Goalie

Chapter 6: Santos, Part 1

I know a lot of guys who have psycho ex-wives. I've heard the horror stories… always taking them back to court for more child support even when they're going above and beyond. Not working together on a schedule to see the kids, even when the job requires two-week road trips. Showing up at their apartments unannounced and throwing a fit if they're entertaining. That s**t happens all the time.

But my Mari isn't like that. Even after we were first separated, when she refused to speak to me for over a month, she's never been unreasonable. She told me what she needed to pay the bills and has never asked for a penny more. If I want to talk to the kids, I text her and they Facetime or Skype almost immediately. And she works visitation around my work schedule.

So as far as ex's go, I've got the best one. But that doesn't mean I like it.

I don't want Mari to be an ex. I want her to be my current. My forever. She's been my best friend for over ten years, and I miss her desperately. I miss her smile. I miss her conversation. I miss watching her dance parties while she's cooking. I miss the way her body fits next to mine when she's the little spoon. I miss her with a desperation I can't even fully explain.

Pushing the gravity of the situation aside, I focus on today. Today, I'm taking the kids to the zoo. I've been out of town for over a week, and I can't wait to spend the day hugging them and kissing them and making them happy. There's only one thing I love more than soccer, and that's my family. Mari used to say I was born to be a dad.

She also used to say I was born to be a husband. I'm guessing her thoughts changed on that one.

Pulling into the complex, I look around, satisfied that this is the place she chose to live. It's clean and well maintained. The crime rate in the area is really low. It's not a bad place to live. And I admit, there is one big reason I like this complex.

When I realized she was serious about separating, I immediately went to Daniel Zavarro, the captain of our team to find out about where he lived. I felt better knowing he would be so close to my family in the event of an emergency. I would much rather be here with them, but since I can't be the one protecting them myself, it's better than nothing.

Fortunately, the complex had a small two-bedroom unit open and available. I sent Mari all the information in an email as soon as I found out. I'm sure she knew it was the same place Daniel lives, but she apparently liked it enough that she moved in the next time I went on a road trip. I'm assuming she did it while I was gone, specifically so she wouldn't have to see me while she packed up.

Which means I've never even seen my kids' rooms in that apartment. I hate that.

Sighing, I turn off the ignition and grab the packages before climbing out of the car. I pay more than what the state would require in child support, but except for living expenses, I don't need the money for myself anyway. I've always worked to provide for my family. That hasn't changed because of the separation.

I walk under the steps to her front door and knock. I don't like that they're on the bottom floor. It feels like a safety hazard to me. After expressing my displeasure to Mari, she reminded me that having to get three small children up and down stairs wasn't a daily struggle she wanted to have. She also reminded me that none of it was my decision anymore. My opinion didn't count. That was a hard pill to swallow.

As I knock and wait for her to let me in, I wonder, again, how it ended up like this. How could I be so stupid? Yes, I was f*****g other women. Groupies, more specifically. But why? Why did I feel the need to do it when I love Mari with everything in me? What is wrong with me? Besides the obvious - I'm a total d**k.

I hurt her so deeply and all I want to do is make it right. I want to make it go away. I want to reverse time and put everything back together before it's too late. I want to do things differently so I can erase the pain in her eyes. The pain that I put there.

God, I hate myself sometimes.

The door opens and I find my breath catching. There she is. My wife. My beautiful Mari. She's more gorgeous to me today than when we first met.

Her long dark hair is pulled up in a messy bun, like she wears when she's deep cleaning the house. Her beautiful, flawless tan skin hasn't aged a day since we met in college, and her beautiful red lips… to this day, I'm in awe of her natural beauty. She looks at me through her long, dark lashes, just a hint of a smile. Not the kind of smile she used to give me… the one that said she was happy to see me. No. This is more like she's tolerating me being here because she has to. It breaks my heart because I did that. I did. And I will never forgive myself for it.

"Hey," I say with as big of a smile as I can muster. "I brought a few things."

She looks down at my packages and swings the door open for me to enter. "You didn't have to do that."

"I didn't have to, but I wanted to." I put everything down on the couch and start sorting through it. "This is my family. You are my family, and it's my job to take care of you."

"No, Santos." She crosses her arms over her chest. "It's not your job anymore. I have to take care of myself. And the kids."

"Mari, let me do this please? I miss you guys. All of you. And I love you. And… and this is the only way I can show you how much I love you right now."

She nods once and looks at the floor. When she looks up, I can see the fire in her eyes so I brace myself. "You should have thought of that every time you were banging a groupie after a game."