Chapter 17
RAWLEY
Idon’t let myself think about Avery on the drive home with Connor. Largely because I don’t want my little brother to pick up on something and start poking around.
As soon as I’m lying in my bed though, my thoughts start churning.
Her actions are confusing me. I’m trying to fight my attraction to her, but the more she opens up, the more I find myself sinking deeper.
When she has those softer moments with me, like right before I got out of the car, do they mean anything? Maybe, taking her at her word, it’s that she considers us friends, whereas before, even that was in doubt?
I definitely think she’s attracted to me. However, if she doesn’t want to do anything about it, I have to respect that.
No matter how much I like her.
Two days later, I don’t have any better answers, but I do have my big brother back in the mix.
“Look what I picked up at the airport on the way home,” Landon says, as he walks in the kitchen, having taken the red-eye from France.
He throws a magazine on the kitchen table where I’m drinking a protein shake. Oh yippee, it’s Avery and me on the cover of some gossip rag.
“The check-out attendant looked at me oddly, like he recognized me, and then I explained I couldn’t wait to give you shit about it.”
“Awww, thanks.” I drag my hand through my hair to mask my annoyance.
“Better you than me.” Landon looks half sympathetic despite the quip. “I’m glad things are going well. I’ll go to a Surge game with you sometime.”
Accepting the change in tone, I give him a small smile.
“So, you ready for your first OTA tomorrow?” Landon has come back because even though the OTA is optional, it’s not something he would intentionally miss.
“Definitely. It’s been nice getting to know some of the guys in advance. I’m ready for some real play now.”
“It’s more of a walk-through than a scrimmage, but you’ll learn a ton.”
We don’t wear pads for OTAs, and it’s no contact, but they’ll start getting us up to speed on the plays.
“Just listen to Johnson and the coaches, and you’ll be all right.” Landon might mean well, but it’s irritating he says that like I might mess this up.
“I’m not nervous. The football field is the one place I’m guaranteed to do everyone proud.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it that way, Rawls.”
“Whatever. I’m going to head to the facility for training. Grover’s been walked so he’s good for a bit.” I try to keep my irritation out of my voice. I’m not looking to fight with him.
“Okay, thanks. I’m going to crash, catch up on sleep before tomorrow.”
We go our separate ways.
By the time we’re driving to the OTA the next morning, I’ve forgotten what Landon even said to annoy me.
That’s our relationship though. We go back and forth at each other, and then the emotions underlying the bickering wash away until the next conflict comes up.
He’s been more of a dad to me than our real one, and I fight hard not to feel resentful when he tries to play that role when I don’t need it.
At the same time, now that I’m here in Orlando, I kind of wish he would see me as a brother only.
As a teammate, a man…an equal?
This is the first time that exact word—equal—has crossed my mind. I’ve been living with him now for six weeks, since the draft, so maybe that’s what’s kicked up these thoughts?
Whatever the reason, as I look out the window while the miles on the highway click by, it’s an ah-ha moment.
I twist my head toward Landon, who’s in the driver’s seat. Should I say something to him?
No, not now. Not on the way to our first full team activity for the season.
Still, I feel something shift in me.
And it’s a heavy moment, one I don’t know quite what to do with yet.
As we pull into the facility, I force myself to shake off that uncertainty. Time to get focused on football.
The three days of this first OTA session should be fun, for the most part. It’ll involve lots of bonding, getting to know the whole wide receiver core, and starting to learn the playbook.
There’s still pressure though. It turns out the preseason wide receiver group is twelve strong, which feels a little stressful. Cuts through training camp will reduce that by half.
I’m supposed to be the number two wideout this season, worst case number three since I’m a rookie. I won’t lie, I’m sweating a bit when all we’re doing is a lot of talking the first couple hours.
But once we start physical activities, I feel better. Bailey and I are neck and neck in terms of our sprint speeds, with everyone else noticeably a step or more slower. And during the catching drills, I drop the least out of anyone.
“Let’s fucking go, Battle,” Bailey calls to me as we wrap up the first day. “This season is going to be a good time.”
To someone who doesn’t know football, it may seem odd that he’s excited about me shining during drills.
But the better I am, the harder it will be for defenses to put all their best guys on him. Last year, he was even triple teamed sometimes. Our opponents won’t be able to commit those resources to him if I’m a threat.
On the second day, my confidence grows again when we start walk-throughs on the offensive side. Within two sequences, they pull me from the second team to the starters, and I get to go through the plays with Johnson, Bailey, and the rest of the key players directly.
It feels good, and thankfully, comfortable.
When I watch my fellow rookies, they’re more of a mix bag. Chance seems to be holding his own, but Ty performs in the bottom third on the physical tests. Not great.
And the infamous Nate? Shit, I’m secretly hoping he craps out, but so far he’s actually the best rookie running back in the mix.
Which he makes sure we all know.
“Boys, you have a good day?” he says on the third day as we’re getting cleaned up in the locker room. “I know I did.”
“That’s nice for you,” Chance responds shortly before turning his back to finish getting dressed.
Nate doesn’t miss a beat. He turns to me next.
“Battle, looks like I should have stuck around that club with you guys. Maybe then I could be fucking Avery Parker.”
He laughs like it’s a hilarious joke, but once I compute what he just said, I’m seeing red.
I step toward him, even though I’m half dressed. “What the hell did—” A big hand hits my chest before I can finish my sentence.
“One important skill as a rookie is to keep your mouth shut unless you have something productive to offer.” It’s Landon, only he doesn’t direct his comment to me; he’s giving the stink eye to Nate. “Go over to your locker.”
Nate stares at him for a couple of seconds before backing down and heading across the room.
“What an asshole,” Chance says under his breath.
Landon turns back to me, a calmer expression on his features now. “Rawls, he’s not worth it. These kind of issues tend to get sorted out by the vets in the preseason.”
“Okay, got it. Thanks.”
For a split second, I kind of wish he’d let me sort it out though. And not have to be protected by my big brother.
But then that emotion subsides as I start questioning myself. I mean, maybe he’s right and the veterans are better suited?
Shit, who knows. It’s going to be an adjustment being the “little brother” on the same team as Landon for the first time since I was fifteen.
I’m not a teenager anymore though, and there’s only so long he can step in for me before I need to man up myself.
In between my football obligations and Avery’s hoops schedule, Taylor has us interacting with each other’s Instagram accounts.
I don’t mind—at least it’s a safe way to perpetuate the story while not creating any further confusing moments between us.
Neither of us posts that much normally, so Taylor sends us photos to use from our team’s respective photographers.
One comment goes absolutely viral after my second OTA day. Avery posts a photo of her flying in the air, shooting a jumper. In the comments, I say the first thing that comes to mind:
“Looking good, Avie baby.”
I put my phone down to go to bed after the comment posts, and holy shit, I wake up to like nine billion notifications, tags, and screenshots of those four words.
I guess the first part of the master plan is working?
One thing for certain is the bulk of the media isn’t focused on my fuckups anymore. It’s wall-to-wall coverage of the new “royal sports couple” and crazy shit like that.
And, as we drive home from the last day of the OTA, Aiden messages me that he thinks he’ll have a couple of big updates for me this coming week.
Of course, that doesn’t solve my own Avery problem, which is about to rear up again. Because our next “date” is scheduled for tomorrow.
I need to steel myself to block out the confusion she triggers, and focus on the job at hand: pretending we’re a couple.
Keeping it light and easy, if only to protect myself.