Page 4 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

FOUR

SUTTON

"Coach, I can't do it," Paulina yells, throwing her racket across the court and snapping me from my thoughts. I know what it feels like to be away from your mom and on your own at the ripe old age of nine.

"You can do it," I encourage. "Angle your racket so the ball spins."

She throws a hissy fit, and I'm not sure whether to comfort her or be a hard-ass.

I go for option one and take her in my arms, stroking her long ponytail.

When her sobs dry up, we walk to the net, and I ask one of the college students to hit us some balls so I can teach her the motion of a slice backhand.

Holding Paulina's racket with her, the college student hits it easily to us, and we go through the motions of slicing so she can get the feel. After about twenty hits, I let go, allowing her to try by herself.

"I did it!" she cheers.

"Perfect, Paulina. Let's hit fifty more and then go get some ice cream."

"Really?" Her eyes open as wide as saucers, knowing sugary foods are against the rules at this tennis academy in Austin.

I bend down so we're eye level. "It'll be our little secret."

After hitting more balls, she goes to her dorm to shower while I do the same.

I live on the property in a small two-bedroom house.

We drive about a mile down the road to Boots & Scoops Ice Cream Parlor.

The employees all wear cowboy hats and boots.

Paulina can't contain her excitement. "Whoa," she says, admiring the person in line before us. "Can I have one of those?"

"We'll share it. We're already breaking the rules."

Paulina orders a waffle cone bowl shaped like a boot, adding pecan praline ice cream along with a caramel drizzle. My coach never did this for me, and I wonder if I would have been more well-balanced if he had, as I watch Paulina shovel the sweet cream onto her spoon and into her mouth.

Gabby, her roommate, is waiting with an ear-splitting grin when we get back to their dorm. "He texted me. Look what he said." Paulina jumps up and down, grabbing Gabby's phone.

"Okay, girls," I say. "Lights out at ten. Is it a boy from here?"

They give me an aggressive nod, and I know exactly who it is: Trevor. All the girls fawn over him. His sun-streaked hair glistens, and he's been blessed with a golden tan and teeth that probably won't need braces. Trevor is eleven and is expected to be on the junior circuit next year.

Shutting the door behind me, I hear giggles bouncing off the walls. Oh, to be a preteen again.

I can't help but reflect on how drastically my life has changed since my hamstring injury as I open my favorite bottle of Bordeaux.

Taking the job here at ACE has two major pluses.

One, I love kids. There's something rewarding about helping others achieve their dreams. And two, for the first time since I was a young girl, I live close to my dad.

For years, it was Mom and me against the world, but I remember her saying, "Now that I'm out of money from the divorce, your sponsorships will need to pay for me to live near the tennis academy.

" When that wasn't enough, she remarried three more times and died during a grand hiking adventure in Switzerland.

Some days, the ache settles deep in my chest, and nothing really shakes it loose.

I really am happy about my new job—it gives me purpose, and I feel proud of what I'm doing.

But even with that, there's this emptiness I can't quite fill.

It's like something important is missing from my life, and no matter how much I try to ignore it, the feeling lingers just out of reach.

My phone rings, and Anna's name shows on the screen. "Hey. How did you know I needed to hear your voice?"

"Because Bodhi thanked his new girlfriend after winning the San Diego tournament.

" She pauses. "Bethany Glines. He's dating that bitch, and she's a baby, only nineteen.

He had you, and he thinks she's a replacement for you—she's a two and you're a ten.

" Anna defends my honor, and her Russian accent becomes thicker when she's angry.

"I don't care. She can have him. Once she finds out what he's capable of, she'll run in the opposite direction, too." Too bad my heart still aches as I try to convince myself that I'm over Bodhi Creed. I keep obsessing about my Denver man to keep thoughts of Bodhi far away.

"I just found out he'll be running a camp at ACE this year. I don't know how he can fit it into his schedule. "

My mouth falls open. "Are you serious? How do you know this information when I'm the one who coaches at ACE?"

"I'm always in the know. Plus, I watch everything I can to figure out how to get inside my opponents' heads. Like when we were fourteen and we played in the semifinals of the Broken Leaf Invitational, and I kept singing that song you hated. That was me, throwing you off your game."

"I remember. But don't worry about me. I'll find out when it is and stay far away from the academy that day. Are you still planning on retiring after this year? You could move here."

"I really want to be like you and break the Top Ten, but I'm tired of wondering what city I'm in.

" She sighs. "Francisco's home, and we're celebrating his win.

And don't ask me how, because, believe me, you don't want to know.

" She bursts out laughing, reminding me of Paulina and Gabby sitting on the bed, giggling about Trevor.

Even when we're grown, we're still giddy about men.

My face warms as I laugh. "Love you. I'll call you next week."

What do I do after we hang up? Yep, I watch the video of my ex thanking Bethany and have another glass of wine.

Why? Why? Why?

Because I'm a glutton for punishment. I learned the hard way that I needed to forgive and forget. Forgive Mom for cheating on Dad. Forgive Dad for not giving her another chance. Forget that I was on my own for much of my life. Forget that the golden boy of tennis is an asshole.

Just as I'm settling into bed, I receive a text from Dad.

Dad: I have something important to tell you. Don't be late for breakfast.

Me: Tell me now.

Dad: It's a surprise.

Me: I don't like surprises.

Dad: Yes, you do. Remember when I flew to Tokyo for the tournament? You were so excited that I surprised you.

