Page 31 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

THIRTY-ONE

GREYSON

"Birdie is taking Parker and his friends backstage tonight. Not exactly punishment for quitting his team." J.D. looks around the stadium. "Can you believe this field will be transformed into a rock concert and then back to our field in less than twenty-four hours?" J.D. asks.

"I'm surprised Dad's letting him. I've never seen him so upset."

"Why? He just threw away thousands of dollars, and Dad tried for two years to get him to play college ball for him, but Parker chose hockey," J.D. says, disappointed. His personality is cut-and-dried. Do A, then do B. You must do A plus B to get to C.

I have a different take on the subject. "Parker doesn't have to follow our path.

My history professor, for example, studied journalism but couldn't find a newspaper job.

While working in a library, he fell in love with history, went back to school, and eventually became a professor.

There are many ways to get from point A to point C, brother. "

"Well, going from hockey to football is like going from Z to J; it's not the same. He hasn't played football since high school."

"Texas high school football is like Division II—head and shoulders above the rest of the country.

Let him come here and catch from Browning.

" He's our third-string quarterback. "If Parker can still catch the ball, break tackles, and dance into the end zone, and if Dad sees he's still got it, I'm sure he'll add him to the team by spring. "

He grips the football between his hands and pumps it twice. "Go long. If you catch it, I'll talk to Sutton about it. We may need insurance or something."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you won't be starting our first home game this weekend. No pressure," J.D. says, laughing.

I let out a breath, trying to resist the urge to roll my eyes, but inside I'm grinning, feeling like we're teenagers. Classic J.D.—turning everything into a challenge and somehow getting Sutton involved.

With the early morning sun in my eyes and the grass cool under my cleats, I sprint down the sideline.

My heart's pumping faster, and not just from the sprint.

Sutton's always talking about calculated risks, but this is about as calculated as a coin toss, and the Armadillos need me to be the starting quarterback on Sunday. If not, rumors will start swirling.

Why did O'Ryan's brother bench him? Is there a rift between them? Etc.

My cleats dig into the turf, and as I turn, the perfect spiral is hanging in the air.

I'll catch this damn ball if it kills me—or at the very least, saves my starting spot and gets Parker something to look forward to.

Two more strides. Shit, I may not be fast enough, and in true O'Ryan brother competitiveness, I stretch, laying my body out for the ball.

Somehow, I manage to haul the ball into my chest and bounce up off the turf.

I scream, "Yes!" Victory feels good, but my shoulder, not so much.

When I don't get up, J.D. and a trainer jog toward me. J.D. bends down, touching the shoulder that isn't on the turf. "Are you hurt?"

I hop up. "Nope, just wanted to see how much you love me.

" I swipe his Armadillo hat and pledge to come up with a better logo while running away.

It's juvenile, I know. Sometimes you need to cut loose and feel free.

J.D. blows his whistle, and soon the team is filing onto the field.

Sutton stands in the opposite end zone. I blow by her and wink before I stop in front of my brother, gloating.

"You've been acting...should I say, happy, for a couple of weeks now. What gives?" he asks.

"Love being at home with the fam."

He crosses his arms, peering into my eyes, suspicious that my response is anything but honest. J.D.

switches to coach mode. "Okay, so now we know that number ten can catch the ball.

Now let's see if he can thread the needle through our first-string defense.

I'm assuming everyone got their play updates. "

A chorus of "Yes, sir" echoes across the field.

I pull my helmet over my head and glance at Sutton. It might sound cheesy, but I wonder where we would be right now if we had met a decade ago. One thing I do know is we wouldn't be a secret.

Wearing a buttercup-yellow blouse with a bow tied at the center, cream-colored pants, and tan heels, she's classically beautiful. Chanel should be asking her to model.

She watches practice for an hour or so, and I do my best to show off. Do men ever stop wanting to impress women?

When practice is over, J.D. and I go to Sutton's office to talk about Parker. Marlon says, "Go on in."

"Hey, that was quite a practice. Trying to injure my...our star before the first home game," Sutton says, catching herself, and I can't help but grin. She leans back in her chair, and I notice her eyes linger on me a fraction longer than necessary.

J.D. sits back. "Our little brother Parker quit college, so we made a friendly bet and this guy won." He crooks his thumb toward me.

"The cute brother who plays hockey?" she asks. My eyes narrow because he has dark hair and brown eyes, the opposite of me. Her tone is teasing, but there's a flicker of mischief in her eyes that hopefully only I catch.

"Yeah. I'd like to ask if he can come train with the Armadillos to get ready for next year's college football season."

Her eyes widen, and her chin stretches in shock.

This time it's real. She directs her answer to J.D.

, but her foot bounces nervously under the desk.

"I don't know about that. There are probably rules about that if he wants to play in the NFL later.

Besides, I thought he played hockey. You can't just switch sports this late. "

I lean down, putting my elbows on my knees.

"Sutton, he was a dual-sport athlete in high school.

He was offered Division I scholarships for both hockey and football.

But I'm sure you can understand him wanting to hide in another sport rather than being in our shadow.

It's a lot of pressure." I glance between my brother and my secret girlfriend, allowing my gaze to linger, hoping she catches the double meaning.

We both know a little about hiding and pressure.

"I checked with my agent, and he said Parker could do a college internship and still be able to play college football the following year. "

"What position did he play in high school?"

