Author's Note: Finally! I'm soooo sorry you guys. Fictionpress was, for some reason, refusing to upload this chapter to my documents, so I couldn't post it. How mean. Yeah, I wrote this chapter at the beginning on the month, so its debut is loooooong overdue. It is rather short, but I just can't bare to add anymore to it. It would just get repetative or give everything away. Well, Conan Donnelly takes the scene. I will frequently shift between their p.o.v.'s, but it will always be in third person. Our two lovebirds will probably meet next chapter.

Thanks to everyone who is still bothering to read this after the excessive delay, and everyone who reviewed last chapter: .divided-dreams., Leeny, ccaltuna13, and Mary's.Song. Your encouragement is so... encouraging. And once again, thank you guys sooooooo much.

Love and Mortality

by Skeeter the Groundhog

4. Idle…

Conan Donnelly was bored out of his mind. Wait, no. Perhaps bored was not the right word. Why, he had plenty of quite entertaining activities he could possibly do. He could go for a spin in his fancy new convertible, blast music from the latest iPod, watch an amusing program on his wide screen TV, or play video games on the gaming system that wasn’t even going to come out for another week. Yet, he found himself lying on his bed, bouncing a tennis ball off his ceiling. What fun. Conan Donnelly was not bored, but in fact, rather restless.

He had come straight home from school to get a little bit of peace, quiet, and solitude, only to find that his dear father had come home from work early to lecture his favorite son about how he was throwing his life away.

“Conan Patrick Connelly, you finished your physical therapy for your knee almost a month ago. Why are you at home? The doctor said you were in ship-shape to start back up with football conditioning. After all, the season is only about four months away. Why you have hardly even touched a football since October. You have so much more potential! Now is not the time to plateau or back out! Just because you shattered your kneecap doesn’t mean you can’t play football!” Conan had to stifle his shocked guffaw at that. “And now,” his father continued, “I’m beginning to think that you’re using this injury as an excuse to avoid a little hard work.”

Now, Conan could endure this father’s urges to play football. He could endure “encouraging” speeches to become a better player. He could even endure his father saying his injury was simply a little obstacle to overcome in his athletic career. However, the last comment about avoiding hard work tweaked him.

Conan didn’t like his father. He didn’t feel the need to, as it made his family obligations- or lack there of- much simpler to handle. He could smile and look charming when company was over, but why waste the effort when there was no one was there to witness it? Which is why Conan let his cool, indifferent demeanor slip the slightest bit.

“Hard work never bothered me, nor does it bother me now,” Conan growled. ‘If he only knew what the Golden Child was up to,’ he thought to himself.

“Good,” snapped his father, irritated by his son’s tone. “Then we have an understanding?”

“Absolutely,” Conan drawled, trying to keep himself from smirking. ‘If only he knew…’

“Excellent.” Then with a sigh as he walked away, he said, “Don’t throw your life away, kid.”

“I promise,” Conan said as he headed to the backyard. “You bet I promise,” he repeated to himself, his voice taking on a dangerous, plotting tone. He didn’t wish to linger, so silently made his way outside, where his ecstatic boarder collie, Rush, greeted him with exuberance. Conan clipped a leash on his dog and walked out the side gate to the front yard. Mr. Donnelly saw his son passing by while in the corner office and called out to him.

“You ought to do some jogging.” Conan didn’t respond, shoving his headphones in his ears deliberately, and continuing his leisurely pace.

The truth was he didn’t really like football. In fact, the only reason why he kept on playing it was because he was good. His school teammates were great, his coaches adored him, and the fans worshipped him, which made the game rather tolerable, but not enjoyable. He was MVP and the most sought after player for club teams in Olympus. It was expected of him to play. After all, someone with talent like him must truly love what they do.

In fact, he disliked the constant pressure. Games were stressful, even if it turned out alright in the end. Everyone relied on him for a flawless performance- the team, his coaches, his dad, and the student population at Olympus Hills High. He was 17 and the world was resting on his shoulders, and world consisted of football, football, and more football. It was a heavy burden, weighing him down. It was a wonder his entire body didn’t just crumble underneath him- it was only his knee that shattered in the end.

The wide receiver banged it after being tackled in practice, and he insisted that he continue the practice and work through the pain, promising that he would tend to it that night so it would be ready for the next day’s game. Fate had it that he banged it again the next day during warm-ups, but he hid his limp to play. And apparently, Fate was in a bad mood, and he received a final hit that literally was his breaking point.

Everyone seemed so devastated by “the accident” except him. At last, a valid excuse to stop playing. But it seemed as though his father was ready to ship him back off to the glory days.

Conan tried jogging a few steps for himself. He actually had to sprint last weekend (on his own accord, of course) and found the light jog as easy as pie. Truth be told, he was still in great shape. However, he was rather tired of being tackled.

‘What if,’ he though, ‘What if I just quit?’ Immediately after the thought entered his mind, he had to laugh at the possibility. His father would disown him, his school would hate him, his teammates would feel betrayed, and his coaches would be “so disappointed”.

He would be the person in Olympus whom people would walk by and say, “He was going to be a football superstar.” He would be the prime example parents would give to their children when teaching how it was wrong to give up. “Just look at the pathetic loser that Donnelly boy has become,” they would say as their children nodded with complete understanding. Plus, he could no longer use the sport as an explanation for the cuts and bruises he had sported all year. ‘Now that,’ he thought, ‘would be fucking bad.’

He shook the though from his mind as his phone started ringing.

“ ’ello.” he answered it.

“Hey man.” It was Luka Orkell, one of his cohorts. “Can you give me a ride to the dance tonight? The ‘Stang is in the shop, and I really don’t want my mom to drop me off. You know how she gets…”

“Yeah, sure man, no problem. I’ll pick you up at 7 so we have time to buy our tickets and get in before they’re sold out.”

“Thanks man, I owe you one,” said the always grateful Luka.

“Don’t mention it, Luka,” Conan said, knowing that Luka always had his back, even when he didn’t owe him anything. He was about to say good-bye and hang up when Luka continued talking.

“Hey, you kind of rushed off today after school. Everything cool?” Conan sighed. At times it was nice that Luka was so perceptive, but he didn’t feel like being prodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he brushed it off. “I just wanted to walk the dog,” he dimly added. There was a pause on the other side off the phone. Conan sucked in his breath, knowing that Luka caught his bluff. There was yet another pause, as Luka decided that there was a small chance he would get whatever was bothering his friend off of his chest.

“Well, hang in there man, whatever shit you’re dealing with,” Luka said good-naturedly as Conan lightly sighed a breath of relief. He knew for a fact that his football situation would be the one thing Luka wouldn’t be able to sympathize with. Luka was so fiercely loyal he would never let anyone down ever. “Well, I think we all need to get out soon, maybe tomorrow night?”

“Fuck yes. I hella need to get out of this house and away from school. So, I’ll see you around 7?”

“Yep. Later.”

“Bye.” Conan shoved his cell phone back into his pocket and began his journey back to the house. At the corner, he paused, allowing the sea breeze to ripple through his shirt. Then he felt it, shivering. Something big was going down. And despite the hellish circumstances, it was the only thing he seemed sure about.

I hope you enjoyed it.

Lots of luuuuuuuuurve,

Skeeter the Groundhog