When shade hit, he appeared. Austin Carillo, wide receiver, number eighty-three.
Carillo stepped closer to me from his secluded spot beside the players’ tunnel and the stands. “This. The quiet after the storm.” He gestured to the empty stadium with a wave of his hand. “It’s my favorite part of the game.”
I followed the action of his hand. “Not the three touchdowns you scored?”
The corners of his mouth hooked up in a reluctant smirk. I’d seen Carillo around campus from time to time over the past three years, and I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him crack anything close to a smile. I wasn’t surprised. He was like me—darker, quieter, kept to himself.
Austin Carillo was the Italian bad boy of UA: six-foot-four, beautifully olive skin, piercings galore, black ear gauges, neck-to-toe tattoos, dark hair and the darkest of brown eyes.
I felt myself blush. If I had a type, he’d be it. But I didn’t date, and from what I’d heard, neither did he.
“Nah. It’s this. The replay of the game in my mind, the making of memories on this field.”
A sense of peace floated over me at what he described. “I know exactly what you mean,” I replied wistfully and inhaled the smell of greasy food, churned-up grass… victory.
Austin glanced back to the tunnel and, without another word, began to saunter away. I stared back out onto the gridiron and sighed in relief… I’d done it. I’d actually made it through a game unscathed.
The voice within hadn’t had the strength to spoil it.
“It’s about fuckin’ time, by the way!” I suddenly heard and looked behind me, straight at Carillo.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked in confusion, checking around us to see if anyone else was here.
Austin smirked in a deliciously dark way and gestured to my hair and face. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. It’s about time a pompom chick ’round here broke the mold. It’s good to have another one of us freaks on this team.”
One of us freaks? I thought, but all I could do was watch him disappear into the locker rooms. My heart pounded in my chest, and lifting my hand, I ran my fingers over my black hair and lipstick, and I felt a flutter in my chest… one of us freaks…
Seeing the cleanup crew enter the stadium, I quickly bent down, plucked a piece of grass from the field, and held up the single blade. It was my tradition. A piece of memorabilia from every game I’d ever cheered… But this would be my first in four years.
The symbol of my new life.
Picking up my poms, I headed to the locker room. I couldn’t wait to get home and write, telling Daisy all about it.
Chapter Two
Austin
“Woo-ee, boy! Four point two on the forty-yard dash! Keep getting these times and you’ll be in the first or second-round draft, no doubt,” Coach Cline, my sprint coach, shouted as I crossed the forty-yard line.
It was a few days after the Mocs game, and football practice was kicking my ass.
I bent over, catching my breath, when I heard, “Carillo, Coach’s office, now!”
Straightening up, I looked over the field to see Defense Coach Moore waving me over to the office.
I looked over at Coach Cline. “What’ve I done?”
His brows furrowed and he shook his head. “Ain’t got a clue, son. Now get on over there and find out. We got more drills to run.”
In less than two minutes, I was at Coach’s office door, and I rapped twice on the polished wood.
“Come on in, Carillo,” Coach called from behind his desk. If he wasn’t on the field, you’d always find him behind his desk.
I entered the room and took a seat opposite him. Coach looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desktop, removed his glasses, and gently rubbed the area around his eyes.
This wasn’t looking good. He was anxious.
“What am I here for, Coach?” I asked in a wary voice.
Dropping his hands, he leaned forward, elbows on his desk, looking me right in the eyes. “Got a call from the dean today.”
“Okay. And why does that concern me?” I asked tightly. I hadn’t done anything wrong in over three years here at the Tide. I had nothing to hide. Especially from Coach.
“We got a problem on campus, and he asked me to talk to you, see what you know.”
“What kind of problem?” I asked, confused.
“A drug problem,” he answered straight and waited for me to say something in return.
A drug problem. Drugs turn up on campus and immediately they think of me.
“I’ve got nothing to do with it,” I said tightly.
Coach just nodded. “I don’t think that you do,” he emphasized.
