Sweet Hope

by Tillie Cole

  “You… you ever felt guilt like that, Aliyana?”

  My heart fluttered at the way Elpidio spoke my name, his tongue wrapping around the Spanish pronunciation perfectly. As I met his eyes, his gaze implored me to answer his question.

  Sadly I shook my head. I didn’t carry anything close to the level of guilt portrayed in this piece. In fact, I doubted many did.

  Teeth clenched, Elpidio abruptly got to his feet and darted for the exit.

  “Are you leaving?” I asked, my voice laced with disappointment. Elpidio stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Yes,” he growled low. His voice was broken, but I didn’t think it was in anger, more in distress.

  I sensed how badly he wanted to leave. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and his broad muscled back bunched impossibly tight under the thin material of his shirt.

  I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to explain every piece to me like he did with the man split by daggers. I wanted to see this world he’d created through his eyes. I wanted to talk to the man whose work I cherished more than any collection I’d ever studied or seen. I wanted him to explain his life-journey so I could create the exhibition his genius deserved. And if I were being true to myself, I wanted to get to know him too.

  “Please,” I whispered desperately and Elpidio cautiously turned to face me.

  The expression he wore wasn’t welcoming. In fact, it could only be described as downright threatening. But I had an insatiable need to know more. I didn’t know Elpidio, not at all. But something inside of me wanted to help him heal.

  One thing was true. I knew his work. I’d had a glimpse of the real man inside through every curve of his marble creations. He could hide behind the tattoos and long hair, but he couldn’t hide what he displayed in plain sight. His sculptures were him screaming to the world that he was flawed.

  “You never name your work,” I stated as Elpidio’s eyes tensed in overt agitation. I stepped forward, looking up nervously through my long lashes. “Your work… you never give them titles.”

  Elpidio shrugged, but that flash of insecurity—or was it reluctance?—I’d seen earlier, again washed across his face. I stepped forward again. He didn’t back away as we stood toe to toe.

  My hands were shaking. He was so beautifully fascinating… that Latin skin, those forbidding facial tattoos, the heavy coating of ink that covered the real man who lay beneath.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why leave your beautiful pieces nameless? Naming them gives them life. A baptism of your creation, so to speak.”

  He glared at me. I swallowed hard, feeling rattled. But Elpidio, this time, leaned forward to me, and a chill ran down my spine in anticipation of what he would do.

  “Naming them makes it all too fucking real,” he whispered, his hot breath skirting past my face.

  “I don’t underst—” I went to argue, but Elpidio cut me off with his severe expression.

  “I don’t fucking deserve all this. I deserve none of this shit… Believe me… I never fucking wanted it… but I got it all the damn same.”

  I inhaled a ragged breath as his large body towered over me. I fluttered my eyes to meet his. His almost-ebony eyes flared with heat.

  “That’s not true,” I whispered. His work, more than anyone’s, deserved to be on display. People should see his works of art.

  “You don’t know me, girl,” he disagreed through gritted teeth.

  “I know your work,” I countered, my heart breaking into a sprint at his surge of aggression and his condescending use of the word ‘girl.’ “More than anyone else, I know your work…”

  Elpidio watched me so intently that I thought I might collapse under the weight of his stare. Then, to my utter surprise, he dropped his scowl and his eyes dulled with defeat. His hand reached up and took a strand of my long hair between his finger and thumb, rubbing them together, before his gaze locked on to mine.

  The air seemed as thick as the densest fog around us, until Elpidio dropped my hair as though it were a naked flame. A startled, disbelieving expression set clearly on his face, like he was shocked he’d just touched me.

  He quickly turned on his heel.

  This time I knew he was leaving, regardless of my protest. As he threw open the heavy curtains, I asked, “The titles…?”

  Elpidio’s fist wrapped around the black material and his head dropped. “Do you really need them that much?” he asked shortly.

  A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. “They would help me… immensely. People like to put a name to a sculpture, and they love it if there’s some explanation behind its creation. The press like it too, so they can reference their favorite piece in their reviews. I’ve already had requests for that from some major industry heavy hitters.”

  “Fuck sake,” he hissed under his breath, but I heard it. I waited on tenterhooks for his answer, every part of me trembling from our strange encounter, when he finally dropped his shoulders. “Fine, whatever.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, my stomach swirling with butterflies.

  Elpidio drew the curtains. “I’ll come by ‘round the same time tomorrow night.”

  “Okay,” I replied, heat infusing my blood at the thought of working with him again.

  Just as he turned to leave, I quickly asked, “Elpidio?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn.

  “Any chance you’re from Bama?” His shoulders stiffened. “I only ask because I’m from Birmingham, and I picked up on your accent too.”

  He hesitated. “Mobile,” he reluctantly replied, quietly. A small smile spread on my lips at the thought we were from the same state, when he added, “It’s Elpi. Elpi,” he emphasized.

