Chapter 6
SIX
ANNIKA
The Armadillos’ front office is nothing like the quiet clinic where I see most of my athletes. My office smells of lavender and espresso. This place reeks of money, and ambition.
As I wait to see the General Manager, Sutton O’Ryan, I look out the observation deck at the testosterone convention filing out onto the field.
Muscled.
Dedicated.
Bare-chested.
My breathing changes when Parker walks out, his jersey thrown over his shoulder, helmet in his grip. He stops and talks to someone who I think is the head coach, his oldest brother, J.D. O’Ryan. It’s hard to tell with his baseball cap on. Why do coaches all wear the same clothes?
The coach slaps his shoulder and from here Parker seems to give him a painful smile and nods. Then proceeds to pull his jersey over his washboard abs. Number eighty.
I walk back inside and the hallways are lined with footballs in glass cases, framed jerseys, and in game photos.
Professional football organizations run like corporations.
Men in polos walk past me carrying tablets and talking into headsets like the world will end if someone misses a statistic.
I can’t blame them. They want all the facts just like I do.
Which is why I’m here—to see Parker’s issue for myself, firsthand.
And to ask for film cuts only of Parker.
“Anna.”
Sutton O’Ryan appears from around the corner, moving fast in heels that somehow don’t slow her down. Her hair is twisted into a loose knot, a tablet tucked under her arm, two assistants tailing behind her like eager interns.
She smiles when she reaches me, extending her hand. “I’m Sutton. Sorry you had to wait. Trade discussions.”
“I thought it must be something like that when I saw an army of Armadillos leaving the conference room, upset.”
“Yeah. Trades can be tricky. Trade the wrong person for another wrong person and everything can go to hell quickly.”
Sutton’s beautiful, classy, and from my first impression, she’s intelligent, determined and does her homework. Like how she knew for sure that I was Anna, when I hadn't met her yet.
Parker’s her brother-in-law, so I imagine she wants him to be great. The pressure is on her as well as him or the fans will scream nepotism. She juggles family and football—a dangerous combination.
“You want the tape on Parker?” she asks
“Yes, please.”
She motions for me to follow her into a glass walled conference room overlooking the facility. Even from up here the energy hums.
Sutton hands me the tablet. “I had the video department pull practice tapes, game cutups and tracking reports from the last four games,” she pauses. “When the drops became a trend not an anomaly. Follow me.”
“Thank you. Every tidbit of information will help,” I say as I step in stride with her. She’s a busy woman judging by how fast she walks.
Old logos, uniforms and a wall-sized timeline of the franchise history adorn the walls to wherever we’re going.
Then I see the media room. We walk in and she says, “There’s no media today until the afternoon when the guys will do their pre-game press conference.
I didn’t want anyone here in case you want to work with Parker on the field. ”
When we turn down another hallway to the coach’s office, a large photo of Sutton and her husband Greyson O’Ryan, Armadillo star quarterback’s wedding picture. Then one with the team around her in her wedding dress.
“These photos are beautiful. You really do love football,” I murmur.
“When my dad bought the team, he just threw me into it. Then, it swallowed me whole. I understand now how playing a team sport is so much more fun than individual ones.”
I nod my head. I’ve done a little research of my own and found that she was a professional tennis player and some clips of her saying it’s a lonely sport.
She pushes through a heavy glass door that somehow has zero fingerprints on it. This place gleams from top to bottom. It’s a viewing room with a small table, a television and laptop set up. The view stops me for half a beat.
This one looks onto the practice facility, not the stadium.
Floodlights shine down from the rafters, bright green turf with razor straight white yard lines, and the Armadillo logo makes everything feel new.
Massive fans overhead keep the air flowing.
Music bursts through the speakers. Whistles blow in short bursts.
Coaches and players move in organized clusters.
There’s a beauty in the way things work. Which is why I love the brain. It makes everything go. Football is a system. Just like the brain. Every piece has to work together.
Bodies.
Timing.
Trust.
Reaction.
And the players must do it in sync with each other to make it work flawlessly.
The players are warming up. Quarterbacks throwing to assistant coaches. Wide receivers and running backs are stretching and doing knee lifts.
It feels familiar in a way I don’t let myself dwell on. Not football but the cohesion and rhythm of being on a team. Bodies moving with the same repetitive pulse. Like hockey was for me. Different sounds. Speed on razor blades instead of spikes.
