*Incase anyone was confused, I took this down for a couple hours this morning to make some much needed changes. Sorry for any inconvenience. Thanks to ctoan for the guidance.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. And extra special thanks to my technical support team that I so affectionately refer to as 'S.L.B.'.

Like I said, allow for three chapters of 'building' before you expect war. Also, as I so ignorantly left this information out the first time around, this story is about two weeks post-'The Nana'. Without further ado, here's Chapter two. Enjoy.

Chapter Two

So long as there are men, there will be wars -- Albert Einstein

12:57

Luke stared at the vibrant green numbers of the clock that were the sole lighting in the dark hotel room. He'd been watching the time change since he and Ryan turned off the lights over an hour earlier. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to find the glorious passageway that led to the sanctuary of sleep.

Their first game was scheduled for nine in the morning; meaning they had to be in the lobby at quarter after eight. Luke knew that if he didn't find sleep soon, he would be dragging his ass across the field for the majority of the first game. He really didn't need to give his enemies - his teammates - any more ammunition. Sleep was a must.

12:58

He rolled onto his back, and stared at the slightly illuminated curtain that covered the window as it swayed lithely in the draft emitted by the air conditioning. Forcing himself to close his eyes, he willed sleep to come upon him and sighed as he tried not to think about what a disaster his life had become.

Mistakes. He had made too many of them. They had to stop. They were destroying him. They were destroying his friends - what was left of them, anyway. 'It's time to start thinking with my head,' he decided silently. 'Starting tomorrow, I will put this mess behind me. No more thinking about Julie, Marissa, my gay dad, my asshole teammates… It's going to be different; it's got to be different.'

12:59

Ryan coughed and stirred slightly, and Luke couldn't help but feel envious that, for the most part, his friend had been sleeping soundly for the past hour and a half. He had been so relieved earlier in the week, when Ryan had agreed over the phone to attend the tournament and room with him. Honestly, he wasn't sure he would have come himself if Ryan had decided not to make the trip. There was something about having someone standing behind you that just compounded confidence.

Luke admired the fact that Ryan could just take it all in stride. Johnson had all but called him Luke's bitch, and he didn't seem at all phased or concerned at the label with which he was instantly tagged, just by being associated with Luke. Sure, Luke had seen the guy snap - and far too frequently he'd borne the brunt of it - but Ryan seemed to have an amazing ability of not letting all the 'Johnsons' of the world get to him anymore. It was a quality that Luke was struggling to adopt himself.

He had noticed that Ryan traveled with a backpack. Every other guy on the team had brought clothes for practice, partying, playing and more, but Ryan seemed content to bring what he absolutely needed. Luke wished he could live as minimally as his quiet friend. Recently, more than anything, he wanted to live the simple life - he wanted to travel with a backpack.

The beep of his watch signified the dawn of a new hour.

*****************

Ryan woke to the sound of the toilet flushing - his ears immediately flooded with the horrid screeching of a tune that was reminiscent to that of an eighties remix gone wrong.

"Yeah, we should've changed the station before setting the alarm." Luke commented as he reentered the room, catching sight of Ryan's perturbed expression. He laughed slightly before adding, "Wow, this is really bad."

Ryan rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow, willing the horrible excuse for music to stop. The sound of rapidly changing channels meant that Luke was at least trying to find something a little more bearable. The noise finally settled into the droning tones of an alternative rock station.

"You getting up? We gotta be in the lobby in fifteen."

Ryan remained completely still as he fought to part the thick fog in his sleep-filled head and swallow the dryness in his mouth and throat.

"Well, I'm going to grab a drink from the vending machine. You want anything?" Luke questioned and sorted through a pocketful of change.

"Naw," Ryan mumbled into the pillow. "Thanks anyway."

When Ryan heard the door close, he tossed off the covers and slammed his fist into the alarm clock. Mornings were never his forte, but getting up early after experiencing the luxury of sleeping in for the majority of the previous week, proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

He stumbled to the dresser where he had unloaded his clothes the night before, and grabbed his 'SoCal' uniform before heading to the bathroom. There, he immediately went to the sink and filled a cup with semi-cold water, downing the contents and grimacing at the stinging sensation that followed in his throat. He sighed as he started to put on the professional-style gear. Never mind Johnson, it would appear that he was his own worst enemy today.

