Holiday Home Run

by Priscilla Oliveras

  With his fingers still clenching her shoulders, she guided his hips, turning him so he could sit on the edge of his bed. Without impressionable little Lulu around to hear, Alejandro didn’t hold back his pain-filled curses as he pushed himself further onto the mattress while Anamaría carefully held his injured leg aloft.

  Sra. Miranda slid several cushiony pillows beneath his knee, careful of the top Ilizarod ring. She hovered over her son, mumbling prayers and Spanish platitudes about her precious niñito’s discomfort. Typical Cuban mami behavior, no matter her children’s ages.

  Seizing her window of opportunity, Anamaría put part one of her impromptu plan into action. “Señora Miranda, would you mind bringing Alejandro some water? It’s important for him to stay hydrated.”

  “Ay, si, I will get it right away. Anything else, nena?” his mom answered.

  “Maybe a small snack. I’m sure he’ll need to take his pain medicine soon. Right?” She directed the question to Alejandro.

  Lips pinched with obvious discomfort, he nodded.

  “¿Un sandwich de jamón y queso?” his mom asked.

  “A ham and cheese sandwich would be great. Grilled, maybe?” Anamaría pressed, anxious to get his mom out of the room for as long as possible.

  Not that Anamaría had any keen interest in being alone with him. But something wasn’t right, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want his mom to know.

  As soon as the older woman left and the slap of her Kino sandals on the tile floor faded, Anamaría leveled a stern stare Alejandro’s way.

  “Truth. On a scale of 1-10, what’s your pain level?”

  “One,” he grunted as he pushed his hands into the mattress and tried shifting his position on the bed. His sharp intake of breath and full-body wince belied his answer.

  “Try again, and don’t bullshit me. After what you’ve been through, this is no time to play He-man.”

  “I was always more of a Batman fan, remember? You know, dark and dangerous. Lots of toys to play with.” His full lips twisted in what remembled more of a sneer than his cocky grin. The angles and planes of his haggard, yet somehow still handsome face tautened with anguish.

  Heaving a beleaguered sigh, Anamaría set her backpack on the low dresser to the right of the door.

  “Look, cut the crap, okay? It’s obvious neither one of us really wants to be here.” Her back to him, she unzipped her bag, purposefully keeping her gaze away from the square mirror hanging on the eggshell painted wall over the dresser. “Me, in this room. And you, anywhere on the entire island. But we can’t change that, so don’t make it any harder or more uncomfortable than it needs to be. Let me do my damn job, appease your mother, and then we don’t have to see each other again. Deal?”

  The words sliced her throat like shards of her broken heart forcing their way up. She swallowed past the pain. Reminded herself of her vow to no longer allow a ghost from her past to haunt her present.

  “You look good,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Her stupid heart tripped, then lurched into a higher gear. Hands trembling, she cursed the injustice of her reaction to his words.

  Unwilling to let him see the effect his too little-too late declaration had on her, Anamaría ducked her head, pretending to search for something inside her backpack.

  “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you look like death warmed over,” she countered.

  If death sported several days of sexy scruff covering a square jaw, highlighting his angular cheeks and full lips, not to mention a head of thick, black curly hair, windblown and mussed in a carefree style some paid hundreds of dollars in hair product to achieve.

  Not that she had noticed or anything.

  Behind her, Alejandro gave a hoarse chuckle. The raspy sound sent an unwanted shiver of awareness skittering down her spine.

  “What are you talking about, I just got off a cruise,” he complained.

  “Practically a stowaway. Leave it to you to hitch a ride on a cruise ship because you’re not medically cleared to fly.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  And he’d obviously had no will to return home until he’d been forced.

  She’d known this already. Still, hearing his confirmation hurt. Not that she planned to let him know.

  Shoving aside her wallet inside her backpack, she grabbed the first aid kit. “Well, unlike the rest of the passengers, you neglected to disembark with a relaxed smile and new tan lines. And that souvenir of yours…it kinda blows.”

