Sweet Fall

“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 f**k 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… two, breathe… three, breathe… I counted in my head. He was touching me. Austin Carillo was touching me.

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.