Page 32 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

THIRTY-TWO

SUTTON

J.D. bought three connecting suites. I wish he didn't have to do that, but the rental of the stadium goes through Birdie's management company.

J.D., Greyson, their siblings, and Parker's friends walk around the suite as they get introduced to the players and staff. Noelle is talking Coach Stricker's ear off. About what? I don't know, but he's listening to her intently.

Marlon stands beside me. "Thank you for inviting me. Let me know what you need."

"I'm going down with Coach. Can you talk with Rosalie from HR about giving Parker O'Ryan an internship?

I want to make sure it won't hurt his eligibility if he decides to play college ball next year.

I'm trusting you with this. I need to know by tomorrow night. That's when I'm meeting with his dad."

Marlon has a confused look on his face, so I continue. "The O'Ryans' dad is the head football coach at LaGrange."

"How did I not know that?" he asks. "I've been here longer than you. "

"Why would you?"

"I should have information before you do, so I can be valuable."

"Marlon, I have no complaints about you or the job you're doing. And by the way, that vest goes great with jeans. Stylish."

His normally slicked-back hair is more casual tonight and a little messy. Heath joins us. "Sutton's right. You look like a stud." Then he looks at me and says, "Coach said you were going to the first row with him. Can I come too?"

I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I can't think of how to say no. Luckily, Marlon saves me.

"Heath, no, no. We'll have much more fun up here. But I do have an extra VIP backstage pass for the after-party."

"And you know I'm not staying for the after-party. You and Marlon do the backstage thing. In fact, you can both come in at ten tomorrow instead of eight. Sound good?"

Marlon slaps Heath's back. "That's good for me. Let's get a cocktail."

After a quick drink and plenty of laughs, I join the O'Ryan crew in the executive elevator.

Moments later, J.D. is leading us backstage through layers of security—the concert's energy already buzzing in the air.

Parker's old friends are there, calling his name, and J.D.

introduces us around as the band waits in the wings.

As Greyson walks beside me, his arm brushes against me, making me want him to wrap those strapping arms around me.

Birdie comes out in a black miniskirt, fishnet stockings, and a leather crop top. Her arms are toned and fit, but she shivers, and immediately J.D.'s arms are wrapped around her. She leans her neck back and kisses him on the cheek .

"So, everyone introduce yourselves. I've met Sutton, but who are these handsome fellas, Parker?"

Parker starts naming his five guy friends, and as he introduces them, she gives them all a hug. Parker smiles. "This is Lupe, my...best friend."

Lupe is bouncing on her toes as Birdie gives her a warm embrace.

"Follow me," she says while holding J.D.'s hand. She takes us into a large area where the after-party will be. "Here's where the after-party will be, but I'll be going home with my man tonight. So, who wants to know how I got the stage name Birdie?"

Lupe holds her hand over her heart, her eyes shining. "Oh, Parker told me, and it's so romantic." The rest of the guys ask Birdie to tell the story.

"When I met J.D. at a bar where I was singing, we didn't exchange real names. But he kept calling me Birdie."

Cutting her off, J.D. pulls her into his side and places a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Because you sing like a songbird... beautiful."

Birdie's face glows as she continues sharing their love story.

"Later, J.D. was at a meeting in a Vegas hotel when he heard someone singing.

He asked the bouncer who was singing, and the guy said, 'She goes by Birdie.

' That's when he knew it was me. I chose my stage name, Birdie, because I hoped that someday he'd hear the name and we would get a chance at love. "

A melody of romantic sighs rolls through our entourage. Greyson leans over and whispers in my ear, "She left out the part about hooking up with a stranger."

I elbow him in the ribs. "Ouch."

"Don't mess with a good love story. "

"I'm trying to create one of my own."

I can't help the way my smile grows at Greyson's confession as I playfully press my arm against his. Birdie signs the college kids' T-shirts, and one guy has her write her name on his shoulder blade. J.D. rolls his eyes. "Okay, that's enough. We should get to our seats."

J.D. leads the kids through the tunnel he knows all too well. Greyson and I bring up the rear, and when we get to our seats, Noelle, Parker, and his friends are already in the mosh pit.