  “I’ve been better,” he mumbled.

  That made two of them.

  A look under her lashes found him bent forward, tracing a finger along the top Izilarod ring.

  “I’m wondering, is this is a new look or were you already going for gaunt and haggard before you went and slipped off that rock ledge while you were…” She set the kit and the bottle of sterile water on the dresser top. “Exactly what were you doing in the El Yunque National Rain Forest, climbing up the side of a waterfall, alone, anyway?”

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced in the mirror again, surprised to find him staring back at her.

  Dark eyes hooded, he lay sprawled on top of the comforter, a white and navy checked pillowcase covering the pillow tucked behind his back, matching the two under his knee. His lanky frame was too thin. His skin too sallow. And damn it, his magnetism too strong.

  A couple months ago, his image on her cell phone screen had appeared larger than life. Mimicking the photographs that made him a sought-after talent. Broad shoulders and chest evident under a form-fitting grey tee tucked into a pair of black jogging pants cinched at the ankles. Muscular arms looped around a young guy on his left and a strikingly beautiful woman on his right, Alejandro shot a cocky, confident grin at whomever snapped the photo captioned “Ready to celebrate a successful shoot on location at El Morro, Viejo San Juan, Puerto Rico” followed by the camera and Puerto Rican flag emojis.

  He didn’t post pictures of himself very often. When he did, she occasionally allowed herself a peek. Nothing more.

  Even then, she couldn’t help noting the laugh lines raying out from the corners of his nearly black eyes. The faint grooves on either side of his mouth. Testaments of the laughter in his life. The joy he found in wherever he was and the people he spent time with.

  The fact that she wasn’t one of them shouldn’t…couldn’t… didn’t bother her. Not anymore.

  The mystery woman’s infatuated expression as she gazed up at him meant nothing to Anamaría. Her life and his had been separate for nearly a decade. No longer the dynamic duo their classmates, familia, and friends had dubbed them.

  He kept himself busy off photographing the world. Making a name for himself. Cavorting with people from all walks of life—celebrities and up-and-comers, hard-working villagers and unsung heroes in communities across the globe.

  She was the one who had stayed in place. Marking time without realizing it. Unable to fully commit to either of the two serious relationships she’d been involved in. Silencing her secret dreams for too long.

  But she was done with that. Over the past two years, she’d set her personal life on hold to dive one hundred and ten percent into her business. Now she was going places, too.

  “When I set off to explore El Yunque, it was not with this outcome in mind.” He gestured at his leg.

  “Accidents like yours rarely are. But I see them all the time on the job,” she answered, relieved to return her focus on his injury. Not their broken past.

  “The rainforest has been hit hard by hurricanes in recent years. I wanted to document some of the change.”

  Anamaría stepped toward the bed. “Yeah, it’s been harsh here in the Keys, too. Big Pine really took a beating after Hurricane Maria finished battering Puerto Rico and moved our way.”

  “Yeah, I saw video and images online.” Alejandro slowly shook his head in commiseration. “Thankfully, El Yunque’s slowly coming back to life. When I finished my job in Puerto Rico,
I stuck around for a bit before I was supposed to move on to Belize. That day, I planned an easy hike. Thinking I’d unwind to the coquis singing their high-pitched frog song from the trees. The rush of water tumbling over the rocks sending a cool mist on my face. Then I spotted an iguaca.”

  “You mean, an iguana,” she clarified.

  “No, it’s my tibia that’s banged up, not my head.” The corners of his wide mouth curved in a teasing grin she nearly found herself returning.

  “An iguaca,” he enunciated the word. “It’s Taino for parrot. Because of the efforts of a special recovery program, the endangered Puerto Rican parrot population is slowly returning. Still, you don’t see many. And when you do…”

  “You can’t help but capture its photograph,” she finished, knowing him almost as well as she knew herself. Or so she’d once thought.

  The reminder was a sobering one.

  His camera had been like an extension of his hands. Always there, somehow finding the perfect moment, a beautiful or moving image the average eye may have missed, but his never did.

