Never Say Never (Battles in Love #3)

Prologue

RAWLEY - LAST SUMMER

Don’t fuck this up, Rawley.

I tug on the collar of my button-down before stepping into the studio. A literal reminder not to choke.

The Jalen Nash Show set is simple and open. But as I survey the space, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.

All the people, all the cameras, all the pressure not to screw up.

It doesn’t help that the show’s team slathered me in makeup back in the green room. Foundation is all over my skin, and I hate the feel of it, like a layer of plastic coating.

“We’re going to do a quick lighting check,” one of the producers shouts toward the stage.

I walk to my designated seat. My brother Landon’s in the chair next to me on the set, and we’re facing Jalen.

Prepping for an interview to save my future pro football career.

No fucking big deal.

I may only be a junior at the University of Texas, but there’s a shit ton of money—millions of dollars—at stake. Landon, already an NFL star, is doing his part to salvage my reputation with this joint “Battle brothers” interview.

Jalen’s show is one of the landmark spots in the sports industry to be featured. I just wish we weren’t here because of me, this, now.

It’s been all-hands-on-deck this week though. Landon’s PR rep Jim has helped me get through all the crap that’s come out about my so-called “partying” at UT.

Rumors that have zero basis in fact—I’ve been careful to avoid anything other than a beer or two on nights out in college—but that doesn’t seem to matter now. I’ve become living proof that perception is reality.

Jim’s visible near one of the producers, off-camera, and he links his eyes with mine, giving me a reassuring nod.

Hell, he’s done his job. Supplied me with talking points, tips, and practice time to get my answers down for the tougher questions we anticipate from Jalen.

Now I’ve gotta do mine.

Only, I’m not good with scripted words, or talking points. Specifically, with remembering what I need to say when the spotlight hits.

My mind gets jumbled, even when I’ve spent hours trying to memorize the exact words I’m supposed to recite, and all I feel is panic. It’s happened a trillion times during school.

It’s not that I struggle with processing words when I’m reading, more that my shitty memory doesn’t stand up to pressure. And I don’t trust my instincts either.

My family has never understood why I go sideways in formal settings because, yeah, I’m also funny as fuck around them. When I can just be unfiltered.

But staged settings where I need to speak are nightmare fuel. Add in any scrutiny, or the need to be precise, and my brain melts like a box of crayons in the Florida heat.

You can’t let that happen today.

“You ready?” Landon asks, resting his left palm on the arm of my chair.

There’s understandable concern on his face.

The NFL draft next April is my shot to duplicate what Landon has done. Leverage my college success to get to the pros, play the game on the biggest stage.

If the narrative of me being a potential screwup sticks, my NFL draft stock could plummet. Sure, I’ll eventually land on a team, but millions in base salary and signing bonuses fall off the deeper you get selected in the draft. Not to mention endorsements.

And fuck, I think I might hate that I’m disappointing my big brother most of all. Even if we often butt heads, he’s done so much to help me, help all of us Battle siblings.

So add some serious guilty feelings to the mix of what I’m dealing with today.

“I got this,” I say, hoping to convince myself as much as him.

“Lights are good,” the producer’s voice shares. “Jalen, you all set to start?”

“I am.” He turns toward Landon and me. We’d talked to him a little in the green room—more specifically, he and Landon talked comfortably as I watched on. My brother’s already been on his show twice before.

“Any last words before we begin, gentlemen?” Jalen says in a teasing tone.

Landon smooths out his clothes to get them camera-ready. Taking his cue, I do the same.

“Ready as we’re ever going to be,” Landon says back. Jalen nods to his producer.

“Okay, we’re live in…”

Three…

Two…

One…

Jalen gives us a wide grin as the red lights on all three cameras around the set brighten.

“Landon and Rawley, great to have you here today. Both of you have big seasons ahead of you, so we’re grateful that you made the time.”

As planned, Landon takes the lead, helping me settle in.

“We’re glad to be here. It’s nice to start sharing the big stage with my little brother.” He points to me and grins.

I make myself smile through my nerves. My right leg is bouncing, and I try—and fail—to get it to stop.

I hope that’s not visible on camera.

