Chapter 19
The speed of my life did not slow down ... the weekend and the week that followed were a blur; between servicing The Russian—tough gig, but I was the girl for it—reporting at my final Saints game which the boys won, thank goodness, and starting my new job, life was hectic. My first commentary game was on the Saturday afternoon when my team, the Suns, played the Minnesota Leopards. I really wanted The Russian to be there, but I was also relieved that the Saints had an away game and he wouldn’t be back until Sunday afternoon. His presence would have made me twice as nervous, if that was at all possible.
It was so bizarre arriving at the Suns game but not getting changed with my teammates. Instead, I was in the commentary box and checking team names, player positions and organizing interviews. I was so nervous.
Many of my teammates looked up to wave to me in the media box and Aimee and Steffi snuck away to give me a hug for good luck. I wished them the same; I wasn’t supposed to be biased, but of course I wanted the Suns to win! Suzie promised she’d take the lead with the commentary throws and let me follow and contribute; thank goodness she was one of those wonderfully supportive colleagues and not someone who wanted to see me fall on my face.
It was fifteen minutes until the game started, the stadium was filling up and Suzie and I went courtside to do our first cross. I checked my phone was off and saw a message there from The Russian.
Wish I was with you, but I know you’ll be great. Go get them, Brooker!
He was adorable. I took a deep breath, nodded at Suzie that I was ready and we went live.
Suzie: Welcome to today’s hotly-anticipated game between the Santa Ana Suns and the Minnesota Leopards on Suns’ home soil. I’m Suzie Ellis and I’m delighted to welcome to the commentary team, Carla Brooker. Even though she hasn’t officially retired yet, we’ll take advantage of her Suns’ knowledge!
Carla: Thank you Suzie and hotly-anticipated is right. The Suns and Leopards have met in the playoffs so often, that it’s not surprising that a rivalry has developed.
Suzie: And it makes for a great game. From your personal history of playing against the Leopards, Carla, what do you think are the challenges to watch?
Carla: The Leopards’ point guard Julia Walters against the Suns’ Lia Cartwright will be a clash to watch out for, and the rivalry between Suns’ center Aimee Ross and the Leopards’ Brittany Burke should bring an extra edge to the match.
Suzie: The Leopards’ chemistry seems tighter to me than the Suns’, especially as the Suns have a few players out injured and are trialing some of their reserve team. Would you agree?
Carla: I think given the reserves train with the A-team, that there’s little room for error in reading teammates’ play.
Then, we were off air and the cameras panned to the teams running out onto the field. I did it, my first commentary cross was done and Suzie gave me a quick pat on the back on our way back to the commentary box. I breathed a sigh of relief. I heard the vibration of an incoming message on my phone and checked it quickly – The Russian must have been watching the game live from his hotel room.
You’re a natural. xx
I texted him back. First one under the belt. Thanks for the support. Cx
The referee blew the whistle and the match began. The few hours flew by, and it was over before I had time to get my breath. I had survived my first game as a commentator, and not only survived it, nailed it! The relief was palatable ... I would be able to sleep and eat again now.
*****
Sigh ... you know when you think everything is going so perfectly, that absolutely nothing could upset you? Wrong. The Russian and I had our first fight ... and I hadn’t seen it coming, and he wasn’t even home, he was in Colorado at his away match.
The Suns won their game against the Leopards—woo hoo—and when I stopped trying to be professional and unbiased, namely after the game, I went out with the girls and their partners (those who had them) and we partied. It’s funny because the whole time you are training, eating well and being competitive, you can’t wait for the day you can pig out, drink as much as you like, and not worry about injuries. And then that day comes and you find yourself clawing to stay involved.
The girls and I drank a little, danced a lot, went over the game again and just had a great night. Earlier I had sent a message to The Russian to tell him I missed him and wished him goodnight. I promised I’d be watching the game the next day and cheering for him. Later that night, or morning as the case may have been when I got home, I looked at my phone and I had three missed calls from him. The last one had only been thirty minutes before and it was nearing one a.m. I didn’t know whether to call back or not. He hadn’t left messages and I didn’t want to risk waking him or Captain Fantastic, whom he was sharing a hotel room with. I felt sick now ... had he been injured, had something bad happened, did he just need to talk because he was psyching out about the game or something?
I took my uneasy feelings with me into the shower. Josh was out, so I didn’t have to tiptoe around while I showered, washed my make-up off and prepared for bed. I just got under the covers when my phone rang ... it was The Russian.
Relief coursed through me that he rang, but my stomach was still churning with anxiety about why he was calling.