My stomach flipped. “And why’d you say it like that? Who do y’all think is involved?”
I knew, of course, but I wanted to hear it from his mouth. Wanted to hear his accusation against my blood out loud.
“There’s been some talk that someone looking just like you has been seen on campus, dealing coke.” He sighed. “Just like you, Austin. You hearing me? I only know one person that could be.” He paused and I waited, just waited. I needed to hear it from his damn mouth.
“Fine, son. I’ll say it. Axel. I’m thinking it’s your brother.”
I laughed in disbelief and shook my head. “Not you, Coach. Not you too! Don’t you fuckin’ do this to me! Some fucker turns up on campus, dealing, and you immediately think of the trailer trash scholarship kid with Heighter relations. That it?”
Coach motioned to speak. “Aust—”
“It’s not him. He wouldn’t have done it. Wouldn’t bring that shit my way. He’s family. Family doesn’t screw each other over.” My voice was cold and hard as I cut him off.
Hell, I was pissed.
Coach stood and lifted his hands, trying to calm me down. “Austin, I’m not saying it is him, just that some students were able to identify the gang involved. The dealer had a tattooed star on his left cheek, just like the one you have. We all know the stars are the mark of—”
“The Heighters. My gang.”
Coach shook his head in exasperation and moved around the desk to stand before me. “Now I’ll stop you right there. The gang ain’t yours no more. You got out—”
“You never get out. Only fools think that,” I said flatly.
Coach gripped my shoulder. “You got out. You came here. End of the year, you’ll get drafted to the NFL and leave. Leave it all behind.”
I dropped my head and Coach removed his hand. Pulling a long inhale, I met his eyes. “I know he spent time in juvie, and I know he has a bad rep, but family comes first with us. Always has. We’re Italian, Coach. It’s always family first. Axel may not make the best choices in life, but he couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this… to me.”
Coach stared at the floor for several seconds before nodding his head. “Then I believe you. I’ll let the dean know it ain’t him, you don’t know anything ’bout it, and he should look elsewhere.”
The tight coil of tension in my stomach began to slowly unwind. I felt like I could breathe again.
“Austin, I know you haven’t got a man in the house, that your daddy didn’t do right by you, that you boys got a rough deal and had to make a life for your momma the best way you knew how. I get that you boys are tight—Axel, Levi, yourself. But you got a chance at a better life, son. You could give your momma the world then. Guide Levi on the right path. Hell, I’m expecting to see that kid start for the Tide in the future.”
A physical pain actually sliced through my chest. A better life for my mamma in what, nine or ten months? When I got drafted and got my first big paycheck? Months she didn’t have—the harsh truth that Coach knew shit about.
In response, I just asked, “Am I good to go now, Coach?”
Coach moved back around his desk and took a seat again, slipping his glasses back in place. “You’re good.”
Just as I was about to exit through the door, I glanced back, my hand frozen on the handle.
“I appreciate you looking out for me, Coach, but this time y’all are dead wrong.”
Coach dipped his chin in acknowledgement, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. I walked out, pulling the door closed behind me, and rested my head against the thick wood.
“Well, hell, boy, what was that all about?”
I breathed slowly through my nose and turned around to see Jimmy-Don Smith and Rome Prince, my best friends, leaning back against the opposite wall. Jimmy-Don was a big Texan offensive lineman, and the most genuinely nice guy I’d ever met. Rome Prince was like my brother. Hell, I got on with him better than my own brothers, for Christ’s sake. Most talented guy I’d ever played with. He didn’t see it, though. Most humble guy I knew. And with his long blond hair and stacked frame, he was also more than a hit with chicks. On the surface, everything for him seemed perfect, but he was just like me—pretty damn fucked up—and the only person who knew the real me.
When I said nothing to JD’s question, they both glanced at each other and Rome stepped forward, concern on his face. “You good, man?”