  “Okay,” I whispered, wanting to say more. But then Elpi pounded through the parted curtains, leaving me next to the sculpture we’d just discussed. As it sat in the glare of the silver moonlight, I gave a long drawn-out exhale, as a cold shiver of realization engulfed me.

  Elpidio, Elpi, is this pained, wounded man laying on the floor, the man bleeding guilt…

  Chapter Seven

  Axel

  “You don’t know me, girl,”

  “I know your work.” Aliyana’s Spanish eyes flared with conviction. “More than anyone else, I know your work…”

  As I circled the untouched slab of marble before me, my chest bare and sweaty from my recent workout, the curator’s words kept circling around my head. “I know your work… More than anyone else, I know your work…”

  Aliyana. Damn Aliyana Lucia for getting in my fucking head.

  From the minute I’d seen her two nights ago in the gallery, catching me by the marble angel, I’d been shocked fucking speechless.

  I’d never seen any chick look like her. I’d never seen anyone with eyes that bright, hair that dark, or a smile that fucking blinding. In the past, I’d gotten pussy whenever I’d wanted. Plenty of Italiano trash whores around the trailer park to sink into for a quick wet fuck. But never had a chick of her standing paid me one bit of attention. Fuck, I’d barely even seen a woman in five years, let alone got laid… Then she’s the first one to pay me any attention, tripping over her words as though I was the greatest thing on Earth.

  Then last night, Aliyana waited for me to show up. Me. I could barely fucking wrap my head round that fact. I should’ve stayed away. I never wanted anyone involved with this shitty exhibition to ever know what I looked like. But morbid curiosity of what my show could look like drew me back to that damn gallery night after night… curious to see the sculptures I’d spent months creating, sculptures I hadn’t seen in so long... and there she was, looking at me with her stunning fucking face, all excited to meet fucking Elpidio.

  Elpidio, a fictional artist. Elpidio, the sculptor that the prissy fucking art world had fallen in love with. But no one, no one—but Vin—knew Elpidio was actually Axel Carillo. Some fucked-up ex-con from a trailer park. And no fucker had time for him.

  Axel Carillo, the thirty-year-old ex con who got a reduced sen
tence for selling out a drug supplier to the feds. Axel Carillo, the once famed second-in-command to the Heighters, the hardest and most brutal gang member to own that piece of turf. And Axel Carillo, the fuck-up of a man that broke his dying mamma’s heart and led the two best brothers a guy could ask for to ruin.

  Axel Carillo deserved to live in fucking misery for what he’d done.

  Axel Carillo deserved to be treated like scum.

  Axel Carillo didn’t deserve another chance at life.

  Nah, Aliyana Lucia may think the sun shined out of Elpidio’s ass, but my brothers knew the real me. They knew who I really was deep down. Shit, the way Levi treated me every time he saw me told me that much.

  Only two hours ago had he shown me just how much he couldn’t stand me, and he didn’t hold back his words while he did so…

  *****

  Sitting at the breakfast table, I sipped my black coffee, like I did every day, watching as Lexi cooked at the stove, Austin’s arms wrapped around her waist. They didn’t give a shit I was in here, or at least Austin didn’t. There he stood with his lips kissing along Lexi’s neck.

  As much as I didn’t want to see my little brother slobbering all over his skinny wife, I loved seeing him this happy.

  At that moment, Lexi turned her head to face me and immediately blushed. Austin followed her gaze and started laughing when he saw what had his little woman so embarrassed.

  “You’re too fuckin’ cute, Pix,” Austin said and, pressing a kiss on Lexi’s cheek, came to sit opposite me. Lexi plated up their eggs and sat down beside her husband, slowly lifting her fork to cut up her food. She kept her eyes downcast as she methodically chewed on each forkful of eggs. I caught Austin checking on her from time to time, his hand dropping down to lay on her leg.

  For a minute, my gut clenched as I thought of how much my mamma would’ve loved to have seen her pride and joy this happy. And she would’ve fucking doted on Lexi. She’d have been the daughter Mamma’d never had.

  That one thought of my mamma had my eyes closing and my throat fighting a huge lump.

  “You good, Axe?” Austin asked.

  My eyes snapped open, and I could see his eyebrows pulled down as he watched me.

  “Yeah,” I replied huskily, coughing and shifting on my seat.

  Austin eyed me skeptically but didn’t push it. “So,” Austin said, getting up from the table to get us more coffee. As he filled my cup and sat back down, I waited for what he wanted to say. “You’ve been working real long hours at that market. Seems like all the fucking time.”

  As always my heart beat hard when Austin brought up my cover. I fucking hated lying to them all, but I just couldn’t tell them what I was really doing in Seattle.

  “Picking up more shifts. Working as much as I can,” I mumbled vaguely.

  “Overnight?” Austin questioned.

  “A guy I work with has a place nearby. I sometimes crash there. But I work night shifts too.”

  “A guy you work with?” Austin probed, and Lexi looked up, worry in her eyes. Austin shifted on his seat. “An ex-con?”