“Russian, what’s wrong? I didn’t know whether to call you back this late or not,” I said.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours,” he growled.
“I was out with the team celebrating their win. I couldn’t hear my phone in the club. What’s wrong? Where are you?” I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and striding out to the living area to pace while we talked.
“I’m on the balcony of our hotel room. Lucas is asleep in the room.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling?”
“You tell me,” he said. “I’m surprised you even answered.”
I stopped, confused. “I don’t know what you’re saying Russian. What’s happened?”
“Really? You’re all over social media with some guy, several guys actually,” he said, his voice was dangerously low.
“What guys?”
“The guys you were tarting around with,” he snapped.
“Hold on,” I said, still confused. “I was out with the girls, I didn’t have a guy with me ... I grabbed my iPad, tapped in my password and checked out the feeds. Some of the girls had already posted images from our night out and there I was with Steffi, both of us planting a kiss on the cheek of our team manager who stood between us and was old enough to be our father; then there was shot of me with Aimee, her cousin Roy, the coach and the coach’s husband. Roy had his arm around Aimee and me; there was another shot with Steffi, me, Latoya and her fiancé ... they were nothing shots.
“They’re not guys, well technically they are, but they’re the team guys ... our team manager, the coach’s husband, Latoya’s fiancé ...” my voice trailed off as I heard the sound of overwhelming silence on the other end of the line. Was he seriously freaking out about this?
“Russian,” I started again, “this is nothing more than if you were out with the Saints and had some random group shots taken with the club’s extended family.” All clubs had extended families of partners, kids, relatives and friends.
I heard him inhale. “I told you Brooker, I wasn’t playing this game; I’m not putting up with that shit again ... I’ve had years of it. If you want to fuck around, fine, but not while you’re with me,” he said, and hung up.
I stared at the phone. What the fuck had just happened? In a matter of minutes I had gone from a huge high to the lowest of lows.
I looked at all the shots to see what he was seeing, but they really were innocent – especially when you knew the people in the shots as well as I did. Then I got angry. I didn’t want to wake Lucas, but I guessed The Russian had his phone on silent, so I rang. He must have stayed out on the balcony because he answered after a few rings and I could hear the noise of the city behind him – I had been bracing myself for the message bank.
“Russian, we need to talk,” I said, in my most pacifying voice.
He made this grunting sound.
I felt scared and angry, they were competing with each other. I kept going. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’ve been hurt before, but you can’t deflect that on me,” I said. Again, dead silence. “I don’t fuck around. I’ve never fucked around, I’ve never cheated on anyone and I won’t do that, do you understand?” I asked. He didn’t answer.
I continued: “I’m not your ex-girlfriend, Russian, and you need to find a way to unload all that baggage you are carrying about her and these jealousy issues.”
I waited, neither of us spoke for about a minute.
“So let me get this straight ... you often go around kissing guys and letting them put their arms around you?” he snarled.
“Yeah, I do when they’re friends. And when your female friends—Saints’ partners, the office girls, old friends—do the same to you, I’ll hide my jealousy and trust that you don’t have feelings for them, and that your intentions to me are pure.”
He ignored what I said. “That cousin of Aimee’s was keen to get to know you last time we met, now you’re all over him. Why don’t you just follow him up and we’ll call it quits?”
I knew he was baiting me and I knew he wanted an avalanche of assurances but that hit like a punch to the stomach. Now I was hurt and fucking angry. I snapped.
“I’ve got a better idea, Russian, when you grow up, give me a call ... if I haven’t fucked off with the entire male basketball team by then,” I shot back at him, and then I hung up. I breathed out, put my phone down and burst into tears.
It rang straight away and I didn’t answer. The Russian’s name lit the screen and this time he left a message.
“Don’t fucking hang up on me Brooker,” he growled, “call me back.”
Fuck you, Russian. I put the phone on silence so he wouldn’t stalk me for the rest of the night, what sleep hours remained, and I went to bed. But I didn’t sleep, I cried, and stressed and went through all my actions in my head to see if I had been ‘tarty’ or led anyone on, or disrespected The Russian.
Then I decided to drive home in the morning ... it would take me a few hours but I could get there in time to hear Dad give mass and then see what he thought about the situation. Dad’s perspective would help – he was a qualified counselor as well as a reverend.
I glanced at the clock – it was nearly two a.m.; I would leave at seven to get home by nine and to attend Dad’s nine-thirty service. My phone buzzed beside me a few more times and then, somehow, with pure exhaustion riding me, I must have slept a few hours. I woke and washed my face, my eyes were swollen, and I put on something conservative for church. I drove with the sun rising around me and headed home.