Sweet Fall by Tillie Cole
“Who in Austin’s family is sick? Who has cancer?” My voice had taken on a panicked tone. For some reason, knowing someone in his family was sick made his behavior, and even his life choices, just that little bit more understandable. Was his brother selling drugs because he was paying for someone’s medical bills? Was that why he threatened me so much to be quiet?
My daddy stared at me in thought. I knew he was wondering why I was so concerned. I brushed off his worry and prompted him to answer with a roll of my hand.
Daddy sighed in defeat. “I’m not his doctor, Lexi. Martin Small, the hospital’s chief neurologist, is his doctor. Martin had to go across town to an emergency and asked me to inform Austin of some… news.” I nodded for him to keep going, but he shook his head and laid a hand on my shoulder. The action made me freeze, and he quickly pulled it away.
“I can’t say any more, sweetheart. Hell, I’ve already stretched the ethical code as it is. Just leave it be.”
I flashed him an appeasing smile and nodded my head. But all I could think of was that Austin was talking to a neurologist. What the hell could be wrong?
“Okay, sweetheart, I gotta go and check on a few more patients before I head home. Long drive. Come for dinner soon, okay. Your momma misses you.”
“Will do, Daddy,” I said and, waving my good-bye, walked casually in the opposite direction, but in the exact direction Carillo fled.
Checking over my shoulder, my daddy was now way out of sight. So ducking my head, I rushed down the hallway and tried to follow Austin’s path. After searching every crevice, exit, and door, the hallway came to an abrupt end, and there was only one door left—the entrance to the garden sanctuary. This garden was created by patients, a private space for patients to reflect, for solitude… for coming to terms with bad news. I should have known. I’d spent many a night here with Daisy in my teens when we’d both been hospitalized.
Pressing my hand on the wood of the door, I bowed my head, my mind a conflict of thoughts as I read the plaque on the wall. One is nearer God’s heart in a garden than anywhere else on Earth—Dorothy G. Gurney.
I probably shouldn’t interrupt him. But Austin seemed to be all alone. And if he was upset, he shouldn’t be alone, should he?
Five minutes later, my stubborn curiosity had me turning the knob of the door to the—thankfully—empty landscaped sanctuary.
A tiny flawless oasis in the hospital’s desert of pain.
As I drank in the beauty of the garden, I felt breathless. Then, like a beautifully dark fallen angel, Austin appeared from behind the cover of the cherubic water fountain and sagged down on the small white metal bench beneath the apple tree, rocking back and forth with his head in his hands.
My breath paused in my throat.
Austin Carillo was crying. A fitful, tormented crying. I’d never seen anything so heartbreaking in all my life.
Rocking on my feet, I looked up at a sky packed with stars. It was easy to believe we had been transported to another world in this botanical haven, one full of wonder and awe, like we’d walked through the closet into Narnia, a magical place where darkness was held at bay.
A land of no pain, just peace.
But Austin was in pain. Gutting pain by the look of things.
The night air was still, and in this small patch of heaven, here was Austin and me, two imposters in a manmade Garden of Eden.
And he was so broken, and Lord help me, I couldn’t leave him be, no matter if it was probably the right thing to do.
Over the last few weeks, things had not gone to plan. Molly and Rome were now together, and Austin and I were forced to be in each other’s company more than we’d like. We pretended to be civil when we had to be together. We partied at clubs and house parties with our friends like we didn’t have a care in the world, even faked a friendship. I found Austin was just as good of an actor as me. None of our friends had an inkling there was any ill feeling between us. But in reality, Austin and I were colder toward each other than an arctic winter.
It saddened me, as I kinda liked him. There were times over the last few weeks when I nearly caved. I would remember the summerhouse, remember Austin protecting me from the cops, holding me to his body as we lay on the hard wooden floor, discussing the stars. But then I would remember his brother, Axel, remember the Heighters, remember Austin’s warning. It had me shrinking back into my shell… back to silence and isolation.
