Chapter 3
RAWLEY
SAME DAY
“All set?” Landon says from the couch as I step into his living room. My living room now too, since I’m staying with him for the time being.
I put my keys down on a side table. “Yeah, all signed, sealed, and delivered.”
Landon stands up and gives me a bear hug. “Shit, Rawls, this is insane. Two Battles in the NFL. Welcome to the Waves.”
That’s right; an hour earlier I signed my rookie contract at the team facility. Almost eighteen million dollars over my first four years.
Without the media BS, I would’ve been one of the top five picks, and my salary more than twice that.
Maybe some guys would be pissed at that thought. I just feel like I let everyone down.
Shaking that feeling away, I pat Landon on the back and accept the embrace. I’m glad he’s excited. At the end of the day, all we have is each other.
Landon, Grace, Connor, and me.
I was in seventh grade when our parents divorced. It was Landon and Grace who made sure Connor and I were okay, had what we needed, got us fed, clothed, to our practices and games.
Even if Landon can be overbearing, I owe him a lot.
“Aiden is coming over for our celebration dinner,” I say as Landon steps out of our hug. Aiden is our agent and came to town to facilitate my deal.
“Okay, good. Grace and Johnson should be here soon.”
“All right, dinner for five. Let me go whip something up.”
I’d texted Landon that I would make the food and even ordered a grocery delivery.
Secret time: I fucking love to cook. I’ve even been thinking that after the NFL, I might study to be a chef.
“Oh man, we can order or something, really,” Landon says dismissively. “You don’t need to make your own congratulations dinner.”
“No way, don’t steal my joy, bro,” I object. “It’s my favorite thing to do.”
This conversation is typical for us. Landon doesn’t quite understand how I tick, and he often tries to “fix” things without really listening.
“Okay, okay,” he relents. “I’m going to call Rori real quick because it’s late over there.” His girlfriend Rori Reilly, a top tennis player, is currently in Europe for the clay court season.
“Say hi for me.” Rori is a fuck ton more fun than my big brother, but I keep that thought to myself.
I walk to the kitchen, already knowing what I plan to make. All the details are improvised though, because I’m not a by-the-recipe type guy. Food is a form of art to me, and I prefer to stay in creative mode as I go.
“Okay, grilled chicken with a balsamic glaze, brown rice, and sautéed veggies,” I say quietly to myself. “Let’s make this happen.”
Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a mess, but multiple pans are sizzling, kicking off delicious smells that tell me things are going as I intended.
Landon’s beagle, Grover, has joined me and is sitting on his hind legs watching. No doubt hoping for some droppings.
“I nailed it, Grover, I know it.”
“I bet you did. Smells great.” It’s not Grover speaking, but Johnson. He appears around the hallway from the living room.
“Hey J,” I say, smiling. He’s a cool dude and treats my sister right, so we get along fine.
“Hey, teammate,” he says, throwing out his hand for me to slap back. “You best be ready. We’re going straight to the Super Bowl this year. You were the last piece of the puzzle.”
“No pressure,” I say with a chuckle as I connect our hands.
“First let’s focus on dinner, right, Rawls?” says Grace. My sister steps into view and tells Johnson, “Don’t get ahead of things, honey.”
He kisses the top of her head as she stands next to him. “Fair enough, I’m just excited. Bailey”—the Waves’ top wide receiver—“is beside himself that we got you.”
“Maybe for once all the crap I went through this year paid off, since it let me fall to a place where you guys could draft me.”
Grace’s face crinkles at that. Shit, I don’t want to make her feel bad for me.
“Anyway, hope you guys are hungry. I need about thirty minutes for it all to be ready.”
“Let me claim a hug first.” Grace comes forward and wraps her arms around me tight. “So proud of you, Rawley. You made it. The NFL.”
I reciprocate happily. Grace is one of the only people in my life who accepts me unconditionally, so it’s easy to relax into the embrace.
After the hug breaks up, Johnson and Grace take spots on the stools at the kitchen island while I monitor dinner.
“So what’s next?” Grace asks.
“Aiden will know more when he gets there, but the first big thing is a press conference tomorrow.”
“Did I hear my name?” Aiden walks into the kitchen, with Landon behind him.
“Hey, Aiden. Yeah, I was sharing about tomorrow.”
He nods. “Yes, it’s going to be quite a turnout. Lots of coverage.” There will be national media, as well as local press, at the signing announcement.
“You’ve helped Rawls with scripts for responses?” Landon asks anxiously. “Or Jim has?” Now that I’m a pro, Jim is officially my PR rep too.