But the same pressure.
I grip the tablet a little tighter.
Sutton asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I don’t see Parker. I thought I saw him in the stadium with the head coach.”
“J.D. wanted to go over a few things with him. They’ll be in soon, I’m sure.”
I nod and survey the field once again for Parker and I find him, one of the last people jogging out with his helmet in hand and his gloves tucked into his waistband.
He joins other players that look about the same height as him.
He’s laughing and one player squats down and a line of players start playing leapfrog.
“They do that to get their ‘hops’ going. Or so they say.” Sutton smiles.
“As you know, being an elite level athlete comes with stress so I think it’s great that they can play around for five minutes. Parker especially. We’ve only had one session, but I think he needs to relieve the pressure.”
“Let me know if you need anything else. I know you can’t tell me what you talk about, but if there is anything I can do for my little brother, I hope you’ll find a way to tell me.”
“In the paperwork, it gives me permission to share his progress.”
“Oh, my assistant must have added that in. That’s good.”
It’s sweet that she thinks of him as a brother and not just a brother-in-law.
And since I enjoy making my own life harder, I notice how thick Parker’s thighs are, like a hockey player and how good he looks in his tight jersey which is rolled up exposing his ripped core.
Heat blooms in my stomach. Sutton catches the fire on my face and smirks.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t say anything,” she answers.
“You were thinking something.”
“I’m always thinking about something. Part of being the boss. Part of being a sister,” she replies, entirely too pleased with herself.
While practice is gearing up, Sutton types on the laptop and pushes the remote and Parker’s body fills the screen.
He’s in motion, circled, there’s a timer in the bottom corner.
It takes 3.2 seconds for him to turn back towards the ball.
The ball is thrown by his older brother Greyson and it hits his fingertips and falls.
Next a deep route and he’s tracking the ball beautifully and catches it cleanly. Then another drop.
Sutton’s mouth draws up as she shakes her head. “That’s what we can’t figure out. It’s not every time. It’s making everyone crazy. He had an MRI after a hit early in the season, no concussion. No irregularities.”
“The mind tries to protect us from what it thinks we should fear. How is his mental state in other aspects of his life?” I ask.
“He seems fine. We have a big family and our lives revolve around football, tennis, and concerts. Free time barely exists for this family, so when it does, it’s usually spent crowded around Sunday dinner at Dad’s house.
Parker always shows up, plays with the kids, plays with the adults,” she says.
“We haven’t noticed anything different in his personal life. ”
I feel my lips twist, “It could be a couple of things. A fear response which we’re working on with trigger words. But it could be the more he worries about it the more times he drops it making him fear failure of catching the ball.”
“Are those fixable?”
“Usually. If he wants to be helped.”
Sutton sighs, “The thing with Parker is… he has a gentle spirit.”
“Are we talking about the same Parker?” My brows lift high on my forehead. “In our college days, he was always pushing my buttons. Being late. Bringing girls to the library with him. He was arrogant.”
She seems caught off guard. “Really? Hmm. But what I was going to say is, he doesn’t want to feel weak.”
I nod in agreement. “Most elite athletes don’t.”
“True. But he’s also an O’Ryan.”
“You say that like being an O’Ryan is a diagnosis itself.”
She gives me a minuscule nod and says, “Since you’re working with Parker, let me point out everyone.
Head coach, J.D O’Ryan, oldest brother. Number ten, Greyson.
He's the second oldest brother, quarterback and most importantly, my husband. And then there’s Matt Stricker, the offensive coordinator who is also his brother-in-law who is married to Parker’s sister Noelle.
So, it’s quite the family affair. His younger brother, Witt, is starting a gaming division here too.
” She smiles while shaking her head. “It’s not enough that he’s already a millionaire and dominates the gaming space, he talked me into a new venture with esports. ”
“Wow, that must make history.”
“Nope, Dallas has more family members than we do, just not on the field.”
I look down trying to map the family tree and failing. “So, if he struggles,” I say, drawing out a pause. “He’s not just letting down his team. He’s letting down his family.”
Her walkie talkie chirps and she sighs before saying, “Watch from here or go down on the field. It’s just down that stairwell. Signs point the way.”