Gold Rush

unmemorable confessiom

͙⁺˚* ✫ Johnny ✫ ͙⁺˚*

March 28, 2005

My head was throbbing. My eyes opened slowly and I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to my surroundings. I couldn't remember a fucking thing. But when my eyes landed on the hospital bed and the IV pole, it came flooding back.

The tackle during my match.
Passing out on the pitch.
Being taken for surgery.
Everything I worked so hard for was gone in an instant.
It was over.

My mam was seated on the chair beside my bed and when my eyes met hers she sobbed.

"My baby," She wrapped her arms around me.

"How long?" Was all I could get out.

It was all I cared about.
My rugby career.
How long would I be on bed rest.
How long I'd be out of the game for.

"Really, Jonathan?" Mam eyed me, "You lie to me for months and that's what you want to know?"

"Mam, please," I said frantically, "Tell me."

She crossed her arms and inhaled a deep breath, "Six weeks."

Six weeks off of rugby.
Six weeks of no training.
Six weeks to fall out of shape.

"A well deserved six weeks," Mam shook her head, "You could've killed yourself!"

"Not now, Mam," I felt myself starting to panic, "Where's Da? I need Da."

"Your father's just in the hall," She frowned, "I can go get him."

"Please," I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I loved my Mam more than anything but I didn't need a lecture. I needed my Dads level headed words.

Mam gave my forehead a kiss and headed into the hall. Seconds later my Dad was barging into the room.

"Morning stud," He muttered as he entered.

"Da," I forced out, a tear finally falling onto my cheek.

The minute he looked at me he rushed over to the bed and pulled me into his arms.

And I broke down, like a fucking child, crying in my dad's arms.

"Dad it's gone," I sobbed, "The summer campaign, the U20s, it's over."

"It's not gone," Dad shook his head, "Slim, but not impossible."

"Fuck," I choked out, "What if I don't make it? What if I'm not fit by then?"

"Then it's out of our hands," Dad sighed.

"I can't-," I tried to speak but my dad interrupted, "If you don't make it this summer nothing changes. You are still Johnny Kavanagh. If you don't make it in June, it will be devastating. Your mother and I understand that. You might think we don't but we do, everything that hurts you hurts us. You're our son, Johnny."

I cried harder at his words.

"What you did, Johnny?" Dad swallowed, "The danger you put yourself in? There are no words to describe how devastated we were to get that phone call, to know our boy was risking his health for a future in rugby."