Page 25 of Broken Play
I let out a dismissive huff. "Yeah, I trusted the entire organization in Denver. Look where that got me."
"You're making more money a year than people make in a lifetime."
Shifting my weight, I respond, "I don't care about money."
"The trade brought you home. You're going to see your family more. I'm sure your dad is ecstatic, and I know Noelle is. You and J.D. will have a chance to do something special. Something historic. The first brother combination as a head coach and quarterback—not just to be on the same team in that capacity, but to win it all."
My lips break into a weak grin. I admit I like the fact that she's thinking about winning it all. "What are we getting in return for Baker? Keller from San Fran? Brown from Carolina? They're the two best receivers in the league, but on teams that won't contend for the playoffs."
She fast-forwards the film to where J.D. and I are arguing on the sidelines. "Nope. Why were you arguing here?"
"J.D. was mad that I changed the play and threw an interception."
I lean forward with my elbows on my desk. "Why did you change the play?" she asks.
"Because I can't hold the ball that long for the play J.D. called. He doesn't like being overridden."
"And why can't you hold the ball long enough for the play he called?" she asks, leading me to the root cause.
I pause and realize she has studied film from practice and the one preseason game. "Because I'm not protected on my blind side. That means my left side," I explain, my tone a tad snarky.
"I know what blind side means. Remember, you and Coach gave me terminology lessons for the first few weeks. But that's why I'm trading Baker—to get you some protection at left tackle. We'll be fine at receiver. Jacobs is just as good as Baker, and of course, you'll bring Redham along. And our tight end, Lyle Knight, will be a force."
"Just tell me who we're getting to protect me."
"Would you be happy and not be an asshole if I said Frank Cozen?"
My jaw hits the floor. Sutton is a force to be reckoned with.
"Are you kidding me? You must have had to give up more than Baker for Cozen. He's top two in the league, and I trust him with my life... literally. You know we won a Super Bowl together."
"Yes, I know. I had to give up Baker, Spader, and a draft pick."
"Wow, I underestimated you. I owe you an apology for this... not for anything else. But next time, talk to me about the offensive changes you want to make. You promised you would."
"I know I did, but after we... that doesn't matter. What matters is the Armadillos have invested our future in you, Greyson O'Ryan, and we need to protect you. We're keepingthe current left tackle as a backup, but Cozen will be here in a couple of days. Please don't say anything until I've told Baker. I sent him a message to come to my office."
There's no hint of a smile or victory over me; Sutton just goes about it with the steady professionalism of someone doing her job. And she's proving to be damn good at it. It makes me wonder why I didn't bring up the lack of protection from my left side to my brother sooner. Probably because I didn't want to make waves, wanting my new teammates to like me. And that's not how a top quarterback conducts himself. I need to put my foot on the pedal and expect excellence from my teammates, and they should expect the same from me.
"Thank you for knowing what I needed before I did. Before Coach did. Oh, and for giving me cover. I'm sure the players already know that I stormed in here like a linebacker rushing the quarterback." I stand and turn to say one more thing, but she's rubbing her temples again, so I take three strides, move behind her, wrap my large hands around her head, and press on the spot where a third eye would be, between the eyebrows. "Rubbing here will help ease the pain of a headache better than the temples." I continue pressing, rubbing small circles on that spot, and a few minutes later, the tension leaves her facial muscles, and she softens.
"That feels good."
When she responds, I realize this is what a boyfriend would do, not a work colleague, so I drop my hands and walk back toward the door.
She sighs. "Greyson?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget to slam the door on your way out for good measure."
"Sure thing, boss lady," I say, reminding myself that we only have a professional relationship. I open the door and slam it behind me as I pretend to be ticked off.
Whiplash is real. Figuring out Sutton Anders is proving more complicated than I expected. If you just look at her, you get rich, athletic, gorgeous, trust-fund vibes. You don't automatically think businesswoman, executive, and certainly not football. This trade puts her on a whole different level.
Baker's getting off the elevator, so I throw my water bottle against the wall for good measure to make it look like I'm furious, then turn left like I don't see him and take the stairs down to the locker room. I try to figure out whether to wait for him, to give him anI'm sorryspeech. I wait for an hour, but he never comes down. His locker has been cleaned out. Damn, that's cold. I hate it for him because I understand the emotions that go along with getting traded. I type out a message:
Me: Damn, I'll miss you, Baker. Thanks for making me feel welcome.