The band opening for Birdie is a country crooner, and Greyson knows every word to every song this man sings.

I press onto the toes of my ankle boots and scream into his ear, "I figured you for classic rock."

He leans just a little closer, making my stomach flutter and everything else blur into the background. "I've had headphones on for a good portion of my life. It's one way I relax. I like it all, but I like my women classic and my music country."

"What's the other way you relax? Does it require a partner?" I ask, arching a brow and flirting way more than I should be in public.

He covers my ear with both hands and nibbles my earlobe. My core tightens, craving more, when he murmurs, "When I put my mouth on you, I promise relaxation is the last thing on my mind. All I'm thinking about is how many times I can make you come—just for me."

"It's hot in here, isn't it?" I say, fanning my face and wishing a cool breeze would take the heat away from my pulsing body.

Greyson laughs at my expense and claps as their last song ends. The country band yells, "Thank you, Austin! Now let's give it up for Austin's own, Biiiirdie!"

The crowd goes wild, and Birdie runs out onstage and hugs the country band before grabbing her guitar. She wastes no time rolling into her first song. This is a fast song, and the mosh pit is jumping to the beat. I glance over at J.D., and he's grinning from ear to ear.

I hear Greyson say, "I can't believe she married you. She's way too hot for your sorry ass."

"I'd say she did just fine. You're just jealous you don't have someone like her."

They bump shoulders, and I think about what life must have been like growing up less than two years apart. You can see the love, but you can also see the stress wearing on them at times. Their careers depend on each other.

Birdie's song melts into another, and the open stadium air is thick with applause.

It's a song about secrets called "Living a Lie.

" Greyson's eyes move to mine. He gives me a wicked grin, and we're deadlocked on each other.

His fingers curl into mine, but no one can see.

The stage lights are so bright that darkness surrounds us.

"She's amazing," I scream, looking down the row to J.D.

He yells, "I know," but he never takes his eyes off his wife.

"You're more amazing," Greyson says as he slips his hand from mine.

A wave of sweet nerves rolls through me.

It's the anticipation before a kiss. No anxiety.

There's a collective "aww" from the crowd.

The band plays, and up on the screen, the camera finds us just as Greyson releases my hand.

I feel exposed, but we were just looking at each other for a few seconds before the camera caught us, and we naturally looked up.

There was no kiss cam or outing of our secret relationship.

As if it were planned, Birdie redirects the attention. "Who wants my hot, football-coach husband to come up with me?"

Well, that's all it takes for the crowd to go completely nuts. They're jumping and spilling their drinks. She walks down the side steps and takes her husband's hand. "You ready to sing with me, babe?"

J.D. shakes his head no, but she whispers something to him, and a smile appears.

"We're going to sing a song I wrote when I wasn't sure if I'd ever run into him again.

We didn't know each other's real names. I was a struggling singer who had no idea about football.

Actually, I thought he was a hockey player.

Why, you ask? Because he was wearing a scarf. "

The audience hangs on her every word, and Greyson leans into me. "I gave him that scarf for when he came to Denver. He was used to the Vegas heat, and he hated to wear coats."

"I'm sure it was an awesome scarf, Ten."

"It was, and I've told Birdie to quit saying that part of the story. Have I told you that I love it when you call me Ten?" Greyson brushes a stray curl behind my ear. I reach into my back pocket, pull out my phone, and show him. "That's how you have me named in your phone?"

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, I thought it was very stealthy. I guess I'm just 'Sutton' in yours?"

"Nope. 'BL' for boss lady."

"That's a terrible nickname."

His eyes dance and a mischievous smile covers his face. "Well, I have others, but they're dirty. "

He grins as he listens to Birdie finish her story. "This one is called 'Lead Me Home.'" She sings the slow melody, and J.D. comes in on the chorus, "Lead Me Home. Lead Me Home."

When the song is almost over, I squeeze Greyson's hand. "I'm thirsty."

Greyson places his hand on my back, guiding me through the hallway to the backstage area. We show our passes, and we wander around looking for beverages. "I can't wait to hear the whole story about Birdie."

He backs me up against a gold concrete wall, dips his head, his lips close enough that his words float across my own.