Sighing, I forced my legs to walk and moved beside Austin on the bench. Quietly sitting down, I pulled the sleeves of my black top over my palms—a move I made when I was nervous. Austin hadn’t felt my presence. Hadn’t heard the subtle creak of the bench above the volume of his pain.
When another sob ripped from his throat, I placed my hand on his back… I had to touch him. It was wrong of me, it was uninvited… but I just had to. Something within me pushed me to be supportive. Austin was strong, he belonged to a dangerous gang, he had a dark past, but beneath his armor of tattoos, I sensed he also had a pure soul, and it was in distress.
At the feel of my hand, Austin jumped off the seat and swung round toward me, fists clenched and braced to strike out, his fully colored tattooed arms bulging underneath his tight black shirt.
I shielded myself with my arm, but just as Austin’s fist closed in on my jaw, he pulled back.
Slowly uncovering my face, I lowered my arm, and Austin tipped his head to the side, the fog of rage clearing from his bloodshot brown eyes.
“Lexi? What the—” he said in a cutting, raspy voice.
Austin staggered forward until he slumped to his knees on the patch of manicured grass at our feet. My hands covered my mouth and tears filled my eyes at the sight. He looked drained.
“Austin? What’s wrong?” I whispered in trepidation. The shield that normally hid his emotions had cracked and splintered. I had no idea what to do.
But Austin couldn’t speak, couldn’t lift his head, too overcome with… grief? Sorrow? Fear? I didn’t know. Teardrops fell to the ground from his downcast eyes, and all I could do was stare.
“Austin, please?” I asked once more, almost wincing at how loud my voice sounded in the quietness of the garden. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
“I can’t… I can’t, Lexi…” he managed to say through his tears and tight throat.
Austin still didn’t lift his head, so I carefully dropped to my knees to be level with him. I reached out my hand to be of comfort, but I pulled it back.
Do not touch him, Lexington. He will want to touch you back. He will feel the fat, feel the layer of blubber covering your back and your ribs. He will be repulsed by how big you feel…
Whipping back my hand, I cradled it to my chest just as Austin’s palms hit the vibrant green grass, his wide back shaking as he fought to control his erratic breathing.
“Just go, Lexi… Leave me alone…” he pleaded, not once lifting his head.
Flicking my eyes to the closed exit door, I contemplated leaving, but looking at Austin on the ground made me change my mind.
“I won’t,” I said with more authority than I felt. “I don’t think it’s right you’re alone right now.”
Austin’s fist slammed into the soft grass, sounding a dull thud. “I said leave me the fuck alone!” he shouted with venom, causing me to flinch away from him and hit my back on the metal edge of the bench’s seat.
The breath whooshed from my chest, but my focus never left Austin. Resolved, I stood my ground. “I will not leave you like this, Austin,” I said, placating. “I will not leave you in this state, dealing with whatever it is you’re going through. I am not a coldhearted bitch!”
Austin’s arms began to weaken, his elbows buckling with sorrow. And a moment later, Austin fell forward, his forehead hitting my knees as I sat on the ground.
I froze, and an instant swell of nausea slammed into my gut. My hands lifted in the air as I felt Austin’s tears soak through the thinned material of my worn black jeans.
One, breathe?
It’s fine, Lexi, I told myself. He’s hurting. He’s—
I physically whimpered as Austin’s huge tattooed arms suddenly clasped around my back, his knees scrambling forward until his head lay flush against my stomach, his hands gripping tight around my spine, and his hot breath permeating the thin material of my top. I was wrapped up in him. His hands were touching me… He could feel me, all of me… Feel the fat… too much fat…
But Austin never noticed my distress. Never noticed I couldn’t take being touched. He was too consumed by grief, and I was being consumed by him.
Squeezing my eyes shut as though in pain, I reopened them to see his black shirt had lifted, a tattooed inscription running up his lower spine reading, Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. I tried to focus on the sentence just for something to center my trigger.
One, breathe… two, breathe… three, breathe… I repeated my mantra, over and over in my mind until—
“Lexi… Lexi…” Austin murmured, and I braced for his wrath, his anger, but then he whispered, “Hold me… please…”
The counting stopped.