"Wide receiver," J.D. answers quickly.

Sutton's lips twist, lines creasing her forehead. Her focus flips back to me, like she's weighing the professional against everything we can't say aloud. "It seems to me you two are quarterbacks, so you throw the ball...he catches the ball. Can't you do that in your off time?"

J.D. nods, but I jump in. "We could, but he needs to shake off the cobwebs before our dad puts him on the team. Not because he doesn't believe in him, but because he wants to make sure it's what Parker wants and not a whim because his teammate screwed his girlfriend."

"Poor guy. I know how he feels, and I'm sure neither of you knows anything about being cheated on or dumped." When she glances my way, we share a split-second of silent understanding, both with scars of our own.

"Um, there may have been someone who told me I was a mistake, but other than that one time, no, I don't." I wink. "And this guy has never been dumped."

I need time to research and mull it over. "Give me a few days to talk about it with Human Resources."

J.D. stands, and I follow. He extends his hand. "That's all we ask."

They shake hands, and when she reaches out to me, it feels wrong.

There's a charge between our palms, something we both pretend not to feel.

Instead, I go around her desk and scoop her up in a bear hug.

"Thanks, boss lady." I make it look playful, but the way her breath catches against my ear reminds me that even though we're hiding behind jokes and official titles, we're together .

As we're walking out, she says, "If I can make it happen, I will, but it must be on the up-and-up. I won't jeopardize his college football eligibility, and if I agree, I'll want to talk to your dad off the record. Not here."

"No problem. He's coming by my house tomorrow night for dinner." I slap my hand against my brother's shoulder. "Are you and Birdie available?"

He nods his head. "Great. Dinner at seven at my house."

"I'll be done coaching Paulina about six, so it shouldn't be a problem."

J.D.'s hand is already on the brass doorknob when he pauses to look at Sutton. "Oh, I almost forgot. Birdie would love for you to come to the concert tonight."

Sutton blinks, slowly and uncertainly, caught off guard by J.D.'s invitation. I can see the gears turning and churning inside her head, weighing her options and outcomes.

"Come on, Sutton, we all deserve to let off a little steam."

She hesitates, mumbling about having a lot to do. I can hear the strain of exhaustion in her voice.

Leaning against the wall, keeping my tone light, I hope to take the pressure off.

"You don't have to come for the whole show, but we'll have front-row seats—safely away from the mosh pit, I promise.

Well, Noelle and Parker's friends will probably be in the pit, but us old people will have a seat.

" I give her a hopeful look, silently rooting for her to say yes, wanting a reason to be near her.

The corner of her lip twists. "I hate to ask, but do you have any room for the office staff?"

"Let me ask. I'm sorry I didn't think of it earlier. I'm distracted by the first home game."

"I'll let you know when I hear back," J.D. says as he immediately messages Birdie .

"Okay, thanks."

J.D. leaves first, so I turn around and wink at the blonde bombshell of a boss. She turns a pretty pink. "See ya tonight. Check your messages." I walk out but leave the door open and lean against Marlon's desk while I'm typing my message.

Me: Don't wear your cowboy boots or hat.

BL: Why?

Me: That's your disguise.

BL: You'll have to keep your hands in plain sight.

Me: I don't know. There's probably a closet somewhere.

"Were you waiting for me?" Marlon asks.

"Oh, sorry, I was texting my dad. Love your vest."

He looks down and straightens it. "You do? I thought it might be a little much, but my boyfriend said it makes me look like a high-powered broker."

I look him up and down. It's a navy-blue monochromatic vest, but with a checkered pattern you can see when he moves.

"Dress for success is what I always say.

" Then I examine my athletic wear. "But I guess it depends on what you're trying to achieve.

You have the best job in the organization. .. working for Sutton."

"Without a doubt, she's the best boss I've ever had, but I want to be the one making decisions, one of these days."

I'm not much older than Marlon, but because of my stature on the team, it feels like he's one of my little brothers. "Can I give you some advice? "

Marlon stuffs one hand in his pocket. "Sure."

"Sutton needs to be able to trust. I know it seems like she has it all, having been a professional tennis player and having a dad as wealthy as Mr. Anders, but I did a little research when she was brought on.

She lived at a tennis academy without her parents until she was an adult.

So, more than anything, she needs to feel she can count on you—that you'll be there to help correct any mistakes or just make her feel better.

If she trusts you, she'll do anything to help you achieve your goals. "

"And here I thought you were just a pretty face with an arm that throws bullets." He laughs.

"Don't tell anyone." I rap my knuckles against the desk before heading for the elevator, Marlon's words echoing in my head. As I make my way to the parking garage, my mind drifts to Sutton and how much I want to be the one she counts on.

By the time I slide into my truck, my phone vibrates, lighting up with Sutton's name.

BL: J.D. is the best. I made four suites available that we normally don't, and he bought out the suites so everyone could come.

Me: I'm the best, O'Ryan, but that's awesome. Make sure you ask Marlon face-to-face. I think he could use it.

BL: I didn't even know you knew his name.

Me: I know everything when it comes to you.

BL: You haven't found my spot.

Me: Bullshit. You quake and come until there's practically a puddle on my lap.

BL: Oh God, stop.

Me: You started it. And if you have any spots I haven't found, it's because we've been rushed. Soon you're going to be mine all night long.

BL: Dreams.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Me: Wet dreams.