  “So, you were snapping pics of this endangered bird and decided you could fly off the edge of the waterfall along with it.”

  “Well, it wasn’t quite—”

  “Only, gravity had other ideas,” she finished, barely quelling the stark fear tightening her chest at the image of him toppling over the mottled grey and black rocks, his blood mingling with the water spilling off the sharp, slippery surface.

  Driving an ambulance, she had witnessed her fair share of death and carnage, far too often the result of foolish thinking. She didn’t have to rely on her imagination to conjure any number of potential accidents when a daredevil like Alejandro went hiking on his own. The idea of him or any of her loved ones being the victim on a call she responded to at the station made her blood run colder than the springs she’d once tubed down in Central Florida.

  “Not quite,” Alejandro countered. “I followed the parrot up a rock ledge. Got some incredible pictures of him in flight. A few other beauties with him perched on a tree limb.” He arched a rakish brow, far too sexy for someone in need of a bath, a shave, and a fatten-me-up Cuban mami meal. “I was feeling pretty satisfied with my Spidey climbing talents. Right up until my damn foot slipped, and my non-superhero status became clear.”

  A laugh bubbled up her throat at his self-deprecating grumble and embarrassed grimace. Anamaría slapped a hand over her mouth to smother it.

  “The only good thing was that I managed to save my camera from any damage.” He cradled his hands to his chest as if protecting a priceless object.

  Anamaría snorted in disbelief as she sat on the edge of his bed facing him, careful not to bump his leg. “So, your camera’s fine, but your tibia shaft didn’t fare nearly as well. Why does that not surprise me?”

  “Hey, anything for the best shot.” He spread his hands wide, his shoulders rising and falling with a shrug . “You know how it is. No pain, no gain.”

  “Uh-uh. That’s my line as a fitness instructor,” she countered. “Sounds much better when I say it.”

  “Depends on your perspective.”

  “And we’ve always had different ones.” Coño, the jab slipped out before she could stop it.

  Tension snapped in the air. The old accusation hung between them like overripe mangos left to rot on the branch.

  “Forget I said that,” she offered, raising a hand to stem any argument from him. “It does no one, least of all us, any good to go there. The past is…”

  “The past,” he finished when her voice trailed off.

  Regret and the staunch determination to ignore it warred inside her wounding her with each strike.

  Alejandro’s sober gaze ensnared hers. “I had no idea she called you. If I’d known what she was thinking, I would have—”

  “Been unable to stop her,” Anamaria interrupted. “She’s a force of nature, that woman. Much like my mami.”

  “Dios mío, deliver me from meddling mamis. One of many things I don’t miss about Key West.” His head dropped back to thump against the wall behind him.

  If she were a glutton for punishment, she’d ask what the other “many things” might be. But there was no need to confirm her place of honor on his undoubtedly long “don’t miss” list. That fact had become cruelly apparent the second she’d found out about his marriage to some swimsuit model. Less than six months after his and Anamaría’s final video chat.

  Dios, she would never forget the day her mami had sat her down at the familia dinner table. Her mami’s face shadowed with remorse. Brown eyes shiny with unshed tears. Her hands twisting with unease, afraid of how her baby girl would react.

  The news of Alejandro’s new wife had hit her like an unexpected backdraft, a whoosh of heated air and flames blowing over her. Incinerating her silly adolescent dreams and young love until they were nothing but a pile of smoke-tinged ashes.

  Not that Alejandro needed to know how decimated his actions had left her. Or the errant choices she’d made in the ensuing years.

  Her days of self-sabotage, of unwittingly holding herself back, were over. She had her eyes on the prize now. On the future. Not the past.

  “Yeah, well, get used to that meddling and hovering,” she warned him, scooting a little closer to peer at his injury. “If you’re stuck here while you convalesce and get back on your feet, odds are that’ll be at least a couple months. Longer if you’re hardheaded and don’t take care of yourself or follow your doctor’s orders. Like I’m guessing you haven’t been?”

