Nathan has no idea what went down between Brandon and me. For the past four plus weeks, I’ve been meticulously scouring social media. I guess it’s true—out of sight, out of mind. For someone desperate for attention, that’s a bad thing.
I love it.
Not that I almost threw out my career for a man, but that the world seems to have forgotten that I exist.
My whole life has been spent flying under the radar. Being in the background. Not taking up space. Not being seen. I don’t know how to function otherwise.
Brandon Nix is exhibit A.
He put me in the center of his focus for two days, and I practically climbed that man like a tree.
I will until the end of time insist that it was because of the concussion. Yet deep down, I know it wasn’t.
I wanted him.
I wanted to kiss him.
Truth be told, I would have done more.
He made me feel valued and like I was the center of his world for a few minutes. I didn’t know how much I needed to feel that from someone. Never in a million years did I think that someone would be Brandon Nix.
It doesn’t matter.
It can never be again. I dodged a huge bullet on this. Let’s face it, I deserve to get fired. At least now I do. I mean, this situation is almost comical. The way this whole damn thing has played out. I would never have been with Brandon if I wasn’t trying to prove I wasn’t with Brandon.
Just saying that statement makes my head spin.
But it’s true. My mere existence as a woman put me under a microscope which set a chain of events in motion. When the accusations of fraternization started, there was definitely nothing going on between Brandon and me. So maybe I deserve my punishment now, but at least I finally did something to earn it.
At least if I get fired now, I’ll know what it felt like to have his lips on mine.
I should probably disclose this to Nathan as soon as possible.
It also means I’ll never officiate a men’s game again.
Lots of people do shady things and get away with it. I can still work this game and be fair. I’m not the head official. I’m scheduled to be the assistant for the game. Mike—unfortunately—will be the referee for the Wave vs. Buzzards. The game will not be in my hands. Mike will be in charge of the lion’s share of the calls.
I can be fair, even if I am a liar.
Mike calls me the night before the Soccer for Sibs event. “Wanna ride together tomorrow? You know, for old time’s sake?”
Ew, no. I have less tolerance for my ex-husband than ever. Brandon did more for me in four days than Mike did in two years. I was there for Mike, but I can honestly say the feeling wasn’t mutual. It was just as much my fault as Mike’s. I let it happen.
Like I’ve let most of my life happen.
Maybe I need to be a little more like Brandon.
I mean, not the rude, spluttering, Neanderthal parts, but the parts where he speaks up when there’s something that should be said.
You know, like when I’m not getting paid enough.
“I have to be down to Foxboro for 10 a.m., so I was planning on leaving by nine at the latest. How early are you going down?” I know damn well Mike won’t get to the game until the last possible minute. If I ever walked in right when I was supposed to, I’d be criticized for being late. No one blinks an eye when any male ref shows up right before it’s time to take the field.
Also, have I mentioned I hate running late?
“Ten? The game’s not until six. I didn’t plan on leaving until about four. Why so early? I mean, you’ve always been a little neurotic about being on time, but this is pushing it.”
I hold both middle fingers up in a silent salute to the man I cannot believe I married. Maybe next time I see him, I’ll do that to him in person. “There’s a charity event I’m appearing at before the game. It’s at the Buzzards’ practice facility.”