“He’s going to be good,” Grace says confidently.
Landon doesn’t look reassured, and his eyes stay on Aiden, waiting for an answer.
I understand his nervousness. After I didn’t refute the rumors of drug use and excessive partying during the Jalen Nash interview, Jim tried to manage the press narrative. But since I’d failed to correct the record so obviously on live TV, we’d never quite put the storyline to bed.
It’s still in the background. Yet, with the secrets we’re trying to protect from my teenage years, my directions are to avoid the topic completely if I can.
“We’ve got this, Landon,” Aiden responds. “Jim sent us all the talking points, and I’ll work with Rawley on them in the morning.”
Landon looks somewhat placated. I shift toward the stove and check on all the food. The veggies are getting close to done so I turn down the heat.
“Trust me, we all have a vested interest in Rawley knocking it out of the park tomorrow,” Aiden continues. “There are brands waiting to see how this all shakes out before offering him deals.”
“Fuck, I hate this,” Landon says, like he’s the one at issue. “I wish there was something I could do. What a load of crap.”
That’s Landon. The “fixer,” though there’s no way he can help here.
Except he tries. He turns to me and says, “If you need a partner to go over the responses tonight, I’m happy to do it.”
“That’s okay. Connor is going to help me over FaceTime.”
“Good.”
I don’t want to hurt Landon’s feelings, but I’d much rather do it with Con. Landon’s less patient when I struggle.
Aiden speaks up again after a brief moment of quiet. “Jim passed along one other request that we thought would be good to jump on.”
“Oh yeah? What is it?” I ask.
“The Orlando Daily News wants to do a cover story for its Sunday Magazine insert on you and the new rookie for the Surge.” I’m suddenly paying close attention. “‘The Fresh New Faces in Orlando Sports,’” he adds, using finger quotes.
“I’ve met her,” I blurt out. “Avery Parker.”
“Even better. They want you to interview each other. We’ll prep your questions in advance though.”
“That sounds really cool,” Grace says. “You loved her dad growing up, right?”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge, even though I’m not sure that will win me any points with Avery. “I’ll do it for sure, if she agrees.”
“Okay great, I’ll get it set up, maybe for next week.”
And suddenly something is making me nervous other than the press conference tomorrow.
“Broooo, save me,” I say to Con later that night. We’ve been practicing my responses, and I still don’t have some of the wording down.
“You got this. That wasn’t bad at all.” Connor’s tone rings sincere, so I try to regroup.
“What if I say something wrong though?”
“You won’t. Maybe just keep a cheat sheet of those talking points they sent. Try not to worry, it’s going to be fine no matter what, and you’re a lot better when you relax.”
Connor understands me better than anyone else in my family. Even though he’s two grades behind me in school, he’s helped a ton over the years.
To the point that he researched ADHD once he was old enough to understand what it was. Trying to figure out how he could support me best.
I was diagnosed late, at least for this era. It didn’t help that I had inattentive parents who just assumed I was “acting like a boy,” and our school was in an under-resourced public system.
More recently, Connor’s been the one who sent me research about how my experience might have led to some of my shitty self-esteem issues.
Hardwired me to feel like I’m at fault for anything and everything bad.
Apparently, there’s a bunch of studies on how the years of criticism a kid in my shoes faces fucks with their head.
Not that I know what to do about that now.
“Okay sure, let me try to put some notes together that I can follow.” A couple of minutes later, when I have my scribbles in front of me, I make eye contact with him again. “Ask me something.”
Connor adjusts his glasses and puts on a serious face. “So Rawley, what are you hoping to achieve next season.”
Instead of trying to repeat the long talking points from memory, I go off my cheat sheet. “The Waves were so close to the Super Bowl last year. Just two games away. I want to help them get there, and win.”
“Perfect,” Connor says, his normal tone back. “See what I mean? Just get your notes organized. You’ll be impervious to the pressure.”
“Oh, the Princeton man vocabulary,” I tease him.
“You know what it means though, right?” he throws back. Now that we’re older, Connor constantly calls me out when I play dumb. “Bottom line, you can handle this.”
“Let’s hope I can keep that mindset.”
“If you’re nervous, visualize that you’re talking to me.” His voice is calm, direct.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll try.” I’m tired of talking about myself, so I move the conversation to a new topic. “How are things with Bea?”
Connor’s been dating a junior at Princeton since Winter Break—yes, an “older woman.”
Cue my predictable shit-talking about “cougars” when he first told me.