Running my hands down my cheeks, I indicated with a flick of my chin for them both to move outta sight and into the players’ lounge. Once inside, Rome motioned for Jimmy-Don to lock the door, and we slumped on the sofas.
“So?” Rome pushed. Patience wasn’t his strong suit. That was why I liked Rome, straight to the point and didn’t take no shit. Jimmy-Don, on the other hand, was as laidback as he was big—very.
“Drugs, coke, on campus. Coach thinks it may be Axel and the Heighters.”
Rome sat back in his seat and gritted his teeth in frustration. “Fuck. Not this shit again.”
I’d known Rome pretty much my entire life. Hell, he practically lived with my family when we were kids, the multimillionaire oil tycoon’s son camping out on my bedroom floor in my doublewide ’cause his daddy liked to use him as a punch bag. When we were teens, Rome saw my elder brother and me drafted into the crew, and he went nuclear. He was also one of the biggest reasons I got out. He’d refused to sign on for the Tide unless we came as a package deal. The guy changed my life, and he hated Axel.
“And what did you tell him?” Jimmy-Don asked. It was one of the only times I’d seen the big guy serious. No cracking jokes. No stupid comments. He knew this shit was real bad for me. Knew what it could mean for my career… for my life.
“Told him the fuckin’ truth. It’s not Axel. He wouldn’t do this to me. Not here. Not now. He wouldn’t fuck up my dreams when I had them in my sights.”
Jimmy-Don looked across at Rome, who shook his head. “You’re fuckin’ dreaming, eighty-three,” he said flatly, using my jersey number instead of my name. He’d always done that, ever since we were kids.
“Rome, don’t. I can’t hear this shit from you too,” I said as calmly as possible.
“Well, you’re gonna. I’ve known Axel as long as I’ve known you, and your bro’s trouble, Aust.”
“Rome.” I groaned.
“You don’t owe him,” he snapped back.
I sank farther back into the sofa and tipped my head back. “I do.”
“Bullshit! If it weren’t for that dick, you never woulda got roped into the Heighters in the first place!”
“And if it weren’t for that dick, I wouldn’t ’a got out either. I do owe him, man. And he’s got my back, ’til the end. This shit here on campus ain’t him. I’d stake my life on it.”
Rome huffed a disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t speak. The silence between us only brought more tension, so without looking at my two friends, I said, “Can you just leave me the hell alone? I need a minute.”
I listened to them both move, then Rome shut the door with a slam.
I finally dropped my eyes, only to stare at the crimson-carpeted floor.
I knew Rome was only looking out for me, but he couldn’t understand what it was like being so poor you could barely survive each day. He couldn’t understand how a kid could get so hungry he’d raid restaurant trashcans for something to stop the hunger pangs in his stomach. He couldn’t understand when that kid was sick, there were no fancy pills to make him better. There was no health insurance plan that covered drug dealers from the trailer park in the part of town that even God had forgotten about. And he certainly couldn’t understand life within the crew. How once you were in, you were in for life… And he couldn’t understand why I owed Axel everything for getting me the hell out when I was seventeen.
Leaning forward, tears filled my eyes. With my elbows on my knees, I put my head in my hands and whispered out loud, “Axel. Please… please say this shit’s not you…”
Chapter Three
Lexi
“Are you still attending the meetings at college, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Are you still eating right? Still keeping your appointments with Dr. Lund?”
“Daddy! I’ve not missed one appointment! Not one in years. Can we stop raking over this ground every time you call?” I groaned.
My daddy was silent for a while, then spoke in a hushed tone. “Lexi, it’s your senior year. You’ve made the varsity cheer team, which you know is a trigger for you, and the pressure’s only getting more intense academically. And since Daisy passed…” Every muscle in my body instantly tensed. “Well, you can’t blame Momma and me for worrying about you handling it all.”
Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb. “I know. But I’m good, Daddy. I promise.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” The line went quiet and my daddy whispered, “I’m so proud of you. That you went out there, fought all your fears, and took back your life. I only wish we could’ve seen you.”
