Sweet Soul Read online

  A Sweet Home/Carillo Boys Novel

  Copyright© Tillie Cole 2015 All rights reserved

  Cover Design by Damonza at www.damonza.com

  Formatted by Stephen Jones

  Edited by Thomas Robert Lindsay

  Italian Translation by Sebastian Dusi

  eBook Edition

  No Part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written consent from the publisher and author, except in the instance of quotes for reviews. No part of this book may be uploaded without the permission of the publisher and author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is originally published.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters and names are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  Dedication

  For my readers.

  This novel exists because of you.

  And for those made to feel small by others, made to feel inferior by hurtful words.

  Keep wading through the pain. Keep fighting.

  One day it will end, and you’ll again find your voice…

  … You’ll again find your smile.

  Author’s Note

  As you all know, I planned for Sweet Hope to be the final novel in the Sweet Home Series. I ended that novel with a finite tone, and I was content. I loved how it ended.

  Then I began to receive messages from you, my readers, asking about Levi Carillo. What happened in Levi’s life? How did he meet Elsie? What was their story? Could we possibly know his story too?

  Before long, those questions began to invade my head too, until I knew I had to give Levi his story. I had to give the final Carillo boy his turn—I needed to give him his happily ever after.

  At first, I planned Sweet Soul to be a novella. I wanted the story to be sweet and beautiful—just like our shy and reserved Levi. But as I began to write, a new, more meaningful story began to form, and I knew that the sweet novella I had planned for, would become a full-length novel. A novel exploring topics that, in my opinion, need to be brought to the forefront of conversations. That need more exposure.

  I still regard the ‘Bonus Chapter’ in Sweet Hope as the final chapter in the Sweet Series, the one to give this series closure. But I am beyond thankful that your support and requests for Levi’s novel brought me to this heart-wrenching, yet beautiful story.

  I hope you all fall for our shy couple as hard and as fast as I did.

  I believe I was meant to write it. So as always, I thank you all for guiding me in this direction.

  Thank you for inspiring me to give Levi and Elsie their voice.

  They truly deserve it.

  “I don’t think of all the misery, but of all the beauty that still remains.”

  Anne Frank

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  Author Bio

  Follow Tillie at:

  Prologue

  Levi

  The rain pelted hard. I pulled the collar of my jacket higher on my neck. Reaching the warehouse door, I made to unlock it with the key I’d secretly copied from Axel’s master key, my warm breath ghosting into a white mist as it collided with the cold air.

  Thunder rumbled around the distant edge of a dark gray sky. When the lock clicked open, I ducked into the dry building. I flicked on the lights in the ceiling, revealing a mass of covered statues. My eyes scanned the interior of the warehouse, immediately stopping at the back of the large space. A sculpture, shrouded in white cotton, stood higher than the rest. My heart skipped a beat. Even before I moved an inch, my eyes began to sting with the threat of tears.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I forced my feet forward. The wooden floorboards creaked below my chucks as I moved slowly to the sculpture. I hadn’t seen it in over nine months. But I’d thought about it every day. I had to think about it: memories of the real woman who had inspired the art were beginning to fade. To my utter horror, I’d started to forget her. She’d started to melt from my mind. Day by day, hour by hour, she was disappearing to dust. And I could do nothing to stop it.

  Lifting a hand, I gripped the sheet and ripped it from the white Carrara marble hidden below. Throwing the sheet to the floor, I lifted my head, and there she was; bright and innocent as the angel I knew she had become. I blinked away the moisture from my eyes as I gazed upon her smiling face.

  Inching forward, I laid my fingers upon her cold marble cheek, drinking in her features—her eyes and nose—and her long brown hair. I closed my eyes, committing each intricate detail to memory. I never wanted to forget these details. I couldn’t bear to forget again.

  This sculpture, this marble face, was all I had left.

  The rain outside grew heavier as the sky roiled with storm clouds, the small windows lining the roof of the warehouse were awash with sloughs of water. Then a bright flash of lightning bathed the room. Instinctively I reached into my pocket. My hand wrapped around the string of brown beads, and I pulled out the rosary, lifting it to my mouth to kiss the old silver cross. My jaw clenched as I forced myself to look again at the angel’s face. And just as I did, a crack of thunder roared above.

  As though I was a child once more, I reached out and held the angel’s hand in mine. Feeling the fragile fingers so small in my palm, I kept tight hold and dropped to the hard floor.

  And I breathed.

  I breathed through the pain of loss that I lived with each and every day. I breathed through the fear that, before long, all the memories of her would fade to nothing, leaving me with a black void where her face used to be.

  As another bolt of lightning struck ground, I held the angel’s hand tighter; this simple act of wrapping her fingers in mine, calmed the storm inside, even as the storm raged outside in the sky above.

  Leaning back against the legs of the angel, I kept hold of her hand and gripped the rosary to my chest. The thunder boomed loud.

  Closing my eyes, I let the memories of the angel seep in…

  Thunder clapped in the sky and I jerked awake in my bed. The rain pounded the tin roof and walls, and I shook in fear—the drops sounded just like the bullets that the Heighters’ shot outside.

  Counting to ten, I quickly pushed the thin comforter off my body and jumped out of bed. A flash of lightning lit up my room, and only seconds later, a loud clap of thunder boomed in the sky, shaking our trailer.

  My feet ran forward, my heart beating fast. I ran into the living room, but it was empty. Austin and Axel were still out with the Heighters, but I knew my mamma would be here. She never left me alone. She worked real hard at her three jobs, but when Austin and Axel went out to make some cash, Mamma always stayed close by.

