Page 17 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

SEVENTEEN

GREYSON

Sleep's overrated, right? All night, I toss and turn thinking about Sutton's ex waiting for her on the tarmac.

His I'll-take-it-from-here attitude. It's almost like he knows I'm interested in her as more than just my boss.

He's the same age as Sutton, and I understand they have an unbreakable bond.

But do they? Something tore them apart. Did he cheat?

Was it long distance? Whatever it was, the internet doesn't have a clue. Headlines from last year read:

Tennis's Golden Couple Double Faults

Long-time Couple Splits at Love

My phone chimes with a notification just as I'm supposed to be prepping for an interview on Sports Showdown with two former football players.

The screen lights up with a headline I've been dreading: a photo of Sutton and Bodhi, side by side, walking out of some fancy hotel.

They aren't even touching, but he's angled toward her, his smile too easy—like he knows something the rest of the world doesn't. My jaw tightens, and a sharp, stabbing pain hits my gut.

I remind myself for the hundredth time that Sutton isn't mine, never has been, but it doesn't matter.

At Sports Showdown, Hawkes and Goodwin fire questions at me.

" How do you really feel about being traded? "

" How's playing for your brother? "

" How's having a female general manager who admittedly knew nothing about football when she took the job? "

I handle the first two questions with ease; my answers have always been truthful. I literally don't understand why they would trade me, but now I'm glad they did. Family and football. But when they ask me about Sutton, I get defensive.

"Sutton Anders is...well, she notices things that most people don't. Like trading for Frank Cozen.

None of us understood at first. Believe me, I'm so happy she made the trade.

I trust Cozen completely to guard my blind side.

That doesn't mean I wasn't upset that Baker and Spader had to be traded in order to get him.

But this is a business, and she has great instincts.

I just hope she leans on her instincts."

"About football?"

"In general."

Just then, the television on the side wall of the studio shows the same clip of Sutton and Bodhi coming out of a hotel. Hawkes says, "Speaking of Sutton Anders, it looks like she's back with her long-time love, Bodhi Creed."

Irritation bubbles up in my chest, and my jaw aches from biting down so hard.

"Sutton's here because her best friend was in a car accident.

We flew in together last night, and yes, Bodhi picked her up.

All three of them went to the tennis academy together.

She's at the hospital, not...whatever these photos seem to suggest." Every single word comes out flat, every syllable deliberate, but I can feel my pulse hammering in my veins.

"According to these still shots, she skipped the hospital and went straight for?—"

"Do you personally know her?" I snap. "You don't. Sutton is one of the most loyal people I've ever met. She's supporting Anna, and I assume Bodhi is too. They're both trying to hold it together until their friend is out of the woods."

Bitterness tastes ugly in my mouth. I've had way too much of it lately between my trade and getting shut down by Sutton.

They switch topics and talk about the last preseason game, which is against New York this weekend.

"Yeah, I'm flying home to Texas later tonight so I can prepare for New York with my team. Frank joined the team today, so I'm anxious to get back and catch up."

One more interview and a commercial shoot take up the rest of the day.

On the tarmac, the plane is fired up and ready, so I pull out my phone, sending flowers to Anna.

I scroll social media, where there are plenty of photos suggesting Bodhi and Sutton are back together.

The rumor mill is alive and well, and the look in Bodhi's eyes suggests it's real, at least for him.

I ask the captain to give me a few minutes before taking off so I can text Sutton.

Me: Are you coming back to Texas? Or staying in NYC until the game?

A few minutes pass, and she responds.

Sutton: Staying in NYC.

Me: Do you have a hotel room?

Sutton: I do.

Me: How is Anna?

Sutton: Surgery went well. The doctor is coming in now. Have a safe flight. Don't worry about me.

Me: Did you hear the interviews?

Sutton: I'm sorry, I didn't. I have a lot on my mind.

Yeah, Bodhi. And Anna.

Me: I understand. They went well, and as for the razor commercial, well, let's just say they wanted to shave me clean, but I told them I'm a man and I'm keeping my scruff.