"The real story begins at the encore. Don't you love it when you think you're finished, but you get one more.

.." His mouth crashes against mine, and even though I'm scared of being seen, I've never felt more alive than I do with Greyson O'Ryan.

Our chests inflate with the corresponding swell of the music. My hands dig into his hair. Greyson O'Ryan kisses me senseless, and when our lips part, he says, "Let's go up to the suite, give our front-row seats to someone, and sneak back to my place."

Just then, I hear a camera click, and I push Greyson away. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" His voice sounds like he's in a vacuum to me. I'm hyperaware that a camera was clicking and somebody could be watching me, or worse—us.

"Sutton, of course there are cameras. We're at a concert.

Did you see anything suspicious?" he asks, lowering his voice, shifting closer.

Around us, the thump of the bass and the shouts of the crew blur into the background, but his eyes are sharp, scanning the shadows beyond the glaring stage lights .

Flabbergasted, I huff. "I saw a shadow sliding along the wall." The words tumble out—an unwanted chill ripples over my skin.

Instantly, his brows knit together, and he angles his body protectively in front of me.

"Show me where." The fun backstage energy crackles with tension now.

He searches the wall with his gaze, one hand hovering subtly near mine.

I realize he's not just worried for himself—but for us, for the secret that's become as fragile as glass.

Someone from security passes by, and Greyson catches his eye with a nod that's all business. "We need extra eyes back here tonight. I'm Birdie's brother-in-law," he says, his tone sharp enough to cut through the music.

The security guy nods, "I know who you are, Mr. O'Ryan. I'll take care of it."

Now everyone's a little on edge, as if the danger I sensed bled into them too. My heart pounds harder as Greyson finally lets his fingers graze mine for half a second—a silent warning, a silent comfort.

Greyson's voice is hoarse as he murmurs into my ear, "Stay close." There's an ache in his tone, a promise of safety battling with the risks pressing in on all sides. If someone is really watching, everything could change in an instant.

"We're not being careful. We can't be a couple in public." My stomach churns. Am I nervous about being caught, or am I sick?

"I really don't think anyone would care, as long as we disclose it."

"I care. I don't want to be fodder for every celebrity magazine. I can hear it now: 'O'Ryan gets sloppy seconds.'"

He shoots me a confident look and says, "Babe, you're anything but sloppy. And I know Bodhi never gave you what you needed the way I do."

My body feels like a puddle of warm chocolate from all the charm, the smiles, and the winks.

We hear the crowd chant and cheer. It's intermission, and suddenly backstage is a flurry of activity—wardrobe is following Birdie, and the band is jogging to their dressing room.

Greyson and I spot J.D. handing Birdie her hot tea with honey. After she catches her breath, I fangirl over her. I explain, "I'm not feeling well and am going home."

Birdie insists, "Don't drive. I did that once when I was dehydrated and barely made it home. Have Greyson drive you. He's heard me sing a hundred times."

"Oh, I can't inconvenience him."

Greyson smirks, "You're my boss, not an inconvenience. I need you to keep signing those checks."

I lift my arms and let them fall back to my sides. "Okay, let's go find some lucky players and make them very happy." Greyson messages the players' group text: "The first two who reply get front-row tickets. Go!"

Redham: Me. Me. Me.

Quinton: Please let me be first.

The band runs past us, and it's only minutes before they're strumming their guitars to a steady beat.

"That's my cue," Birdie says as she jumps into J.D.'s arms. "One more hour and then I'm yours."

I clutch my hands over my heart, swooning over how deeply in love they are. As the hum of the crowd builds, J.D. puts her down and says, "Knock 'em dead. I'm going to meet Redham and Quinton. We'll be in the first row in no time."

Greyson says, "Hold my hand while we maneuver through the crowd.

" The hallways vibrate with the bass and drums as we slip toward the back door to the players' lot.

Minutes later, we're curled up in his truck, concert lights blinking through the windows, Birdie's voice trailing out into the humid night.

He laces his fingers with mine, and I close my eyes, wondering how long we can keep this secret safe. Or how long before someone knocks on the glass and the whole world changes.