The door opened shortly after Ryan exited the bathroom, and Luke wandered in with a bottle of Gatorade and a muffin in hand.

"You got that from the vending machine?" Ryan questioned in confusion as he ran a hand over his head in a poor attempt to smooth out his hair.

Luke shook his head as he popped a huge chunk into his mouth. "Prusek brought a couple up from the lobby," he spoke inarticulately through a mouthful of food.

Luke held out the remaining half to Ryan in a generous offering, but he shook his head in response, "I'm good, thanks."

Luke shrugged and popped the remains into his mouth before he had finished chewing the initial portion. "C'mon," he mumbled incoherently. "Gotta go."

Ryan pushed himself off the bed and grabbed the bag that contained his cleats before following Luke out the door - yawning palpably as he entered the hallway.

"Rough night?" A mocking voice called from across the hall. "I can only imagine what…"

"Can it, Johnson."

Terry Johnson jumped in surprised at the presence and gruff warning from their coach. Johnson's face blushed significantly at being caught in the act and he immediately shut his mouth and fixed his eyes on the floor while making his way towards the elevator.

Luke and Ryan stood in place, listening to the irritated grumbling emitted by the coach as he strode past.

"Hey, at least someone's on our side," Luke stated quietly, once they were out of earshot.

"Our side?" Ryan whispered back.

Luke nodded, realizing how irrational his resolution from the night before had been - there was no way to completely avoid people like Johnson. Patting his friend on the shoulder, he added, "Afraid so. Like it or not, you're stuck with me, pal."

"Right," Ryan mumbled worriedly as he followed Luke to the elevator. "There are sides…"

***************

"Balls over here. Let's go!"

The coached growled under his breath as McCauley, Johnson and McGregor each proceeded to take another shot on net, blatantly rebelling against his authority. He was sure that those three, over-sized, cocky brats were going to be the end of him, and he sighed in frustration while rubbing his temples to ease the tension headache they had caused.

He watched as the majority of the team neatly stored their balls under the bench. Atwood and Ward were the first to return to the area in front of him, waiting for further instructions. He shot them something that resembled a thankful smile before angrily blowing his whistle again and trying to refrain from yelling obscenities at the slackers that were leisurely strolling back to join the pack.

"Alright, listen up," he started, shooting warning glares at McCauley and Johnson as they approached. "We've got Northern California in the first game in five minutes, and Phoenix at two this afternoon. Both are exhibition games. Tomorrow, we have to win them all to stay in. If we lose, we're going home."

He briefly scanned the faces of his players for a response, but received little to no reaction. He wished they would show even just half the enthusiasm towards the sport as they did when competing against each other.

"We'll go with the starting line-up we talked about last night. Subs be ready - we're not going to let anyone get too tired in these first couple games."

The eleven starting players moved to the field. "That's not to say that we can lose these games," he called out loudly, "We're here to win!" He waved an arm in frustration as he was casually shrugged off by his unimpressed bunch, and made his way to the bench where he grabbed his binder and started jotting down the numbers of his starting line-up for the game sheet.

"Atwood," he spoke loudly, not removing his eyes from the page in front of him.

"Yeah," Ryan answered quickly, nervous all of a sudden for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"I never did get your number."

"Twenty-seven," he replied, unsure of whether or not he was indeed wearing the same number that he had worn during the school year. Luke had dropped his uniform off after practice one day last week and Ryan hadn't bothered checking. He casually looked down to the bottom of his left shorts-leg, where the silver number had been expertly stitched, and sighed when he realized he was in fact sporting the number twenty-seven.

The coach pocketed his whistle as if trying to avoid the temptation of using it during the game, and started pacing in front of the bench, yelling out instructions as the starting players prepared for the coin toss.

