Ryan watched as Luke's expression went from sheer rage to complete despair.
The utterly insensitive, personal attack launched on his friend caused Ryan to instinctively bounce to his feet and stand face-to-face with Johnson. The abrupt movement flipped his over behind him.
"Why don't you just leave him alone?" Ryan spoke in a quiet but unwaveringly firm voice. He instantly internally regretted jumping headfirst into something he'd insisted to Luke wasn't worth his time.
"Why don't you shut the fuck up and stay out of this? This isn't about you." Johnson tauntingly poked his rival in the chest with his index finger. The condescending gesture sparked a fury of anger within Ryan.
"It is now." He stretched up, his chest rising and falling rapidly at Johnson's antagonizing comments and actions.
"Your little boyfriend's got a bit of a temper!" Johnson directed his comments toward Luke, whose own rage forced him to his feet.
"Grow up," Ryan threw back in disgust, pulling a little closer and clenching his fists as he fought the building urge to toss a few left hooks.
"Grow up?" Johnson questioned, a sadistic smile crossing his face as he looked down on Ryan. "You listen to me, little faggot, if you ever get up in my face again, I will pound you so hard your own mother won't recognize you? Got it?"
Ryan did his best to ignore the irony of Johnson's words. After a few drinks, there was a good chance his mother wouldn't recognize him anyway - with or without Dr. Johnson's alterations. He brushed off the threats, and despite being the obvious underdog - dwarfed by Johnson's massive presence - he continued to stand his ground.
"So, either get out of my face, or fight me right now." Johnson's voice was quieter and significantly more serious as he delivered the ultimatum with a hint of something that could be perceived as pleasure. He stepped closer as he challenged Ryan.
Ryan's eyes drifted to the side and then to the ground. He didn't want to fight, but he didn't want to give in or surrender. He remained silent for several seconds as he internally fought between his common sense and pride.
"That's what I thought," Johnson broke the silence. "You better stay as far away from me as possible. If you get in my face again…" he leaned in closer, "consider it war."
Johnson proceeded forward, slamming his shoulder into Ryan's as he walked past and sending the smaller of the two off-balance.
Ryan pushed himself up from the undignified heap in which he'd landed after Johnson's shove, avoiding the alarmed stares of Luke and Johnny. At the same time, he internally struggled to avoid following Johnson and accepting the invitation to brawl.
"You okay?"
Ryan cautiously glanced up to see Johnny's wide eyes staring back at him.
"Yeah," he whispered, pulling himself to his feet and grabbing what remained of his coffee off the table. "Let's just get the hell out of here."
