My stomach churned in sudden fear. My daddy’s an oncologist. That meant… Oh no! That meant someone in Carillo’s family must have cancer.
“Who is it?” I whispered, deep empathy clogging my throat. I fixed my eyes on my daddy’s.
“Who is what?” he asked in confusion.
“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?”