Ryan squinted against the bright morning sun as it reflected off the dew perched across every blade of dark green grass - the wetness still present from the heavy rainfall the night before and the air thick with humidity. He watched as Luke lost the coin toss, much to the pleasure of Johnson, who flanked him on the left side. The two exchanged bitter words, but Ryan didn't bother straining himself to determine exactly what the Neanderthal was saying. He apparently considered himself funny, though, laughing loudly and arrogantly at his own attempt at humor. Clearly, he was his own biggest fan.

"Shut-up and play the game, you moron," Ryan muttered under his breath, unaware that the coach was standing within earshot.

"Atwood."

Ryan jumped. He could almost feel the breath of the coach on his neck, his voice a serious, deep growl, making the hair on his arms stand up on end.

"I've got enough problems with this team as it is. You stay out of it, you hear?"

Ryan nodded solemnly, keeping his eyes on the field and not bothering to turn around to acknowledge the warning face to face. The coach pulled back quickly and started into another rant was directed towards his midfielders.

North California's bright yellow jerseys contrasted nicely with the sky-blue and silver uniforms of their Southern counterparts. Both clubs started off tentatively, not risking injury or exhaustion in a game that - in the long run - didn't really matter. Eventually, though, the house-league atmosphere gave way to the inevitable; the rivalry of the neighboring regions embracing in a brutally competitive battle of conceit, muscular superiority and egotism. It was an acrimonious battle of North vs. South - both teams giving it everything they had for the sole reward of bragging rights.

The benched players unconsciously made the effort to stand as the competition intensified. The coaches engaged in their own contest as their voices rose several decibels, cracking as each finished screaming his commands.

By half-time, the soft field had been chewed into a muddy disaster, and the players were dripping with sweat from the heat of battle under the scorching Californian morning sun.

Luke jogged over, breathless and completely engrossed in the game at hand. "Damn," he panted, while swallowing back a good portion of Gatorade, "that team's stacked."

"Pretty brutal out there, man," Ryan agreed, wiping the humidity off of his own forehead with the back of his hand.

"I think half those guys have collegiate scholarships, too…"

"Jesus, Ward," Johnson spat, pushing Luke into Ryan from behind. "Now you're hitting on guys from the other team, too? Your boyfriend here's gonna get jealous!"

Laughter erupted, but was quickly silenced when Luke spun around to face his opponent, his jaw set in determination as his eyes dared Johnson to say another word.

"Hey, guys, c'mon…" Ryan tried to interrupt, but was immediately hindered by McGregor, who had approached from behind.

"What the hell are you gonna do, huh?" he antagonized, jabbing Ryan sharply in the ribs with his elbow.

Ryan spun to face McGregor, fuming and dangerously close to snapping on his much larger teammate.

"Hey! What the hell's the problem here?" the coach yelled, beyond irritated that his players were more focused on taking on each other than their actual opponents.

Ryan stood his ground against McGregor, who eventually backed away at the coach's intervention.

"No more of this crap, you hear me?! We're a team, God dammit!" he slammed his clipboard to the ground as he yelled and was met by several shocked expressions from his players, as well as from the parents and onlookers who were all curiously observing his tirade from the bleachers on the opposite side of the field.

With a huff, he reached down, picked up his board and made eye contact with each and every player involved in the minor scuffle before storming out of the circle.

Ryan turned slowly, making a conscious effort to calm himself. Luke appeared to be going through the same internal process. They both stood stationary for a second, taking deep breaths before catching each other's eyes.

Luke's gaze was almost immediately drawn elsewhere, his face paling significantly as he whispered his dismay, "Shit…"

Ryan's brow furrowed in confusion as he turned around and tried to follow his friend's line of vision. Mr. Ward was walking down toward the field from the parking lot.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I'm sure that…"

A loud whistle signaled the end of half-time, and Luke shook his head, his anxiety obvious as he made his way back towards centerfield.

Ryan's eyes followed Luke's father as he settled in amongst the crowd in the packed bleachers. The day before, Luke had seemed genuinely happy that his dad was coming to watch him play, but with the constant mockery from his teammates, it was obvious that he no longer thought it was a good idea.

