Page 9 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)

NINE

GREYSON

Laughter bounces off the bare walls, filling every corner of my new, mostly empty house.

Cardboard boxes double as chairs, but no one seems to care—my teammates sprawl out across the basement, voices overlapping as they trash talk and swap stories.

Someone yells for a rematch. Controller buttons click.

Five TVs flicker with different games, each one drawing a few more shouts and groans.

My family weaves in and out, dodging errant Nerf darts and balancing plates of chips.

The smell of barbecue floats in from upstairs.

In the last round, Redham—our rookie—beats me and grins, "Told you, old man. "

J.D. comes down and says, "Dad's here. He wants to meet the new guys."

"Be on your best behavior," I warn Redham.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that's a good start. Dad's a firm believer in showing respect."

Two rookies quickly join us, eager to stay on good terms with me and J.D. Jeff, an offensive lineman, and Lyle, a tight end, follow J.D., talking about dominating on game day.

The other guys trot upstairs while I stay behind and look at the bookcase with my trophies. It's the one and only thing I've arranged myself, but every time I look at my Denver jersey or the small replica of the championship trophy, anger rises inside me.

I don't know how long I stare before a hand flattens against my shoulder blade. "Are you okay?" she asks. I already know it's Sutton simply by the current that flows between us.

"Fine."

"You've been staring at that poster for three minutes." She shows me the stopwatch on her watch.

"I said I'm fine."

Her hand glides down my arm, and her fingers slip into mine. She pulls me down onto the couch. "You're not. And we paid a pretty freaking penny for you, so talk."

"It sucks starting all over."

"You've seemed fine until now."

"I loved Denver and everything about it."

She removes her hand from mine and shoves her fingers through her hair, resting her elbow on the back of the couch. "I thought you were somewhat happy to be back around your family."

"I am. It's just that I'm here with rookies, kids close to Noelle and Parker's age. And my dad isn't here to meet the guys. He's here because today is..."

"Today is what?"

"Never mind." I stand, offer her a hand, and pull her up.

Her brows crease in frustration. "Greyson, you can tell me anything. I thought we had become friends. "

Being friends with Sutton sounds like a prison sentence because I want so much more.

And once she feels like she knows the team and the game, I won't see her much, and that's the best thing for me.

I guide her up the staircase with my hand on her back, secretly wishing she would fall backward into my arms.

The first person I see is my dad talking to a couple of defensive teammates.

"Son," he says with his arms out wide. "I still can't believe you're here.

My prayers have been answered. If Parker were home, it would be perfect.

" He pulls me into a warm hug, then folds his hand around the back of my neck and looks me straight in the eyes. "This is where you belong."

I hate that he still feels the need to protect me and watch over me. But I'm not a father, so maybe that's the way it is.

"It's good to be home," I claim, trying to sound convincing, even though the truth is tangled somewhere between relief and total uncertainty.

My dad lets out a booming laugh, filling the kitchen with that easy, familiar noise.

"Not sure I believe you, son. You've got that look in your eye like you did the time.

.." My stomach clenches. Please don't bring that up, especially not with half the team mingling in my empty great room.

He hesitates and just says, "Like the time you lied about loving fried okra, so your mom kept making it. "

I snort, ducking my head so he doesn't see my relief. "I'd almost blocked that out."

With her interest piqued, Sutton sashays over out of nowhere and perks up. "Wait—you don't like fried okra? Me neither. It's slimy." She pulls a face, nose scrunched, shaking her head, lips tightening in a way that makes me want to pull her close just for being real .

Feeling lighter, I clasp my hands behind my neck. "Exactly, but my mom was an excellent cook, and I didn't want to disappoint her. What about oysters?"

Sutton's body shudders just at the thought. "Yuck, no. No oysters, no clams, and, God forbid, no calamari. Just give me a steak, and I'm in heaven."

I respond, my voice warmer and more tender than I intend, as my eyes linger on hers. "A woman after my own heart."

Sutton's lips quirk in a way that makes me feel like she's letting me in on a secret.

In that moment, I see a softness beneath the tough exterior she's been using to keep me at arm's length.

It's the same warmth and desire I experienced with her that night in Denver, and it's impossible not to wonder if she feels this pull between us too.