Me: Okay, I'll be there bright and early. Love you.

Dad: Love you too.

Sleep evades me, and by morning, my blankets are tangled and scattered across the bed like a tornado ripped through my room.

My stomach twists because even though I apparently love good surprises, an unsettling feeling sets in.

I hurry to get ready and realize I look as exhausted as I feel—weary and worn from mulling over my past with Bodhi.

I pull my BMW into the circular driveway at the mega-mansion Dad calls home. At first, I go to ring the doorbell, but this is my dad's house. Instead, I walk right in. "It's me."

"I'm in here." Dad's voice booms from the grand living area that's combined with the kitchen. That area alone is bigger than my two-bedroom house.

Dad's dressed in a suit and tie, ready for work.

He's a real estate developer. He grabs me in a hug and kisses the top of my head.

"I'm so glad you moved to Austin, and I get to hug you all the time.

I didn't get to do that much when..." His voice trails off.

"Sometimes I don't know if letting you go to the tennis academy was worth it. "

"Dad, you were letting me live my dream."

"How does a seven-year-old girl know what her dreams are?"

"I love tennis."

"I know you love it, but you would have never met Bodhi if it weren't for tennis. And you wouldn't have been hurt so bad."

He doesn't know the half of it.

Burying my head in the center of his chest, I cling to my dad, and a few tears slip from my eyes, although I'm not sure what I'm crying about. Then I pull back and say, "Something smells good. Did you cook, or did Tammy?"

He croaks out a laugh. "Me. It's a quiche. Being a good cook attracts the ladies."

I mumble, "Your money attracts the ladies."

"Don't forget my good looks."

He removes the quiche from the oven, slices it, and plates it. I scoop out some fruit salad from a crystal bowl, grab a croissant drizzled with cream cheese icing, and tear off a piece. "Oh my God, this is delicious. Did you make these too?"

"I had them delivered. One of my employees has a bakery as a side business."

We sit at the kitchen table built for eight, overlooking their grand gardens, complete with a boxwood-maze courtyard. I can't stop eating long enough to tell him how good it is, so instead he gets little hums of appreciation.

"So, um... some news. I bought the Austin Armadillos. It will go public later today, and I wanted to make sure you knew first."

I choke. "The football team? You don't have that kind of money, do you?" Not that I know much about football, but you can't miss all the talk on the radio and people everywhere wearing green and gold jerseys.

"I do. I sold a couple of properties in North Dakota to a Texas oil company, sold two condominium buildings in Miami, and brought on a silent partner. Are you ready for the surprise?"

I drop my fork, and it clangs against the plate. "Oh, that wasn't it? Dad, I hope you're not strapped now."

"Don't worry. I have plenty. I've worked hard for it, but this opportunity came, and you know what I always say."

He looks at me until I answer, "Don't be afraid to take a chance. One day your chances will run out."

"That's my girl." He brings his napkin to his mouth before setting it on the table. "This isn't just my chance. I want you to take the chance with me."

My forehead creases, my brows drawing toward the center. "I don't understand."

"I want you to be the general manager."

I laugh. "You're kidding, right? I know absolutely nothing about football. I've watched a handful of games in my life."

"It's about being business-oriented, athletically minded, determined, and dedicated.

You're all those things," he says in a confident and paternal tone.

It's like when a kid sucks at tennis and, instead of finding out what they truly love, their parents tell them how great they are.

Dad grabs my hand. "This is my chance to build something with you, although I won't be around the office.

The coach used to be a professional quarterback for the Armadillos but was never the same after an injury, something you know a lot about.

He was named head coach last year. I thought we would make a great team. Coach O'Ryan, you, and me."

"Dad. I'm a tennis player."

"You're so much more than that. Life has so much to offer. Just meet Coach O'Ryan, and then you can decide. If you think he's someone you can work with, then hopefully you'll take this chance with me."

"Okay, when?"

"He'll be here any minute, so eat up."

My jaw drops open. My dad is ambushing me under the guise of working with him or of setting me up on a date with his football coach.

The doorbell rings, and Dad strides through the grand foyer to answer the door. I check to make sure there's nothing in my teeth. Dad could have told me to dress better, but no, I'm in my tennis skirt and tank top with my hair in a ponytail since I coach Gabby and Paulina in a couple of hours.

I hear the voices of two men and my dad as they stand in the entry hall, making introductions.

When my dad ushers the two men into the room to discuss that he's the football team's new owner, I do my best to look professional—poised, interested, completely calm—in tennis attire, of course.

But the moment I see one of them, something electric skitters down my spine.

Our eyes lock and, for a split second, the memory of dim lights, pulsing music, and the rush of a forbidden kiss takes me back to that night in Denver.

My cheeks flush, my heart taps out a frantic rhythm, and it's like there's not enough air in the room.

He holds my gaze a beat longer than necessary, a twinkle lighting up his eyes, and I can't help but wonder if he remembers, too.

I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to focus on the conversation, every nerve buzzing and alive with the secret and the hope that he remembers, too.

They reach out their hands. The first one says, "Coach O'Ryan." He wears a wedding band.

The man making my pulse race adds, "Greyson O'Ryan, brother to this guy." He hooks his thumb, pointing to the coach. "And the new quarterback for the Austin Armadillos."

As he shakes my hand, my stomach swirls like a kite spiraling in the wind. No wedding band. This could get interesting and completely inappropriate.