Only Oscar (Wattys 2022 Shortlist!)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Oscar put his weight behind the punch and felt what should be a satisfying give as his fist hit leather. The sand-filled cylinder swung away, the chain suspending it from the ceiling creaking as he weaved to the side while it swung back. He punched it again and again, harder and harder, venting his frustration until his shoulders ached and he was bathed in sweat.

Breathing heavily, he caught the bag between his gloved hands and stilled the movement. 

It wasn't helping the way it usually did. Though, to be fair to the punch bag, it was the first time in his life he'd had to face up to the reality he might be losing the woman he loved. 

Despite the late hour, he looked around the cavernous room for a sparring partner. Someone who could give as good as they got and with any luck would focus his mind on a different kind of pain. When a guy with tattooed upper arms the size of tree trunks caught his eye, he marched over to pick a fight. 

"Hey, Ruiz, your mom miss me last night?"

"Not as much as your mom missed me." The human mountain cast him a derogatory glance as he approached. "Haven't seen you in a while. Figured you abandoned us now you're famous."

"Nah, punching anyone in the face outside of here can get you arrested."

Ruiz smiled laconically. "You look like you need to go a few. Don't wanna pick on someone your own size for a change?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Okay, then." Ruiz tapped his massive gloves together and jerked his head towards the ring. "Let's see what you've got."

An hour later, as he wiped steam off the mirror after a shower, Oscar examined the damage inflicted on his face. 

He grimaced. Wasn't going to look very professional at the inaugural staff meeting in the morning, was he? Ruiz had been a peach when it came to going above and beyond, albeit too apologetic about that last left hook.

The locker room was saturated in the scent of more than half a century of stale sweat and dirty gym socks, the walls covered in faded posters advertising epic bouts between names barely anyone could remember anymore. Not everyone's vision of Nirvana but for Oscar the place was a much-needed haven in times of trouble. 

He discovered the old gym not long after the second app disaster, found role models there who taught him how to channel his aggression. Equally as important, maybe more so, were the friends he made. Fellow misfits in search of a place in the world. Guys like him, who at times had anger management issues. Ones who weren't blessed with a mom who could read the signs and ground them with comic books, puzzles and chess games until the storm passed. Or a beguiling, adventurous, beautiful best friend who provided sunshine and laughter as soothing balms for a troubled soul.

"Moo ove ha?" Ruiz had asked when he found out Oscar's desire to go a few stemmed from woman trouble.

Conversations held through gum shields weren't easy to translate but Oscar had got pretty good at it with practice: Did he love her?

"Es," he grunted in reply as a blow hit his ribs.

Yes.

"See no ha?"

She know that?

"Es." Oscar frowned.

"Moo ur?"

You sure?

He stilled and got caught by Ruiz's left hook. But as the former Marine apologized profusely while he helped him get up off the mat, Oscar's head spun for a different reason. 

How could she not know? 

Obvious answer: He hadn't told her. There were numerous times when the words hovered on the tip of his tongue or he felt them swell up inside him. But he'd never said them out loud. Not even in the same casual way they used to exchange the words when they were friends.  

Why hadn't he said it?

The answer to that was more complicated but the fact he had the memory of an elephant, and could never let anything go, was part of it. They were kids the last time she burned him. She didn't know what she was doing, didn't mean what she said. She was simply in pain and lashed out at the closest person to her, who just happened to be him. 

As an adult, he understood that. But as a kid, it hurt more than anything ever had or did, until the day his dad died. That was the problem with growing up, he decided as he opened his locker and got dressed. Didn't matter how big a guy got or how much he matured or how large a fortune he made from a dumb game. Inside, part of him would always be that kid.

He parked his ass on one of the worn wooden benches and leaned down to tie his laces. If he told her how he felt and she didn't feel the same way, he was screwed. There was nowhere to go from that. She had to feel something. They wouldn't be together in the first place if she didn't and she'd been happy for a while, he knew she had. He could still see her radiant smile and the joy dancing in her eyes and remembered how the knowledge he'd put them there made him feel like he could conquer the world. 

He sat upright and sighed. How the fuck was he gonna fix this?

On the way back to her apartment, he realized he'd had the same damn problem his whole damn life. He kept so many secrets, held so much inside that even Callie, the person who was closer to him than anyone, didn't know who he was. Not  the way she should. 

Her apartment was still and quiet when he returned, not surprising at almost two in the morning. So, he moved silently, stripped down to his boxers and got into bed beside her. 

It took almost as much self-restraint not to draw her into his arms as it had to say no to the pleasure she offered when he was unable to give her any in return, and it made him feel equally as impotent. She was inches away from him, he could hear her breathing, feel the warmth radiating from her body, but she'd never felt further away. 

He missed his best friend. He wanted her back. But his biggest fear, the one which had been eating him up inside, stopping him from telling her how he felt, was that even if she knew everything and accepted him for who he was, it might not be enough. 

She loved him, he didn't doubt that. But being in love was a whole other thing and he was scared shitless she wasn't and never could be. Not with him.

As the ache in his chest made it difficult to breathe, she rolled towards him and snuggled into his side. Enfolding her in his arms, he took a deep breath of her familiar floral scent and exhaled. 

Better. But he needed more and knew he couldn't spend the rest of his days looking back, wondering what if? The only way to find out if they had a shot was to put everything on the line. No more holding back.

Feint heart never won fair maiden.