Page 38 of Broken Play
The whole stadium gasps all at once. On screen—clear as day—Bodhi shoves Sutton, hard. She staggers backward, slamming into the railing.
My vision goes red. I can't process how Bodhi could even touch her like that. My pulse thunders in my ears, anger pulsing like hot lava beneath my skin. Acting on instinct, I sprint off the field to the tunnel to the executive elevator. The elevator operator seems surprised to see a player during the game, but he doesn't know what's going on. It's not every day that someone gets caught on camera assaulting a team's general manager. I don't know exactly where I'm going, but every step is fueled by pure adrenaline. I don't care who's watching; I don't care if I miss the rest of the damn game. All I know is that I need to get to Sutton. If Bodhi lays a hand on her one more time—he'll wish he didn't.
In a fury, I find the door markedVisiting Owner Boxand burst into the suite, barely registering the blur of startled faces as I scan the room. My chest heaves with adrenaline, my hands fisted at my sides. Sutton is pressed up against the railing, her hands raised like she's bracing for impact. Her eyes glitter with tears and dart between Bodhi and me. Bodhi stands rigid, his jaw tight, throwing his arms up in some half-hearted gesture of innocence when he sees me.
I rush to Sutton. Admittedly, I'm not controlling my anger very well, but I do manage to soften my voice. "Are you okay?"
She nods in a practiced manner. "I'm fine," she says, but her voice shakes enough for me to know she's lying.
My glare lands on Bodhi as I stalk toward him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap as I gather his shirt in myfists and pull him toward me. "Don't you ever, ever put your hands on her again. Do you hear me? I don't care who you are, Golden Boy."
"Greyson, stop," Sutton calls out, her voice weak and choked.
I jerk him closer then shove him a little. Bodhi's eyes collide with mine, defiant and cold, but there's a flicker of something unsettled in them. "It was an accident," he mutters, but the look on Sutton's face tells me all I need to know.
"Lay a finger on her again, and you'll never play tennis again. If you think I'm kidding, touch her and find out." I move Sutton behind me, then turn and ask, "Do you want him to leave?"
She nods aggressively but isn't crying. Francisco and Anna don't look surprised. I grab Bodhi by the elbow, lead him to security, and watch until they're out of sight.
Sutton comes up behind me and chokes out, "I was handling it. Now I'm the laughingstock of the league."
"It's better than being a battered and bruised manager of the league at the hands of that cocksucker."
"You're all coming home to Austin on the team plane, and everyone is staying with me. No telling what that psycho will do."
Francisco butts in, "We'll stay here tonight and talk about our plans. But, Greyson, he deserved worse than what you gave him. He hasn't changed one bit."
My face must look as confused as I feel because Anna's and Francisco's brows furrow, and they both look away. I turn to Sutton. "Are you coming? Were you staying at his hotel?"
Sutton gives me an ashamed and apologetic nod. "Do you have anything important there?"
"No. Just a few pieces of clothing."
I gently run my hands over her shoulders in the same spots where he accosted her. "I'm going to take care of this."
I look to the field, and there are only fifty-five seconds left in the game, so I lead her to the locker room. She sits on the bench, and I quickly shower and dress. Just as I come out, the team is filing in, along with my coach. He looks pissed. I stand in front of Sutton, ready to receive a tongue-lashing for leaving the game, even though we were winning.
He places his hand on my shoulder and says, "Is she okay?"
Sutton stands and says, "I'm fine. I'm a big girl."
It makes me think she's used to this kind of behavior from Bodhi, maybe even worse.
"G, you two go to the bus, but...my office first thing Monday morning," J.D. says as he squeezes my shoulder. His words remind me that I broke protocol. What I don't know is if I'm going to get chewed out on Monday or if he just had to save face in front of the team.
When Sutton and I reach the team bus, instead of sitting in the front, she heads straight for the back. I'm sure this will be the talk of the league and a topic for podcasters and pundits. Questions about Bodhi and Sutton's relationship will arise, and without a doubt, they'll imply that Sutton and I are confusing personal and professional, too.
I throw my bag on the seats in front of us, staking a silent claim so none of the guys even consider taking them. Sutton sinks into her seat, lets out a heavy sigh, and leans her head back, flinching when my arm rubs against hers. Exhaustion has taken root in her body after a week of being at thehospital and one shitty incident with the supposed golden boy.
Not so fucking golden.
A million questions race through my mind. How long has she been dealing with men who push her around? Or is it just one man? Hurt knots up in my chest at the thought that this might be normal for her. But she's already put up her walls; the team is beginning to board the bus, and my instincts tell me not to push. No one knows better than I do that a person won't open up until they're ready. Besides, she deserves better than being quizzed while surrounded by a bunch of overgrown football players. For now, I'll be the barrier she needs. I'll wait until we get on the plane and the guys fall asleep for the three-hour trip home.
The team moves quickly to board the plane, and there's no time to talk, but we are the last ones on and sit in the first row. After takeoff, I whisper, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"
She shakes her head no.
"I'm driving you home."
