Devin Booker has played in 673 regular-season NBA games. He’s scored 16,452 points, notched four All-Star honors, and carried Phoenix through stretches when few others could. Yet when asked to single out the toughest period of his career, Booker didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t his early years when the Suns were scraping by with 19-win seasons. It wasn’t the grind of developing into a franchise cornerstone either. No, for Booker, the actual struggle came later, when Phoenix was supposed to be in its golden era.

The Kevin Durant trade was billed as the ultimate step. Pairing KD, Bradley Beal, and Booker was supposed to form an offensive juggernaut. Instead, it never quite clicked. The Suns didn’t even make the play-in this past year. That collapse remains, and Booker finally admitted how heavy it weighed on him. “Yeah, there was a disconnect,” Booker told reporters at Suns media day. “I don’t think there was any hatred in our last groups amongst the guys. You know, I think just when you’re all on a different plan and you don’t have the same common goal or same objective, then that’s what it turns into.”

He didn’t stop there. Asked if those years were harder than the start of his career, Booker cut in: “Oh yeah, way harder.” For a player who once survived the NBA wilderness with nightly 40-point performances in losing efforts, that’s a telling statement. Back then, the expectation was patience. In the Durant-Beal era, it was championship-or-bust. And the bust came swiftly. Durant’s exit to Houston this summer closed the chapter with finality.

Booker now steps into a different kind of spotlight. He’s not the kid carrying a rebuild, nor is he the third piece in a Big Three. He’s once again the centerpiece, the leader expected to reestablish Phoenix’s identity. But that comes with its own wrinkles. The Suns traded for Dillon Brooks, a player Booker admitted he once only knew by reputation. “Everybody always explains [him] as the guy you hate when he’s not on your team, but you know, you embrace him when he is,” Booker said.

The guard noted that Brooks called him the day the deal went down. “He’s definitely a worker… you don’t see [that] out of anybody, honestly. So, you know, it shows on the court too.” Booker’s willingness to publicly endorse Brooks says a lot about his approach to leadership. He’s not just Phoenix’s leading scorer. He’s the cultural anchor, the one tasked with smoothing over chemistry after two chaotic seasons. And the irony here is unmistakable, especially considering Brooks’ reputation in the league.

From not shaking the Warriors’ hands to claiming that he did not respect anyone, not even LeBron James, unless they drop 40 on his head, Brooks’ time at the Memphis Grizzlies was fraught with incidents and has created the reputation of an on-court antogonist, known for his physical and “in-your-face” style that often leads to intense on-court confrontations and “fights,” though not usually actual physical altercations but rather heated verbal exchanges, technical fouls, and taunting.

Devin Booker and the changing Suns

Booker and Durant were never at odds personally. Off the court, by Booker’s own admission, “everybody was good.” But once the ball tipped, the execution fractured. It’s a reminder that talent doesn’t always translate to cohesion. Booker, now entering his 11th season, knows his clock is ticking. He’s locked in on a two-year, $145 million extension that runs through 2029-30. Financially, he’s secure. Professionally, the pressure is mounting. Phoenix hasn’t returned to the Finals since 2021.

For Booker, that was the taste of basketball at its highest stakes. For the franchise, it was a glimpse of a window that might be closing sooner than expected. The stats back up Booker’s importance. He averaged 25.6 points on 46.1% shooting last season, but beyond scoring, his role as a facilitator grew. His assist rate climbed, a necessity with Beal sidelined and Durant shouldering inconsistent workloads. In many ways, Phoenix’s survival hinged on Booker’s adaptability. When Durant and Beal both sat, he carried. When Durant played, he deferred. It was a juggling act few superstars could manage with grace.

And yet, none of it was enough to offset the larger dysfunction. That’s the weight of what Booker calls “the toughest two years” of his career. Expectations turned every loss into an indictment. Every injury into a referendum. Every postseason miss into an autopsy. Now, the Suns pivot again. Durant is gone, Brooks is in, and Booker is both the stabilizer and the accelerant. He must bridge the gap between a roster in transition and a fanbase desperate for relevance beyond viral highlights. But there’s also the external pressure of validation.

Team owner Mat Ishbia has already made bold declarations, including a thinly veiled suggestion that Durant wasn’t the right fit for Phoenix’s future. Booker, by default, inherits the responsibility of proving Ishbia’s vision correct. It’s about making sure the Durant trade doesn’t go down as an organizational miscalculation. Through it all, Booker continues to embrace the grind.

His tone at media day wasn’t defeatist. It was matter-of-fact, reflective, and determined. The Suns may be entering another transitional phase, but Booker is clear on one thing: his job as leader hasn’t changed. What comes next will define him as much as his 70-point game or his Finals run ever did. Because for Devin Booker, the toughest years weren’t when the Suns were irrelevant.

They were when they were expected to matter and failed. The next chapter, though? It’s his to write, and this time there’s no Big Three safety net.