My throat was clogged as I heard the strength of emotion coming from my daddy. I hadn’t heard him like this since the day I’d left hospital. “I understand, Daddy. You have your patients to worry about. They’re more important than watching me cheer.”
He huffed out a small laugh. “They’re important, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’m ever as happy as when I watch you cheer. You get that look on your face, the one that tells me your soul is happy. It’s been too long since I saw you like that.”
“I know,” I said softly.
“Call us soon. And remember, we’re always here if you’re having a bad day.”
“Okay. Tell Momma I love her.”
“Stay strong, sweetheart.”
With that, he hung up and, minutes later, I was still gripping my cell. The one that tells me your soul is happy. I hadn’t realized my daddy thought that way. But then again, I didn’t care much about anyone or anything back when the voice had me in its hold. When my days were about counting grams of fat and denying myself food… about striving for perfection—thin and wonderful perfection. It was all about me. It was always about food.
I wasn’t selfish; counseling had taught me that. I was sick and couldn’t see beyond my goal… my… disorder.
I hated thinking about that time. It’s hard for me to remember how it felt, not because of the guilt, but because I may be tempted to go back. That temptation would always be there. There’d always be the chance that I’d fall again. But I’d come so far and it was too hurtful to think of the broken young girl I was back then.
Flopping back on my black, quilted bed, I stared at the patterns in the ceiling of my sorority room, then over to the calendar on my wall.
Over one thousand days had passed.
Four years today.
Four years ago, on this very day, I was announced cured, and my parents gave me permission to attend college. Local, of course. No way were they letting me move to another state where they couldn’t intervene if I relapsed.
Cured. A strange word. I knew I wasn’t cured—at least not really. I fought daily, hourly against the urge to go back to that time. I still regarded food as my enemy; extreme exercise and starvation were my friends. But I wouldn’t go back. Couldn’t. I was stronger. Improved. I had new friends, friends who knew
nothing of my troubled past. I had a life again and I wouldn’t give it up. I had to keep moving forward, no retreat, no surrender.
Lexington, you have put on weight… interrupted the voice I fought so hard to quell, a haunting echo in the back of mind. Your hips are wider… There is cellulite on your thighs. You know how to get better. Just let me in, give yourself over to me…
He never left me. He was always there, waiting for the ideal moment to pounce. Waiting for me to weaken just enough to let him take back control.
Shaking my head, I pushed him back into his cave. He would not escape again. If he did, I knew he would eventually win, and I wouldn’t be able to go on. He would finally succeed in killing me.
A knock sounded at my door, and it burst open, jerking me from my dark thoughts. Cass, my blond Texan best friend, the girl who spoke without a filter. The saying was true: everything was bigger in Texas, including Cass. But I envied her. She owned it. Lived it. Wore her size with pride.
As soon as I saw her, I sat up straight, grinning wide, playing the role of the happy-go-lucky girl who always wears a smile. The girl who hides behind her makeup, the reinvented girl who came to UA to escape her past. That made-up girl is the only “Lexi” my friends have ever truly known.
“Yo, biotch! How’s it hangin’?” Cass walked into the room, wearing rhinestone jeans with her usual skintight black tank, and she slumped down on my black velvet loveseat at the side of the room.
“What you doing in bed at five p.m.?” Her blue eyes suddenly widened. “Oh shit! Were you flicking the bean? Do you need some…” She bowed her head and whispered behind her hand, “Lexi time?”
Grabbing my pillow, I groaned and launched it at Cass’s head just as she lifted her middle finger on her left hand, rotated it like a vibrator, and licked her lips. The pillow hit her square in the face, and she scowled.
“Fine, but there’s no shame in getting yourself off… Just saying! I do it at least twice a day. Well, I did until Jimmy-Don started taking care of that shit for me. Lord, what that guy can do with just the tip of his tongue!”
“Thanks for letting me know, Cass,” I said dryly. She just wiggled her eyebrows at me in response.