Page 24 of Broken Play
"What the fuck, Sutton? He's our number one receiver."
"Redham will be by the end of the year."
"We need more than one receiver. Dammit, why won't you listen? You're worse than Greyson."
The Armadillo coach is usually an easygoing man and,until now, has respected my decisions, so I'm giving him a little latitude.
"I'm trying to protect Greyson. You should want the same thing. For God's sake, he's your brother. He was sacked seven times in the game by the Heavyweights' second string. We got Frank Cozen. He used to play for Denver, so I know it will make Greyson more comfortable in the pocket."
"Maybe, but you promised you would run this organization from the bottom up instead of top down. Have you told Baker?"
"No. I thought you would."
"Hell no. You did this. You do it." His feet thud heavily against the floor as he leaves.
I haven't known our coach long, but I've never seen him this angry. The realization hits me that I probably can't get Anna tickets to the Birdie concert. And worse, I may have ruined my relationship with the youngest coach in the history of the league.
Looking out my office window at the team practicing, I see Coach O'Ryan taking long, heavy strides after his obvious objection to my decision. My hands hurt from clenching my fists, and my short nails cut into my skin. I've replayed the trade a hundred times—balanced the numbers, weighed the risks, tried to see the bigger picture—but his anger hits harder than I expected. The room feels too bright and too small, a headache throbbing between my eyes. I push the button, closing the blackout drapes.
Doubt nips at me, sharp and relentless, but I shove it down. This is the job. I breathe in, slow and shaky, bracing myself for whatever comes next. The door crashes open, and Greyson barrels in, fury written all over his face—ready to wage war.
"What the fuck have you done?"
There hasn't been time for J.D. to tell him, so I'm not sure what he's talking about. "Don't speak to me like that." My words are sharp as a razor; I remember the verbal abuse I've had to endure.
"This is how football players talk. If you can't take it, go tell your daddy."
My jaw drops. Never in a million years did I expect this from Greyson. He's always been playful, helpful, and flirtatious. He's rarely been grumpy or worse, cruel.
I walk over and press my palm against the heavy wooden door behind him until it closes, trying to figure out the best way to handle this situation. If we hadn't kissed last week, this would be easier, which is the exact reason it never should have happened.
"Please sit down, and let's talk about whatever is on your mind." I gesture for him to sit in the club chair in front of my desk. There's a gold-colored couch, but I don't dare offer to sit there together. Too close.
He's breathing hard and fast, but he finally sits. His masculine, muscular thighs spread, and I can't help but appreciate his body. His legs are long and thick, simply mouthwatering.
"Ms. Anders, do you want us to lose every game?" he asks, his eyes narrowed, in a snarky voice.
"Of course not. Why?" I don't want to assume that he's referring to Baker.
"Why would you trade Baker? That's asinine."
THIRTEEN
GREYSON
Sutton's eyes are transfixed on mine, unwavering, but I see a little crack in her armor—water wells up in her eyes, but no tears fall. She straightens and opens her folder, then begins to spit out Baker's practice stats. "Yes, he played well against the Heavyweights, but I've gone over everything multiple times from many different directions. As a professional tennis player, I'm used to breaking down stats. He won't get us into the playoffs."
Right, you're a football expert.
She hits the television remote and shows me how many times Baker's running lazy routes. "Greyson, you told me yourself that Marcus Redham will betheguy. Your go-to."
"I didn't mean right this minute. He needs to learn, get bigger and stronger, and learn how to play in the league."
"And you think he's going to learn from a player who complains that he's not getting the ball enough, a player who doesn't go full out in practice? That's reason enough to trade him."
Maybe I underestimated Sutton Anders and her abilityto be the general manager. I mumble, "You've ruined my chance to show Denver they made a huge mistake."
One side of her mouth pulls to the side. "Is this about you? About the team? Or about us?" When I don't answer, she tucks her straight blonde hair behind her ears, then rubs her temples with her forefingers. "Greyson, this trade is all about you. Youarethe leader of this team. But you need to trust your coach and management."