The nausea stopped.
My entire world stopped.
My hands were suspended in the air as I stared at the strained cords in Austin’s neck, listened to the soft cries of pain that were slipping from his throat, and without intention, I lowered my arms until my palms were flat to his almost-black hair. It had grown some in the last few weeks, and it suited him, made him appear less severe.
As soon as my hands made contact with him, Austin gripped me tighter, robbing me of my breath. But my usual response to his touch had lessened. I recovered quicker. The hot flushes of fear were shorter, and I stared down in amazement at the huge frame of Carillo.
Do not fool yourself, Lexington. You think Austin’s fingers are not tracing your ribs? Do you think he is not thinking how big you are for your height? For a cheerleader of the Tide? the voice taunted.
I stiffened at the words of the voice, my hands slipping from Austin’s hot skin as he gripped me ever tighter, his head turning slightly to the side. He drew in a deep breath. “Lexi… don’t let go… please. Fuck, don’t leave me alone with this shit. I can’t deal…”
It was his needs versus my own, and my guilt over that fact conflicted me. But when Austin tilted his head and his dark eyes met mine, I found myself nodding and curling my arms around his neck. Austin’s eyes closed as though a wash of peace had flowed through him at my touch.
Spurred on by his reaction, I traced the small red tattoo of a fleur-de-lys on the nape of his neck. I wondered idly what it represented.
Lexington, no. Do not get too close. He will think—
No! Not right now, I mentally screamed, shutting down the words of the voice.
Pushing the voice to the farthest reaches of my mind, I refocused on the movement of my thumb, the circular motion, the act of a peaceful meditation.
The flow of water from the fountain to the right provided a hypnotic soundtrack, accompanied by a night owl singing its song from the apple tree above. I tried to make sense of what was happening. I was with Austin Carillo, comforting Austin Carillo in the hospital, the place on Earth I hated most.
Eventually, Austin’s tears ebbed and his breathing calmed, but my thumb kept moving. It was the one thing keeping me from freaking out.
As if following my lead, Austin’s fingers began skirting along my spine, up and down.
Is he counting my vertebrae? Are they pronounced enough? Has he… Has he—
“Lexi?” Austin’s croaky voice cut through my panic, and my thumb instantly stilled.
“Yeah?” I replied nervously.
“Don’t mention this to no one, okay?” Austin turned onto his back until I could see him fully, and I felt as though I could get lost in his mesmerizing Italian eyes. They were so dark they almost gave off a pearlescent blue sheen. His dark hair was long enough now that a strand of ebony fell over his double-pierced brow, safety pin-designed earrings threaded through the olive skin.
“It’s our secret, I swear,” I pledged.
Austin’s lip hooked up into a shy smirk. “Just another secret to add to our already buried pile, huh?”
“It seems it’s what we do best.” I sighed.
He smiled and my lips twitched too, happy that he could find humor in this situation while he was obviously in pain at someone being sick. I was desperately curious to find out who.
Without thinking, I reached out and swept the unruly strand of hair from his face and immediately froze at the action.
Snapping back my hand, I blushed. “S-sorry.”
Austin brushed the hair back off his face himself. “That better?” he said in a gruff tone. My stomach flipped. He’d never been this way with me before… almost friendly.
I spotted another, more decorative fleur-de-lys on the side of Austin’s neck, admiring the intricate leaves of the delicate lily, and asked, “I love this symbol. What does it mean to you to have it branded on your skin?”
Austin’s eyes glistened. “It’s the emblem of Firenze—Sorry, that’s Florence, Italy, to you. My… mamma’s from there.”
For some reason his answer made me sad. It was probably the doleful echo in his voice as he hesitantly spoke of his momma.
Oh no… all this must be over his momma…
Briefly glancing around the garden, I looked down at Austin and tried to lighten the heavy mood. “So you gonna move from my lap at all tonight?”
I immediately regretted saying it.
