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“Brooker,” he sighed, “I need to talk with you, hear your voice. Call me.”
His voice was heavy with stress and weariness. I listened to the second message, which he had left about an hour ago when I had been in church.
“Please, call me.” That was it.
I checked the text messages and there was one there that he had sent about three a.m., and one this morning about half an hour ago. He mustn’t have slept at all.
I dreaded opening the first one which he had probably written when he’d been majorly pissed off. I tapped on it and read:
Are you in bed alone?
For the love of God, thank goodness he hadn’t left a stack of those; he’d have so much more to apologize for this morning! Seriously! I opened the text he had sent thirty minutes ago and read:
Where are you? Call, please Carla.
He’d used my first name ... I didn’t know what it meant. There was no apology. I decided to text him and I tapped out the words:
Play well today. I’ll be thinking of you. Cx
That was good, it was generous given what had transpired. I took another long look at the words I had typed, took a deep breath and pressed send. Done!
If he was still angry, well, that was a peace offering and might help him put things on the back burner until the game was out of the way.
My phone rang moments after the text had gone off to him, his name flashed on my screen. Butterflies filled me, my stomach churned ... I truly felt terrified answering it. I thumbed across the screen, accepting the call.
“Hello.”
“Brooker,” he said, his voice was heavy, he breathed out as if he had been holding the weight of the world until I called. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t help myself, I started to cry.
I heard him swear softly under his breath. “Babe, don’t cry, I’ve been sick for hours about what I said to you ...”
I still couldn’t say anything ... I didn’t know what to say.
“I hate being the one to make you cry, don’t cry,” he said again. “I’m truly sorry ... where are you?”
“At Mom and Dad’s.”
“You went home? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I drove home early this morning and went to Dad’s service. Dad helped me.”
“You told him what I said?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m never meeting him,” The Russian said, and I laughed for the first time in over twenty-four hours. It felt good to have a bit of tension lifted.
“He’s not judgemental and he’s a counselor too, he has some good advice for us,” I said. “And he’s praying for your soul,” I joked.
The Russian chuckled. “Thank God someone is.”
I heard a voice in the background.
“Where are you? Was that Lucas?” I asked.
“I’m out the front of the hotel, we’re just getting our gear on the bus to go to the stadium. And yeah, that was Lucas,” The Russian said.