“Let’s hear from both of you. What are your big goals this season?”

“That’s easy,” Landon says. “The Orlando Waves winning the Super Bowl. The only goal.”

“I hear that,” Jalen responds, nodding. “Rawley, how about you?”

“Well—” I clear my throat as I hear my voice almost break. Shit. “Definitely, we want to go to the championship too. The collegiate one.”

The words are right, but I sound so fucking nervous.

Relax, Rawls.

Landon steps in to save the moment. “What Rawley isn’t going to tell you is that he lives and breathes football. He works his butt off to help his team. Can I say butt on here?”

They laugh, but Jalen keeps his attention on me. It’s inevitable, since I’m the story right now.

“I heard you’ve been going to Florida to train with Landon during the offseason. What’s it like to have a brother in the NFL, and to be able to work with real pros?”

I push out a puff of air. This answer is easy, at least.

“Oh man, it’s been awesome. I’ve been able to go to Johnson Samuels’s house and practice on his mock field. I could play all day on it.”

“Johnson, the Waves’ quarterback—that must be great exposure to the league,” Jalen says.

Landon jumps in. “And the kid has made me throw to him one hundred times when Johnson hasn’t been around to do it. Practice catches from every position.”

Jalen nods. “Probably a good thing for a wide receiver to love to do.”

I pipe up again, trying to stay in the moment.

“Yeah, Landon’s the best big brother. I’ve given him a headache or three, but he’s really paving the way, showing what’s possible.”

They laugh at my headache joke. Well, it’s funny and true.

Jaden then switches expressions, a serious look settling in.

“Now, Rawley, I hate to go here”—fuck, it’s money time, isn’t it—“but there have been unflattering accounts of your off-field behavior. A photograph published in First and Ten has invited some questions. What do you want to say about all of that?”

A video monitor to my right shows what’s being broadcasted by the network, and now it’s filled by the article in question. Blown up big.

RAWLEY BATTLE—UNLIMITED PROMISE OR HUGE LIABILITY?

The words below the headline are too small to read on the screen, but the now-notorious photo…fuck, there it is.

Surrounded by random UT students at a darkly lit party, I have on a droopy-looking expression. Definitely looking high, even though I’m not. There was nothing remarkable about that night, and all I had was beer. It’s just a shitty pic.

But then the leading e-magazine in pro football decided to do an “exposé” on the “top wide-receiver prospect this year,” and the rest is fucking history.

My mind starts spinning out and my chest tightens as I stare at the article that’s taken over the broadcast screen.

I can’t quite grasp the words, the script, I’m supposed to repeat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, everyone is looking at me…

I need to answer.

“Well, all I can say is I love football. I would never do anything to jeopardize playing or hurt my team. Being in the NFL is my lifelong dream.”

Jalen nods, but his eyes look uncertain. He stays quiet, leaving me space to say more.

However, it’s Landon who fills the silence, praising my dedication to the sport again.

Then my mind snaps back. Oh crap, now I remember what I was supposed to say. A line that denies my lifestyle is as portrayed in First and Ten, along some other details that Jim suggested I add in.

Though we can’t straight-up say that I haven’t gotten high ever, or anything like that.

Because that wouldn’t be true.

Rawley Battle: causing everyone problems since he was fifteen.

The moment has passed in the interview for me to straighten things out on this topic though. Landon’s answering a question about the Waves’ season, and I can see from the timer on one of the cameras that we only have two minutes to go.

Jalen pivots to me, asking whether the single-season reception record at UT is a goal. I came really close last year, but I give the politically correct answer about how my focus is on the team’s success.

Soon he’s signing off on the interview, throwing it back to the studio guys, and the red lights blink off.

“You did good,” Landon says, tapping me on the leg. His expression is tight, however—I know he’s thinking about the response, the most important response, that I did not nail.

“I got off-track,” I say in a low voice so only he can hear. “I didn’t deny the stuff from the article.”

He gives me a small smile. “Hopefully people missed that.”

But, as we’d find out in the next few months of media coverage, when I had my best year at UT, yet the talking heads focused on debating my character instead of on my play…

No one missed it.