Page 3 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

THREE

GREYSON

I reach into a jar for a milk-chocolate caramel and pull out one filled with coconut. It feels symbolic—I hate coconut.

It's been months since my less-than-stellar performance in the Super Bowl.

For the first time, I couldn't push a woman to the back of my mind.

I threw three interceptions in the big game and ended up benched.

My backup jogged onto the field, threw for two hundred yards and one touchdown, and strutted off with his chest puffed out.

He proved he could handle the big moments.

At the time, I remember thinking that at the end of the season we'd both have starting jobs in the NFL, that someone would make a trade and he'd be leading a team of his own. I was half right.

Because I'm walking into my brother's office for the first time as the quarterback of the Austin fucking Armadillos. Denver made a trade, all right, but it was my ass that got shipped off, not his.

Damn, is there no loyalty in sports? I won a Super Bowl and the MVP for Denver a few seasons ago .

"Greyson. You can go in," J.D.'s executive assistant, Rita, says. She's smirking like she's wondering what joke I'll play on him today.

"Thanks." I take a deep breath, turn the knob, and prepare for a new team. "Hey, you must have wanted me pretty badly to pay that kind of money."

He walks from behind his disorganized desk. It makes me wonder if he's up to the job. Being the youngest coach in NFL history must be a cross to bear. He wraps his arms around me. "Glad you're here, brother," he says, slapping my back.

I'm not happy to be here, so I lie. "Good to be home." He gives me the side-eye, raising a brow. He knows how much I loved living and playing in Denver.

We've had a few conversations since my agent called, saying I'd been traded with one year left on my contract. My picture was splashed all over the sports and entertainment channels.

Where did things go wrong for Greyson O'Ryan?

Who's the mystery woman in the photo?

Did he spend time with her instead of preparing for the game of a lifetime?

J.D. hurls the playbook at me, and I catch it in midair. "Nice catch. Maybe we should switch your position." He laughs hard.

"Fuck you."

Wiping the amused look off his face, he sits down, placing his elbows on the desk. "Have you figured out who the girl was that caused you to fuck up so badly in the big game? "

Throwing my head back, I snap, "I wish I knew."

"Don't give me that. The whole world saw you two. Who was she?"

J.D. played at the highest level for a decade, and until he met Birdie, he was certainly acquainted with the ins and outs of being a much-sought-after professional athlete. He basically wrote the rules:

One night only.

No bringing them to your house.

No giving out personal contact information.

"I can't be any clearer. I don't know who she is. Her first name is Sutton... I think. No woman has ever... oh, forget it." I scrape my hand over my chin, still wishing I could find her. But if the media didn't out her name, I know my chances are slim to none of finding her.

"Okay." My brother shakes his head and steers the conversation back to the present. I have four siblings. J.D. is two years older than me, then there are ten years between me and Parker, then there's Noelle, and Witt is the youngest. "How long will you be staying with Birdie and me?"

"For a week, max. I'm meeting a real estate agent this afternoon.

Hoping to get a piece of land with privacy outside the city.

Then I promised Noelle and Parker we'd go ice skating.

Parker wants to show off. I swear he picked hockey, a sport totally opposite of ours, just to say fuck off.

And Noelle is bringing her boyfriend. Let's hope he comes back in one piece. "

I haven't been around our younger siblings much because of football. Maybe that's the reason Parker chose a different sport—he thought he'd have more downtime. But as luck would have it, he's a highly talented hockey player.

"He's had a different experience than we have.

" He stills, and my eyes fill with tears.

J.D. rubs his palms together and continues.

"Greyson, let's pray you come back in one piece.

You can't go ice skating. The whole reason we traded for you is because our QB is out for the season, or at least most of it. " His brows furrow.

"You paid money for me because I'm one of the top three QBs in the league," I snap. The Armadillos need me.

He gives me a tight smile as he takes off his hat, running his hands through his hair before putting it back on. "Be careful. Is Witt going?"

"Nope, said he would see us for supper on Sunday."

He stands and leads me out of his office for a tour of the Austin facilities. "Voluntary off-season camp starts in two weeks," he says, pretending to cough, meaning my ass better show up.

I nod, letting the past few months wash over me—the last game, Denver cutting me loose, all of it.

In two weeks, vacation ends, and I'll officially be donning the green and gold of the Austin Armadillos.

Until then, I'll spend that time with my family, maybe pick up an old hobby—skeet shooting on the farm or even try ax throwing. I'll find a ranch to buy and call home.

After getting the tour, I drive to our family home, which is a short ride from Austin in a small, rural suburb.

When I pull into the gravel driveway, Noelle runs out of the house.

I'm barely out of the car before she jumps into my arms. We've always been close and, since she's the only girl, we dote on her.

"Hey, miss me much?"

She jumps off. "This is fantastic that you landed here with J.D. and the Armadillos. I'll get to see you all the time. I'll be at every game. "

Yeah, it's fan-fucking-tastic.

"All right, where's this boyfriend of yours? And Parker?" I ask.

She drags me into the house. "They're playing ping-pong. Stop them so we can go ice skating. Our lessons start in an hour."

"Lessons?" I quirk a brow.

Noelle clasps her hands together in front of her chest. "For my birthday, Brooks said we could do anything I wanted."

"I'm sure he didn't mean ice skating," I chuckle inwardly. He plays college football where she cheers, so I'm damn sure he has other plans, which I push to the far corner of my mind as I think of nonsexual things.

Ice cream. The Sopranos. Denver. Hillenbrand's. Sutton. Damn.

Everything goes back to Sutton and the kiss that has ruined me.

"It's what I want, and he loves me, so..."

They've been dating for close to six months. "Loves you? You're a junior in college?" I shake my head, thinking love isn't an option when she's so young. Did he use an I love you ?

To get into her pants?

She flashes me her bright smile. "Can you please meet him before you decide to hate him?"

I could, but right now I'm hating life and barely getting by.

When we reach the basement, Parker looks as if he's grown a foot. He needs some muscle on his bones, especially since he's on a scholarship at the University of Michigan. Those guys will eat him alive.

Mental note: Train Parker in my off time.

I change the subject. "It makes no sense that we're paying for lessons when Parker could teach us."

"You and I both know none of us will listen to him," Noelle says, cocking her hip out and tilting her head, convinced she's right.

"Brooks! Parker! Greyson's here."

Her boyfriend hits the ball and his short sleeves inch up on his arms, showing his bulging biceps.

When he stands, his shirt stretches across his midsection, revealing washboard abs.

My mind races as I look at the future NFL prospect.

From experience, I know girls are tripping over themselves to get his attention, yet he picked my sister.

Parker says, "Oh, hey," like he sees me every day.

I expect Witt the twit to stop playing and introduce himself, but instead he slams the ping-pong ball, bouncing it to the far edge of the table. Parker's reaction is late, leaving Brooks to raise his hands in victory. "Yes!"

"He's a real winner," I mumble. "All right, let's go." I probably acted the same way when I was his age. In fact, I know I did. Now, I'll definitely be worrying about her.

The skating rink is a tattered and rusted steel building near an old strip mall. I should heed JD's advice and not skate, but for a couple more weeks, I don't have to listen to a word he says.

A sign hanging behind the desk says, "You must sign a waiver to skate. We are not responsible for injuries."

Great.

My siblings and Brooks have one on file, but I go through the boxes, checking them. If I get hurt, JD may kill me. There are twenty or so people here, some skating easily. The instructor waves us onto the ice .

It's cold in here compared to the heat wave outside. The winter clothes I had in Denver would have come in handy, or Sutton's warm body draped over me would have. Fuck, I can't get her out of my head.