Roatan Plunge | Love Travels #2

Twelve - Óscar

I cannot stop thinking about Lorena's messy, accident prone antics.

Cannot stop.

The greatest techniques in sports psychology are no match for the way her left cheek gets a dimple when she smiles or how her eyes flutter up to mine.

Which is a problem.

I know nothing about her.

I've risked my life and career for a woman I literally do not know.

"Óscar?" A light tap on my door stops my pacing the floor.

"Who is it?" I call. Which was a rookie mistake. Never let them know it's you. Where is my head at today?

"Your brother, the groom."

Two steps to the door and I'm flinging it open to see him with a bottle of champagne, an opaque flask of something else, and a grin.

"It's been too long, bro," he smirks and pushes through the door. "I feel like we've hardly seen each other since you got here. How are things?"

"Things are okay," I answer, keeping my eyes firmly on the door handle as I close it.

"Not how Marcia tells it," he gestures to the seat across from him. "Why don't you sit down?"

Because if I sit down he'll see all of the nerves from everything bubble up to the surface. I need to move to let the energy out because if I don't stay level-headed and in control, people's livelihoods are at stake. Maybe even their lives.

"The world won't end if you take a break," he says, gesturing again and holding out a glass he materialized while I wasn't looking.

"It might," I sigh, but there's no use arguing with him. He inherited that piercing, questioning glare from our mother and if you know Hispanic mothers, you'll understand.

I take the glass and flop down onto the couch, willing my legs to be still. "So, how's teaching and married life going?"

Enrique winces. "It's been a rough transition for us. I..." he pauses and tips back a bit of whatever's in his glass. "I wasn't the best husband to her at the start and I'm realizing a lot of that was just not being able to handle the stress of teaching and getting to know her. But I think we know each other better now, you know? We're better at figuring out when things are going wrong and how to fix them. It's just still a lot. Teaching creeps into every area of my life and she didn't sign up for that but there's only so much Enrique to go around. She deserves better."

"And you'll do better."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Yeah, I think I will. Or at least she'll be comfortable calling me out. I'm hoping we can at least get there. Hurting her hurts, you know?"

I don't. I've never bothered to get close enough to a woman that hurting her was a real possibility before. Sure, I treat them with respect, but they're just strangers. And I tell it like it is. If they choose to expect more or hope for something I didn't promise, then as far as I'm concerned that's not on me. I have a system built on honesty and up front communication and it works because I'm Óscar Calderón, world's best fútbol player, or whatever.

And it's exhausting.

But Enrique's smile as he recounts the story of how Bianca called him out on his shit slowly morphs into Lorena's smile lighting up her eyes when I reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. Suddenly the tables are shifted and I'm the one hoping for things I can't have.

"Óscar?" Enrique brings me back. "What are you thinking about over there?"

"Your wedding," I lie, as quickly as I can. "There's so much to be done before the third big day."