Sweet Soul(3)

I frowned at her sad voice. “And you’ll meet her, Mamma. You’ll love her too. Yeah? You will love the one I marry too.”

Mamma looked away, and I saw her eyes fill with tears again. She blinked real fast. When she looked at me, she placed both hands on my face and stared into my eyes. “Ti voglio bene, Levi. It is late. It is time to sleep now.”

I lay down on the pillow next to Mamma, watching the lightning bugs jump around in the jar on the side table, giving off light. I closed my eyes when I couldn’t keep them open any longer, but I couldn’t stop thinking of what Mamma had said. What was wrong? What had made her so sad?

I knew Mamma thought I was asleep, because I heard her start to cry. I held my breath, when suddenly she kissed my cheek, and whispered, “I want the world for you, mia luna. And I pray that the girl who claims your tender heart is just as sweet as you. Someone to care for your fragile soul. Someone to cherish the gentle gift that you are, when I am no longer here to do so…”

As the thunder peeled again, it shook me from my past. I looked up to the ceiling. With a hoarse whisper and blurred eyes, I echoed my mamma’s words: “It’s only the Roman Gods showing the world they’re still here.”

I held the angel’s hand just as tightly as I could.

Just for a little bit longer.





Chapter One


Levi




University of Washington, Seattle



“Grab a drink, then get back to the field for sprints!”

Coach shouted from the center of the field, and I ran to the sideline, grabbing a Powerade. My friends, Jake and Ashton, ran beside me. As I finished the bottle, Ashton nudged my side. “Fuck, Alabama. That chick can’t stop staring at you, again.”

I lifted my head to the tunnel, only to see a group of cheerleaders stood in the entryway, the redhead staring at me… again. Her, the same redhead that always watched me training. The one that always tried to talk to me. The cheerleader I never ever talked back to.

“Go ask her out. She’s creaming for you, Carillo. It’s the fucking accent. Chicks love that southern drawl shit. I’m so fucking pissed that I was born in Cali. I’d clean up if I said ‘y’all’ and ‘fixin’ every other word,” Jake complained.

“And the Italian thing. He speaks fucking Italian, fluently.” Ashton shook his head and gripped my arm. “Use your powers, Alabama. For the sake of jocks everywhere, use the fucking pussy-magnet powers you’ve been granted!” Ashton and Jake cracked up laughing, and Ashton dropped his hand.

Throwing my empty bottle to the ground, my stomach rolled at just the thought of speaking to the cheerleader. I didn’t even know her damn name. Finally, I shook my head. “Nah. I’m good,” I replied, trying to dodge the whole damn thing.

I turned to run back to centerfield, when Ashton and Jake moved to stand in my path, all laughter forgotten. Ashton was the Quarterback for the Washington Huskies, and Jake was the Running Back. They were both glaring at me. I said nothing because we exchanged this crap all the time. Like every day.

“Carillo, ask her out, man. She’s a sure thing. At some point you gotta talk to someone that isn’t wearing pads or shares your blood. Stacey said she likes you, really likes you. She asks about you all the time.” My face burned with embarrassment. I’d seen Stacey—Jake’s girlfriend—beside the redhead as she practiced her cheers on the side of the field, but I just wasn’t interested.

My eyes sought the turf, and we remained silent for what seemed like forever. A hand landed on my arm again—Jake. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll shut up. But have you at least given any thought to moving into the frat house? You know the guys all want you there. You should be living on campus, not with your brother.” Jake huffed, and added, “Granted, your brother’s fucking Austin Carillo, a Seahawk, and you live in a damn mansion, but you should be here with us. Parties and pussy. You’re missing out, Alabama.”

I smirked at Jake’s nickname for me. Another reason why I hardly ever talked; my strong Bama accent stuck out like a sore thumb against the predominantly west coast students. Jake was right, it got me attention, attention most guys would die for. But it was only torture for me.

Feeling unease in my stomach at the thought of moving into the frat house, I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m probably just gonna stay at my place. Y’all know I got the pool house now. I’m good on my own. Prefer my own space.”

After the silence that followed, I looked up to see Jake and Ashton staring at me in obvious disappointment. I met their stares, and with defeated shoulders, they wordlessly stepped aside. I picked up my feet and jogged back toward centerfield, trying hard to avoid a continuation of this conversation. Then Ashton shouted, “We just want you to get out more, Alabama! It’s not good being on your own all the time!”