  They were my favorite nights, when my mamma would read to me in bed. She’d stroke my hair, and she’d sing—I loved her pretty singing. When she sang, I would smile. I didn’t smile ofte
n. In fact, neither of my brothers nor my mamma smiled all that much.

  But I did when she sang. When she rocked me in her arms.

  Lightning struck again, and I ran down the narrow hallway toward my mamma’s room before the thunder could boom. Reaching the door, I quietly turned the knob. Mamma’s room was real dark, but there was a small candle lit at the side of the room, next to one of the lightning bug jars we’d made yesterday when mamma couldn’t pay to keep the lights on. I crept inside, and behind the door, kneeling beside the bed, was Mamma.

  She was praying.

  She did that a lot.

  When the thunder clapped again, I ran right toward the bed. Mamma lifted her head.

  And then she smiled at me.

  “Mia luna, vieni qua.” She got to her feet and held out her arms. I ran forward, and the minute I wrapped my arms around her waist, I felt better. Mamma always made me feel better.

  “Mamma,” I said quietly, “the thunder. It’s too loud, it’s hurting my ears. I’m… I’m scared.”

  “Shh…” she whispered and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “It is only the Roman Gods showing the world they’re still here.”

  I pulled back and frowned. “Roman Gods? But you only believe in one God, Mamma.”

  Mamma pulled me down to sit beside her on her bed and she laughed. “I do, mia luna. But your nonna used to say that thunder was nothing to be scared of. That it was simply the old Roman Gods making sure nobody forgot about them up in the heavens.” She laughed and pulled me closer. “I used to imagine them having a party. Having too much vino and stamping their feet.”

  I laughed, imagining all the giant Gods sitting around a table, laughing and drinking—getting drunk. Mamma squeezed me hard, and this time, when the thunder clapped above us, I felt no fear. Because it was only the Roman Gods letting the world know they were still here.

  Mamma shifted on the bed and lay down, tucking me into her side. Her hand began running through my messy hair and her rosary dangled from her other hand. I stared at the brown beaded rosary with the large silver cross, as it hovered before my face. “What were you praying about, Mamma? When I came in, what were you praying for?”

  Mamma froze beside me, and I heard her breathing hitch. Mamma’s arms tightened around me, and when I looked up, I saw tears falling down her cheeks. It made my stomach churn. I… I didn’t like it.

  “Mamma?” I whispered, my voice cracking at the sight of the tears. “What’s wrong?”

  Mamma sniffed, and glancing away, finally looked back to me. “Nothing, mia luna.”

  I lifted further, and pressed my hand on Mamma’s face. Her cheeks were all wet. “But you’re crying. You don’t cry for nothing.”

  Mamma’s face fell, and she crushed me to her chest. “I was praying, mia luna,” she said after minutes of saying nothing. “I was praying to the Lord, to Mother Mary, to help us and I got teary eyed. Because I found something out today that has upset me, and even made me a little bit scared.”

  “What made you upset and scared?” I asked, feeling my stomach twist and turn.

  Mamma smiled against my head and stroked through my hair. “Nothing for you to worry about, mia luna. This is my burden, not yours. You’re my baby, my big seven year old brave boy.”

  My stomach rolled again and my heart raced real fast. She didn’t sound okay. Then I noticed the rosary again, swinging in her hand.

  Moving my hand, I ran my fingers over the brown beads. “Why do you hold these, Mamma? You always have them with you. Right now, you’re clutching them real tight.”

  Mamma sighed and brought the rosary to her chest. “I use them to pray to Mother Mary. She gives me strength, mia luna. I pray to her for strength.” Mamma’s voice cracked again and I tried to think hard. I tried to think why she needed strength.

  Blinking, a thought came to me and I asked, “Is it Austin and Axel? Do you pray for them? Because of the Heighters?”

  Mamma sighed and ran her finger down my cheek. “Always, mia luna. I always pray for them. For what they do each night for that gang.”

  I shook my head, knowing there was something else. “But what—”

  “Shh,” Mamma whispered. She then held up the rosary and placed it in my hand. She curled her hand around mine and pressed the beads into my palm. “Levi, you take these now. I want you to have these. I want you to keep them for strength. For the strength you will need someday soon.”

  I frowned and shook my head. “No, Mamma. They’re yours. I’m strong with you around. I don’t need these.”

  Mamma’s head dropped, and she took a deep breath.

  “Mamma?” I questioned. She was acting real strange.

  Mamma wiped her cheeks and a sad smile spread on her lips. “Va bene, mia luna. I’ll keep them for now. Grazie. Always thinking of your mamma. But one day, when… when I’m not here, you keep these with you. I want you to remember that these are yours. You are not your brothers, Levi. You are kind and shy, not hard and boisterous, ready to fight the world. You are my quiet baby boy. My sweet, sweet soul.”

  “I’m not weak,” I pushed, hating that I wasn’t like my brothers. Axel and Austin were strong and tough. I wanted to be just like them.

  Mamma pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Never, Levi. You are a Carillo boy after all. But you are different from Austin and Axel. They are alike in so many ways—hot headed and tough, hard on the outside until they let you in. You are the timid one, the gentle brother—inside and out. You are the one to carry his heart on his sleeve. You are the one who watches silently from afar and loves with all his soul.” Mamma huffed, and said, “Whoever you end up with, my son, whoever claims your heart, will be a very special girl indeed.” Her finger stroked my cheek. “So much love, mia luna. You will love with your whole being, and it will be forever. You could not love in any other way.”

  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.