Page 58 of Broken Play
"Well, going from hockey to football is like going from Zto J; it's not the same. He hasn't played football since high school."
"Texas high school football is like Division II—head and shoulders above the rest of the country. Let him come here and catch from Browning." He's our third-string quarterback. "If Parker can still catch the ball, break tackles, and dance into the end zone, and if Dad sees he's still got it, I'm sure he'll add him to the team by spring."
He grips the football between his hands and pumps it twice. "Go long. If you catch it, I'll talk to Sutton about it. We may need insurance or something."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you won't be starting our first home game this weekend. No pressure," J.D. says, laughing.
I let out a breath, trying to resist the urge to roll my eyes, but inside I'm grinning, feeling like we're teenagers. Classic J.D.—turning everything into a challenge and somehow getting Sutton involved.
With the early morning sun in my eyes and the grass cool under my cleats, I sprint down the sideline. My heart's pumping faster, and not just from the sprint. Sutton's always talking about calculated risks, but this is about as calculated as a coin toss, and the Armadillos need me to be the starting quarterback on Sunday. If not, rumors will start swirling.
Why did O'Ryan's brother bench him? Is there a rift between them? Etc.
My cleats dig into the turf, and as I turn, the perfect spiral is hanging in the air. I'll catch this damn ball if it kills me—or at the very least, saves my starting spot and gets Parker something to look forward to. Two more strides. Shit, I may not be fast enough, and in true O'Ryan brother competitiveness, I stretch, laying my body out for the ball.Somehow, I manage to haul the ball into my chest and bounce up off the turf. I scream, "Yes!" Victory feels good, but my shoulder, not so much.
When I don't get up, J.D. and a trainer jog toward me. J.D. bends down, touching the shoulder that isn't on the turf. "Are you hurt?"
I hop up. "Nope, just wanted to see how much you love me." I swipe his Armadillo hat and pledge to come up with a better logo while running away. It's juvenile, I know. Sometimes you need to cut loose and feel free. J.D. blows his whistle, and soon the team is filing onto the field. Sutton stands in the opposite end zone. I blow by her and wink before I stop in front of my brother, gloating.
"You've been acting...should I say, happy, for a couple of weeks now. What gives?" he asks.
"Love being at home with the fam."
He crosses his arms, peering into my eyes, suspicious that my response is anything but honest. J.D. switches to coach mode. "Okay, so now we know that number ten can catch the ball. Now let's see if he can thread the needle through our first-string defense. I'm assuming everyone got their play updates."
A chorus of "Yes, sir" echoes across the field.
I pull my helmet over my head and glance at Sutton. It might sound cheesy, but I wonder where we would be right now if we had met a decade ago. One thing I do know is we wouldn't be a secret.
Wearing a buttercup-yellow blouse with a bow tied at the center, cream-colored pants, and tan heels, she's classically beautiful. Chanel should be asking her to model.
She watches practice for an hour or so, and I do my best to show off. Do men ever stop wanting to impresswomen?
When practice is over, J.D. and I go to Sutton's office to talk about Parker. Marlon says, "Go on in."
"Hey, that was quite a practice. Trying to injure my...our star before the first home game," Sutton says, catching herself, and I can't help but grin. She leans back in her chair, and I notice her eyes linger on me a fraction longer than necessary.
J.D. sits back. "Our little brother Parker quit college, so we made a friendly bet and this guy won." He crooks his thumb toward me.
"The cute brother who plays hockey?" she asks. My eyes narrow because he has dark hair and brown eyes, the opposite of me. Her tone is teasing, but there's a flicker of mischief in her eyes that hopefully only I catch.
"Yeah. I'd like to ask if he can come train with the Armadillos to get ready for next year's college football season."
Her eyes widen, and her chin stretches in shock. This time it's real. She directs her answer to J.D., but her foot bounces nervously under the desk. "I don't know about that. There are probably rules about that if he wants to play in the NFL later. Besides, I thought he played hockey. You can't just switch sports this late."
I lean down, putting my elbows on my knees. "Sutton, he was a dual-sport athlete in high school. He was offered Division I scholarships for both hockey and football. But I'm sure you can understand him wanting to hide in another sport rather than being in our shadow. It's a lot of pressure." I glance between my brother and my secret girlfriend, allowing my gaze to linger, hoping she catches the double meaning. We both know a little about hiding and pressure. "I checked with my agent, and he said Parker could do a collegeinternship and still be able to play college football the following year."
"What position did he play in high school?"
"Wide receiver," J.D. answers quickly.
Sutton's lips twist, lines creasing her forehead. Her focus flips back to me, like she's weighing the professional against everything we can't say aloud. "It seems to me you two are quarterbacks, so you throw the ball...he catches the ball. Can't you do that in your off time?"
J.D. nods, but I jump in. "We could, but he needs to shake off the cobwebs before our dad puts him on the team. Not because he doesn't believe in him, but because he wants to make sure it's what Parker wants and not a whim because his teammate screwed his girlfriend."
"Poor guy. I know how he feels, and I'm sure neither of you knows anything about being cheated on or dumped." When she glances my way, we share a split-second of silent understanding, both with scars of our own.