Austin’s face adopted an embarrassed expression, and he lifted his torso, unwrapping his hands from my back. I instantly felt a loss.
He shuffled back to rest his back against the white bench and tipped his head to the sky. His eyes seemed to gloss over, and he muttered, “Fuckin’ stars.”
Trying to see what had him so annoyed, I looked up to the sky too. It was just a typical night sky. I didn’t understand how he could be pissed at a burning ball of gas, but then Austin was truly an enigma—tough ex-Heighter on the surface, gang tattoos included, but clearly loving enough to be so distraught over someone close to him being sick.
All the time Austin sat there stargazing, I studied him. He was truly breathtaking. From his dark Italian features to his intricate body canvas of ink… his wide array of piercings to his prominent black ear gauges. They were my favorite. I don’t know why, but I’d always had a thing for gauges on a guy. I’d always preferred the dark, tortured souls, I guess. Maybe like attracts like?
Gliding my hand along the grass, I picked up a single blade and held it up to the sky, the vibrant green heightened by the moonlight.
“Why you here tonight?” Austin’s husky voice commanded me to face his direction.
His eyes were dipped as though the question made him nervous. I shrugged, rolling the blade of grass between my fingers. “Just seeing someone,” I answered evasively. I didn’t want to talk about the counseling. It would lead to too many questions about my past.
Austin sniffed and looked away, seemingly transfixed on the stone cherub on the fountain holding out a vase of flowing water.
“And you? Why are you here, Austin?”
Instead of giving me a response, Austin stretched out his hand and placed his tattooed fingers under the stream. A smile tugged on his lips. “Why do fountains have to have fat little shits of babies on them? And why are they always naked?”
Fat little shits of babies. Do you hear that, Lexington? Austin notices people are fat. He is an athlete, after all. An athlete with a perfectly sculpted body, unlike yours. Do you think when he was holding you just now that he was not thinking the same thing? Why is Lexington Hart so fat?
“Hey! Lexi!” Austin’s hand on my hand brought me back to the present. His dark brows furrowed. “Why do you do that?” he asked.
I began to panic. “Do what?”
“Zone out. Go blank for a while, staring at nothing.”
I didn’t respond with an answer. Instead, I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Why are you here, Austin? Why are you so broken?”
Austin swallowed hard and I watched his Adam’s apple bob underneath a tattoo of a spread-winged dove on his throat.
Ice shards ran in my blood.
A dove.
It took me back to the day I was put—against my will—into hospital. I quickly rid the thought from my mind.
Austin leaned forward, bent his legs, and wrapped his arms around them as though they were his protection. His eyes were firmly glued to the ground as he murmured, “My mamma’s on level five. She was admitted here tonight.”
“Austin…” I tried to say something, but his aura was like a brick wall. He clearly didn’t want my sympathy. He was too proud for that.
Austin stared down at the ground, lost in his thoughts. “Some doctor in a white coat just pulled me away from my mamma’s bedside, took me to a fuckin’ private room, and told me she’s only got months left to live. Months, Lexi. She ain’t gonna live to see me make the NFL.”
Tears filled my eyes as tears filled his.
“And I can’t make myself go back up there. I can’t make myself get in the fuckin’ elevator and look at her laying in bed, trying to be strong, trying to throw on a smile, knowing by this time next year, she’ll be gone.” Austin then looked up at me, as if I had all the answers, as if I knew what to say.
“How am I supposed to do it, Lexi? How the fuck do I do this—caring for Mamma, pass school, ace football, fuck, deal with my dickhead brother?”
“What’s wrong with your mamma?” I asked cautiously. I wasn’t sure he’d offer up that piece of information.
“ALS,” he replied, but my blank face must’ve shown I didn’t know what that was. “Lou Gehrig’s. Motor neuron disease, Lexi. Her nerves are fucked. She can’t really walk anymore, can barely talk. Soon she won’t be able to lift her arms. Then finally, she won’t be able to swallow. But you wanna know what the real kicker of all this shit is?”
I closed my eyes at the devastation in his voice.