Sweet Fall (Sweet Home #2)(33)

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 f*ckin’ 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 f*ckin’ 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 f*ck do I do this—caring for Mamma, pass school, ace football, f*ck, 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 f*cked. 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.

“That her mind isn’t affected. Not one bit. Mentally, she’s exactly the same, but her body’s shutting down. Imagine that, wanting to talk but being unable to move her lips, wanting to dance but unable to lift her feet. She’s in a prison, a f*ckin’ prison of her own limbs, and I gotta just stand by and watch it. Fuckin’ A, don’t you think?”