  The sardonic twist of his lips was answer enough.

  “Thought so,” she muttered.

  “Believe me, I’m not pleased about having to drop or postpone my bookings for the next few months. I should be enjoying Belize. Not cooped up here. And after my mother’s move today, I am all for doing whatever it takes to speed up my recovery and get the hell out of here.”

  Of course, he was. Leaving “the Rock” had always been his goal. She’d simply thought he meant to eventually return, and not by force.

  Her mistake.

  “That’s news I’m sure your doctor will approve of.” Opening the first kit, Anamaría set a handful of cotton balls on the lid, adding medical tape and gauge to the supplies. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with. That way we can make sure you’re back out there snapping the next Alejandro Miranda award-winning photograph as soon as possible.”

  “So, you heard about those…the awards?” he clarified when she tilted her head in confusion.

  “Por favor.” She rolled her eyes at his failed attempt at modesty. “The way news travels around this island? In our comunidad? Who didn’t hear, whether they wanted to or not?”

  He waved off her back-handed praise, but his lips curved in a cocky tilt she would have tickled into a howl of laughter in the past. Not now though.

  “I’m surprised they didn’t hold a freaking parade,” she went on. “Although it probably would have been awkward when the guest of honor didn’t bother showing.”

  His playful grin dissolved at her retort.

  His lips pressed together in a tight line and rubbed a hand at the scruff on his cheeks, clearly uncomfortable.

  A sliver of guilt for her rudeness pricked her conscience. A bigger person would congratulate him on his success. Compliment his magazine covers, maybe gush over the cinematic images he’d taken across the globe.

  She wanted to be that kind of ex. Given a little more time to get used to having him home, grudgingly, she might get there. Maybe. At least she could pretend better.

  Bending her head, she concentrated on carefully removing the medical tape that attached a piece of gauze around one of the pin sites.

  “How ‘bout we try this again,” she suggested. “Truthfully, how’s your pain?”

  A puff of warm breath teased the tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail as Alejandro blew out a weighty sigh. “Is there some kind of doctor-patient confidentiality? I have a rep to pro
tect.”

  “Smart ass,” she grumbled, shooting him a droll glance before pulling back another piece of medical tape. “Come on, ‘fess up or I can’t help you properly.”

  “Fine. But my mom worries enough as it is, so whatever we don’t have to tell her, let’s keep it that way.” He waited for her nod before continuing. “It’s holding steady at a seven.”

  Ten minutes later, Señora Miranda had yet to return with Alejandro’s snack. His mood had lightened based on his quip remarks, and Anamaría had finished cleaning each of the pin sites, relieved to find most of them healing well. One at the top of his shin was a little more tender than the others, not that his tough guy act had let him admit it. She’d had to pester him for info. About that and his refusal to take stronger pain relievers.

  “You have got to stay on top of your meds,” she warned him. Not for the first time. His hardheaded nature had failed to mellow with maturity. Reminding herself to stay in paramedic mode was all that kept her from screaming in frustration. “If you don’t, you’re only chasing the pain and the medicine won’t be able to do its job. It’s basic pain management 101.”

  “I appreciate the advice. You have a remarkable bedside manner.”

  “Stop it,” she grumbled, fully aware his teasing was a diversionary tactic.

  Head tipped back to rest against the wall again, he eyed her under hooded lids. “I’m sure all the people you help send your boss glowing reviews. Am I right?”

  “My Captain,” she corrected with a reproachful glare. “And flattery won’t stop me from lecturing you.”

  He flashed her another tired grin, this one tinged with chagrin because he knew he’d been caught.

  “Or stop me from siccing your mom on you if necessary.” So much for remaining impersonal.

  Where was his mami anyway?

  Anamaría would lay money on odds that the older woman was purposefully taking her time grilling that sandwich, intent on leaving them alone in the bedroom as long as possible. My how times had changed. In many ways.

  “Hey now, play fair,” he complained, nudging her knee with his fingers.