The ball was kicked into play once again, and Ryan watched as the white object was quickly covered in a thick layer of mud - the players not letting off in the slightest despite the less than ideal conditions.

Prusek continued to run circles around the majority of his opponents and teammates, which threw off the defense forming enough that he was able to find Luke, wide open and available. The striker made no mistake, pounding the ball into the close side of the net. The celebration was minimal compared to the intensity of the game. A few small pats and encouraging words followed from the midfielders - Johnson, McGregor and McCauley turned away to avoid the celebratory encounter altogether.

The bench cheered loudly, and Ryan found himself pounding fists with some teammates whose names he couldn't remember.

"Good job, Ward, Prusek. Let's sub! C'mon, hustle!"

Ryan held his breath momentarily. He wasn't sure he'd be able to repetitively run from one end of the field to the other and keep up with the rapid pace of this particular game, without collapsing. Much to his relief - at least for the time being - the coach kept Luke on the field.

McCauley slapped hands with his sub as he jogged off, planting himself beside Ryan on the far end of the bench. Ryan tensed, unsure of whether he could refrain from punching the guy's lights out if he instigated another confrontation.

Instead of allowing himself to be easily egged on or bothered by the comments that McCauley was mumbling under his breath, he zoned his entire focus into the game.

The ball was kicked the full distance of the field, and Ryan watched as Southern California went on the offensive, charging down on the target as they raced against Northern California's defensive complement. Luke and Johnson were neck and neck, and it quickly became apparent that it was no longer a battle between teams, it was personal. Ryan braced himself, clenching his fists in anticipation of the inevitable showdown and fearing the worst as they both closed in on the rolling ball.

As the two SoCal players got within feet of the finish line, the opposing team's defensive players came into view. Luke drew his foot back, ready to pound the ball on net and ultimately win the race, but was harshly stopped short, slipping on a patch of mud and awkwardly falling over on his ankle - sliding several feet on the slick grass.

A mild collision followed, as the other players failed to halt their momentum before they crashed into the fallen player. Luke hissed in discomfort, immediately clutching at his ankle. Obscenities were instantly exchanged as limbs were disentangled. Luke tried desperately to pull himself to his feet - limping painfully as he tried to drag his body back to the bench.

"Help him!" the coach screamed to his midfielders as they tried to divert their eyes from their distressed teammate.

Ryan rose to his feet, concern etched on his face as he watched Luke accept the supportive crutches of his teammates' shoulders.

"Take him to the EMTs," the coach called out more sympathetically as the three players neared the bench.

"You okay, man?" Ryan asked when Luke was carried past.

"Fuck… no," Luke replied through clenched teeth before being swept to the medical tent behind the bench.

"Atwood!" Ryan spun at the sound of his name.

"Let's go - you're in."

Ryan nodded, immediately jogging onto the field, not allowing himself a chance to think - or to breathe. With a quick glance around the field, he attempted to prepare himself physically for the fifteen minutes of storm he would have to weather. He was coming in cold while everyone else was loose - ready. He couldn't help but feel like he was being fed to the wolves. All he could do was focus. Play the game he had always played. Simple. Safe.

"You're actually on this team?!" Johnson remarked as Ryan jogged past on his way into his position.

Ryan didn't respond - unwilling to engage in another battle of words with one of his own teammates. He clenched his jaw and pulled at all his internal strength to remain indifferent to Johnson's berating.

"Oh, what? You don't want to talk without your boyfriend behind you?!"

Soft sounds of muffled laughter filtered through the air - Ryan's shoulders tensed as Johnson continued to harass him.

'He's not worth it,' he kept repeating to himself.

"That's all you've got, Atwood?" Johnson's voice was full of malice, more angry at not being able to get a rise out of Ryan. "You and Ward better watch your backs. Stupid fags…"

Ryan continued to stare straight ahead, making no acknowledgment of the spiteful threats being hurled in his direction.

The other players settled into their respective positions; a quiet hush accompanied the anticipation of resumed play.

"Now I just have to make it out alive," Ryan muttered under his breath, his eyes following the ball as it soared through the air - launching back into play and recommencing the battle.