Chapter 3 #2
Though Connor’s been more consistently attached to someone than I’ve been, so I guess from an “alpha bro” perspective, he should be making fun of me.
“They’re okay,” he says, without full conviction. “She’ll be staying with her family in Miami for the summer, so we’re talking through what that means.”
“Since you’re spending the summer with us in Orlando, that could work, right?”
In past summers, Connor’s had various soccer activities for the U.S. Youth National Team, but he’s not on the team this year. While he plays for Princeton now, the university program has most of the summer off.
“It’s still a four-hour drive each way, but yeah. I told you she’s Brazilian, right?” I nod. “I’ve been working on my Portuguese to impress her family.”
“Nice. I’m sure you’ll be fluent in no time.”
He ignores my praise. “It’s tough though. She’s brilliant, fun, and beautiful, it just—it feels like something is missing and I can’t figure it out.”
Now it’s my turn to deliver advice. “Don’t overthink it. If it’s working, it’s working. If it’s not, it’s not.”
“Yeah,” he replies, pinching his nose under the bridge of his glasses. “I need to tell Mom I’m not coming home to Alabama for the summer too.” She still lives in the town where we grew up.
“Shit, you haven’t yet?”
“Nah. Avoiding it.”
I can’t blame him. She’s a piece of fucking work.
Granted, our mom—she has zero interest in me, since I’m not book smart and always the one with messes she has no desire to clean up.
Grace and Connor are her favorites, as the family geniuses, but they barely tolerate her crap. Landon just ignores her existence.
Case in point: when my sister told her earlier about my deal with the Waves, all Mom did was send me a short text that read: Congratulations, Rawley. I’m happy for you.
Yeah, right.
If last year’s pattern holds, the next time I’ll hear from her directly will be during the holidays, when she “wants her children to show up” for some occasion.
As for Dad, we’re closer, when we connect. He likes talking sports at least, and we texted back and forth all day after I messaged him the news.
Connor interrupts the flow of my thoughts. “In the meantime, I’m planning on being in Orlando until you and Landon have training camp. Does that work?”
“Sweet, yes.”
“I have a lot to figure out, so I’m really looking forward to the downtime.”
I’m not sure what he means by that exactly, but I’ve got too much on my own plate to ask tonight.
“I’ll need to get into prime shape, so get ready for killer workouts,” I warn him, only half in jest.
“Thank fuck I have the younger legs,” he says dryly.
“Like that matters when we do Landon’s ‘make my brothers into men’ routine.”
Connor snorts. Landon’s loved to kick our asses in his gym since he bought this place.
“Speaking of manning up,” Connor starts, “are you still seeing Stefani this summer, or are you finally going to tell her to stop jerking you around?”
Stefani Winslow is my “friend” from high school. Back then, she really was my fixation. I was obsessed with the girl, a gorgeous ballerina who’s now studying at a dance school in Manhattan.
My seventeen-year-old self couldn’t believe it when she finally hooked up with me after prom, but she’s since made it clear she never wanted more than a good time.
Four years, distance, and the couple of women who’ve since caught my interest, have diminished Stef’s hold on me, for sure. Still, the echoes of my fixation live on every time we connect.
“Yeah, I’ll try to get to New York for a few days. See her perform.” It’s been our yearly ritual since we both left our hometown.
“Rawls, that girl has you wrapped around her finger and never gives you a crumb.” Connor’s never liked her, or more specifically, how she treats me.
“Nah, it’s different now. I don’t feel the same way, I mean.”
“Whatever.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe me. “You want to practice some more questions?”
Not a bad call so I can nail this thing tomorrow.
The next day, after the press room is cleared out, Landon, Aiden, and I sit in a side office at the Waves facility as Head Coach Houston shakes my hand.
“We’re excited to have you here, Rawley. Keep your nose down until preseason, and then we’ll get to work.”
The Waves’ offensive coordinator Marshall Olson stands next to him, nodding. They both joined me at the press conference podium and said nice words about me when called on. Surreal shit.
“Yes sir,” I respond. “Thank you both for giving me this opportunity.”
“See you at rookie minicamp,” Marshall says. After a quick goodbye to my brother, they exit, leaving Landon, Aiden, and me alone.
A short moment later, Aiden’s phone starts to ring. “I need to take this,” he says. “It’s Aspire.” A top sportswear company he’s trying to secure me an endorsement deal with.
But after he listens to what they have to say, it doesn’t seem in the cards.
“Look, I get it. He’s twenty-one years old, he’s not going to be polished. You heard that authenticity today? It’s what people want. What your customers want.” Aiden’s using his smooth agent voice with whoever is on his phone.
He listens to the reply, then makes a slight grimace.
“Uh-huh. We can wait and see. I understand.”
He signs off and turns back to me.
“No offer from them, because they don’t feel comfortable. Yet.”
“Comfortable how?” Landon asks. “Rawls did great today.”
Fuck, I thought I had too. Connor’s advice had worked; I may not have been the most articulate, but having my short-hand notes meant I nailed the essence without veering off-topic. No one pressed into the topic of my college off-field “lifestyle” either.
“It doesn’t matter. The bias is there with all the pundit chatter over the last several months.” He looks at me with steely eyes. “This is costing you millions in endorsements. I need to figure it out.”
My chest tightens with a mix of frustration and shame. It’s not that I don’t care about the money, but it hurts so much more to hear constantly what people think about me.
“I’m just destined to be the Battle family screwup, I guess.” I keep my tone sarcastic so I don’t let on how I’m really feeling.
Landon sits up straight. “Fuck that. You’re a better human than most of the guys in the league.” He turns to Aiden. “This isn’t fair.”
“Unfortunately, brands don’t care about fair when it comes to five-million-dollar contracts. I’m as irritated as you though. I’m going to chew on options.”
The room feels too small, the air suffocating. “Can we get out of here?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Landon nods.
I’m over this day, and it’s only noon.