Chapter 44
RAWLEY
Iwake up the morning of our first preseason game feeling ready to go.
Everything seems to be lining up on the field. I’m still making mistakes once in a while during practice, but it’s no different from any of the new players. And we’re clicking among the starters. All that extra practice with Johnson has paid off big-time.
Miraculously, now that they can watch me play, the sports media coverage has been positive—in no small part because Lara and Jim have been aggressively managing it.
“Even when you and Avery aren’t together anymore in the public’s eyes, I think we have this under control,” Jim observed to me yesterday.
“I’m confident we can start driving football-focused stories.
Maybe even work with a network to do a few long-form videos about your rookie journey and stick them on YouTube. ”
The surreal part is that Avery and I are still together in the public’s eye. And yet all we’ve exchanged the last three weeks are the group text messages with Taylor, the two quick text exchanges she started, and the social media comments.
With plenty of time to chew on everything each night of camp, I’ve replayed in my head our conversations over the course of the last couple months. One thing that’s clear to me—I don’t think this situation is much like the scenario with Stefani after all.
Avery seemed genuinely hurt by whatever happened in her past. Freaking out when she saw me with Stef? I get it, given the context.
With her sticking to her rule, there isn’t any manipulation going on either, not like with Stef. She’s been nothing but honest about her boundaries.
Still, I wish we could talk it out more. It felt like something was building between us. Something real, something reciprocated, a first for me. Granted, what would another conversation do if she’s set on not dating an athlete?
I pull myself out of bed, trying to avoid thinking about this more. Football needs to be my focus.
Once it’s time to go, I drive to the stadium with Landon, though he won’t be playing today. Starters don’t usually play in the first preseason game.
I’m an exception, as a rookie—the coaches want me to get as much experience as I can before the regular season. So I’ll be lining up with Tony and the rest of the second team when the game begins.
No biggie, I’m hyped for it.
Landon lets me control the flow of the conversation during the drive. I notice he hasn’t been asking me about Avery during training camp—today or otherwise. Probably because he doesn’t want to add salt in the wound about the impending breakup.
Instead, we start floating ideas for a trip during our bye week—the week off each season when an NFL team doesn’t have a game. Last year, Landon took Rori to the Caribbean to celebrate her birthday.
“Since our bye week is so much later this year, it won’t line up with her birthday the same way. We definitely should do something as a family, anyway.”
“Yeah, that would be awesome.”
“I’ll get Grace in the mix too, to make sure the plan works for her and Johnson.”
“Perfect.” She’s also coming to our game today to see me play, even though Johnson and Landon won’t get time.
Once we get to the stadium, I throw on our standard-issue Waves T-shirt and shorts for warmups, and make my way out to the field.
It hits me all at once when I walk out onto the grass, and I pause to appreciate the moment.
My first NFL game. Preseason game, but still.
The field is busy with activity from other players, infusing the environment with energy. With no one paying me any attention yet, I do a full turn to take in the view of all 65,000 seats. The fans aren’t allowed in yet, but I can visualize the passionate sounds of all their screams.
I’m used to this size of stadium from playing major college games, so it’s not that I’m nervous.
Instead, I’m proud.
So many things could have broken me, destroyed this dream. But I fought hard until it happened. Never let it slip away.
And I’m here, now, with Landon and Grace about to witness this milestone.
Satisfaction settles around me, and I give myself one more moment to enjoy the sensation before walking to the guys to get warmed up.
Forty minutes later, I go back to the locker room to put on my full gear for the game. Feeling a pat on my shoulder, I turn around and find Tony.
“Glad we’re going to be out there together for your first NFL battle, Rawley.”
“I appreciate that.” We’ve been playing a lot better together, now that we’ve had a shit ton more reps in training camp the last couple weeks. It’s still not the same as playing with Johnson, but getting closer.
He dips his chin and heads back to his locker. My own is looking a mess, so I start packing away the things I don’t need now that I’m dressed.
BUZZ. The sound comes from the top shelf of my locker.
Oh, I thought I’d turned my phone off already? I reach for it, hand going straight to the power button.
Until I notice it’s a message from Avery.
Avery?
I quickly punch in my security code.
AVERY: Hi. If you score a touchdown today, I’ll have a surprise for you.
It takes me a moment to recover from the shock that she’s texted me at all. Why is she messaging me about the game?
And then I process her actual words.
A surprise?
Why is she talking about scoring a touchdown?
AVERY: In person. At the game.
Which means she would be here. Might be here already.
I’ll be able to see her, talk to her.
My chest tightens with anticipation.
I look left and right, my teammates oblivious to the emotions I’m cycling through.
Do I even want to see her?