She types a laughing emoji.

Bodhi's face is as smooth as a baby's butt, and I can only hope that she likes men with stubble.

Sutton: I'm sure they did. Women can't get enough of you, and men want to be you.

The only woman I want is you, but I leave it at that.

Me: Call if you need to talk.

When I get back to Austin, Frank is waiting at my house. He'll be staying here for a few days while he looks for a house, so my dad came over and let him in. "Hey, man, making yourself at home?"

"Yeah, just watching The Voice ." He stands, and I swing my overnight bag onto the chair and see that he's eaten almost an entire pan of lasagna.

I walk over to him, and he gives me a hug. "Good to see ya, man. How's Lucy and the kids?"

"Good. They're coming once I find a place to rent, but Lucy is demanding video walkthroughs. The kids start school in a couple of weeks, and I hope to have a place by then."

I grab a couple of beers and hand him one. "The realtor will find you the perfect place. I know there are a ton of rentals in gated neighborhoods, but I wanted to buy since this is my hometown, and I'll most likely retire as an Armadillo."

"Makes sense. I would rather rent first and figure out what's best for Lucy and the kids. Schools, restaurants, and activities are the priorities. But I'm damn happy to be reunited with my favorite QB."

"I bet you say that to all the quarterbacks."

He throws his head back and lets out a booming belly laugh. "Just ones that get me bonuses." We clink our brown bottles against each other. "To being an Armadillo."

I shake my head. "It's an awful fucking mascot."

"Yeah, it should be the Austin Alpacas or Coyotes, anything but armadillos."

He asks me about the organization, and of course, he knows J.D. from his playing days. We'd all go out whenever we played the Las Vegas Dice. And then, the conversation turns to our beautiful owner's daughter .

"She's incredible. Loves numbers. And put the trade together to get you here without anyone's knowledge or input. Smart as a whip."

"Are you into her? I've never seen your eyes light up when talking about a woman. Oh no, you are. Shit, O'Ryan, you can't. Or have you already?"

There are a handful of us who hang out in the off-season and take vacations together, and Frank is one of them. Even after he got married, his family comes too.

"No, she's off-limits. Just my luck that when I'm interested in someone, she's my boss," I say.

"You want to watch film tonight?" he asks. "I need to get up to speed on how our offensive line works."

"Glad you're here, buddy. You won't regret it. Let's go down to the man cave. I have a whiteboard and everything."

"You've always liked to draw," he says, chuckling.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

We spend two hours reviewing play calls that J.D. sent him. It's a digital file with our twenty most common plays to digest on the flight, and Frank only has a few questions. After we go over them, we both head to bed.

I throw my clothes in the hamper and sit on the side of my bed. My phone chimes with a voicemail from Sutton. It's two in the morning in New York. It makes me smile because she wouldn't be on her phone if she were having sex with Bodhi.

"Hey, I just wanted to thank you for sending Anna flowers.

She made it through surgery. Nine hours.

I thought she was dying. I was so worried.

Anyway, she'll be in the hospital until they determine she can go.

Probably three to five days. I'll see you at the game against NYC.

Oh, is Frank here yet? J.D. hasn't texted me.

Anyway, thanks for taking care of me on the plane.

I know I was a complete mess. I got lucky having you as my QB. Okay. Well, good night."

I listen to it a few times and then pull out my sketch pad and turn it to the first page.

When I got home from the club in Denver, I drew her from memory.

It's not perfect since it was dark, with neon strobe lights creating contours and shadows.

Flipping the page, I trail my fingers over her lips from the first time we officially met at her dad's house.

She's in that fucking tank and tennis skirt.

There are ten more. The last one is from the night she was here, when we exchanged bone-chilling kisses.

Instead of stuffing it back in the drawer, I sketch her face as she cried while telling me about Anna.

I shut my eyes, letting the moment cascade through my mind, and my pencil just flows, making long strokes for her hair and short ones for her eyes and nose.

Sutton is beautiful even with splotches on her face.

Jesus, I wish I were the one with her right now and not him.