YES. The answer is yes, no matter what.
I don’t think there’s any way I can turn this down. I would be pissed at myself for a very, very long time.
RAWLEY: Challenge accepted.
My phone goes silent, and now I don’t give a fuck about cleaning up my area. Because I want to get out on that field, stat.
Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long for the captains to get us organized. When we run out, the stands are only sparsely filled—typical for preseason games. They will be packed once the regular season starts.
But that makes it easier to identify everyone here. I locate Grace quickly as I scan the family section, and then there’s only one other person I want to see.
I run out to the center of the thirty-yard line and let my eyes wander along the sideline seats, close to the field. I assume that’s where she would be, if only because the security is better there.
My vision creeps along, and then I find her. The tall black hair beauty sitting two rows up at the forty-five-yard mark, on the far side of the field.
She came to the game.
The air knocks right the fuck out of my chest.
She came.
“Hey, Rawley, get over here,” Coach Allen shouts, several yards onto the field.
Coach’s words fall around me unanswered, because at that moment, Avery sees me too. Our eyes connect, and even with the serious distance between us, it feels like we’re linked. Like there’s nowhere else even to look.
Her mouth curves into a smile, and she gives me a small wave.
I’m confused, but I return the gesture, since as far as the public knows, we’re still dating.
“Number eighty-two, get your ass here,” the coach says with more irritation.
This time I will myself to comply. Focus on football, Battle.
I have a touchdown to make, anyway.
Running back to where the offensive players are gathered, I try to avoid glancing in Avery’s direction for the next few minutes while we go through standard pre-game rituals.
It’s hard to ignore her once the station’s cameras appear, however. I’m surprised it took them as long as it did. They cluster around her, presumably wanting to set up for reaction shots during the game. Hopefully she’s okay with the barrage of attention.
I tilt my head to try to see through the black metal of their equipment, and yeah, she’s smiling. Fake or not, she doesn’t look stressed.
Good.
Seven minutes later, it’s time for us to start the first offensive drive. The kickoff by the opponent had left us at our thirty-five-yard line.
“Let’s do this,” Tony says in our first huddle.
Normally, I wouldn’t worry about scoring a touchdown in a preseason game, as long as I’m making catches and contributing in other ways. These games aren’t about stats, but about gelling as a team and figuring out who the final fifty-three will be on the roster.
But now there’s more at stake. My time to get a touchdown may be limited too, as they’ll likely pull me and the other second team players at some point in the second quarter.
“Okay, first play…” And then Tony gives the call.
Only it’s a running one. No chance for me, I block the defender I’m supposed to cover, and we gain three yards.
The next play call comes in and—hallelujah—it’s a pass play.
“Hut,” Tony calls, and the center snaps him the ball.
I come off the line quickly, juke around the defender trying to hold me up, and cut to the middle. Just like the route requires.
Find me, Tony.
Only he passes it to our tight end instead, who secures the first down.
A perfectly reasonable play. If I wasn’t trying to earn this surprise from Avery.
With the first down, though, there’s going to be at least three more chances for me to score a touchdown on this drive. And now we’re almost to the fifty-yard line, the halfway point.
Once again, the first call on this set of downs is a running play, and our running back breaks through a gap for seven yards.
A great start again—but not what I need.
As I get back to the huddle, Tony calls out the next play. I process the call he shouts and—oh shit yes—it’s a passing play, one where I’m the first option.
Right as I have that realization, Tony turns to me. “Light them up, Rawley.”
Let’s fucking go.
When the snap comes, I’m ready. The route has me slipping to the outside, and then using my speed to sprint down the sideline.
Once I’m by my primary blocker, I get bumped by a second defender who tries to tackle me, but with a twist of my hip, I’m free.
Come on, come on, come on.
I get to my intended place within a couple of feet of the sideline, and with no one near me now, I bolt down toward the end zone.
I pass the thirty-yard line, then the twenty.
Come on, come on, come on.
With the design of this play, I know Tony’s going to place the pass to me around the fifteen. As I approach that hash, I turn and look, already prepared to shift if the throw is off at all.
Come on, come on, come on.
But nope, Tony’s pass hits me square in the middle of the numbers on my jersey. I use my hands to cradle the ball against my chest, and then move it to be snug under my right forearm and elbow.
Fifteen yards are left until the end zone.
Come on, come on, come on.
And now some of the quicker defensive secondary players are closing in on me.
Not today, guys.
I book it again, as if it were the Super Bowl with a Waves championship on the line, forcing my body to reach its maximum speed.
Come on, come on, come on.
And you know what happens next?
“Touchdown, Orlando Waves, 6-0.”
FUCK YES.