  My eyes narrowed at my little brother. “What if he is?” I asked. “So am I, Aust.”

  Austin opened his mouth to reply, when another voice cut in instead. “Of course he is, Aust. Axe only hangs with fucking losers. Remember Gio? He was Axe’s puppet master back in Bama, hey?”

  I closed my eyes briefly and tried to breathe through Lev’s oncoming rant. He launched into them daily, his words trying to crop me the fuck down.

  “They’re probably not working late. He’s probably back selling coke. The only thing he was ever good at. A snow entrepreneur.”

  Every part of me froze at the mention of my dealing, and I turned to glare at Levi, who was leaning back against the granite countertop, making a protein shake. My baby brother was shooting daggers at me with his gray eyes.

  It’d been like this since I’d arrived. Most days he ignored me, the rest of the time he tried to shoot me down, tried to make me feel like the fucking loser they all believed I was.

  The first few days, I put up with his shit, tried to coast the tide of anger. But recently, I’d been crashing at my studio more. Had Vin put in a bed for me there. Didn’t wanna be here, where I wasn’t wanted. Didn’t wanna fuck up Lev’s life more than I already had.

  “Levi, stop!” Lexi said tiredly, but I put up my hand to stop her.

  I locked gazes with my fratellino. “Believe it or not, kid, I ain’t into that shit no more.”

  A knowing smirk spread on Levi’s mouth. “Yeah, Axe? You reformed now?”

  “Si, Lev, I am. Just trying to get on with my life.”

  Levi gripped the shaker in his hand and stepped forward, his face beaming red. “You know, I used to believe that God looked after good people, but looking at you sitting here in this house after everything you did to me, Aust, and Lex just doesn’t sit right.” Lev leaned forward, and for a minute, I thought the kid was gonna try and hit me, but he pulled back last minute. “You killed people, Axe, for nothing more than turf. You made Austin and me shoot guys from the Kings, and what makes me more pissed than anything is Mamma fucking died. Mamma, the best woman that ever existed, fucking died while you got to live. You!”

  My chest tightened as I watched tears fill Lev’s eyes. I wanted to do nothing more than stand up and fucking pull him to my chest and tell him I was sorry. But no way would he let me do that.

  “Lev, you’d better wind your fucking neck in, now,” Austin warned. Lev darted his eyes to Austin, then focused back on me.

  “It’s okay, Aust. Let him say what he wants. He obviously wants to get it off his chest,” I said coolly, which only served to piss Lev off more.

  “Axel, no one should be spoken to like that,” Lexi said quietly, and it was the only time in his whole performance that I saw Lev lose his tough thug act.

  Never breaking Levi’s gaze, I shook my head at Lexi. “Let him say whatever he wants to say, Lexi. It’s been a long time coming.”

  Levi’s gray eyes lit with fire, and I was sure if he had a gun, I’d be taking a shot of lead to the head. He leaned down farther. “Work at your fucking fish market, Axe. But know nothing you do will ever make me forgive you. You’re nothing but trash.”

  Levi walked out of the house, and I sat at the table, still gripping my coffee, the mug almost cracking under my tight grip.

  “Axe, fuck, he shouldn’t have said all that about Mamma—” Austin tried to say, but I stood, cutting him off, washed my cup out in the sink, and placed it on the drainer.

  Closing my eyes and inhaling to fight back the fucking devastation washing through me, I said, “He’s right, Aust. Everything he said was right.” I looked up to see Austin and Lexi watching me with sympathetic eyes.

  I didn’t want no fucking pity. It only pissed me off more. I wasn’t a damn charity case.

  Pushing off the counter, I walked past my brother and wife, but not before saying, “If I could trade places with Mamma, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I deserve to be dead. I ain’t never done nothing good in my whole life. Lev’s right. I’m trash.”

  *****

  Feeling the cold metal of the hammer in my hands, I began slamming it down on the large chunks of gray-veined Pavonazzo marble that I wouldn’t need on this sculpture. With each blow I felt each one of Levi’s words strike my chest like I was being torn apart.

  What the hell have I done to that kid?

  I’d fucking destroyed him, that’s what. Me, the guy who was meant to have protected him, had fucking destroyed him.

  Marble dust clouded the room. Looking at the clay cast I’d created as a template for the real thing, I took my hammer and smashed it straight through the center, two clay pieces crashing to the floor.

  The hammer hung at my side. I panted with exertion, the muscles in my arms throbbing with the heavy weight of the tool.

  I remained still, staring at the marble. Before I knew it, I’d picked up my pointed chisel and beg
an chipping out a new outline. A certain image pushed its way into my mind, my hands giving it life.

  I worked like a crazed man. Hours and hours passed as I chipped at the marble, the definition eventually taking form.

  I worked so long that the gray skies gave way to the black of night and a strong wind pelted the long windows of the studio overlooking the Sound.

  Muscles aching, body exhausted, I took a step back, assessing the sculpture. I had to turn away. I couldn’t bear to look at it.

  As I turned, my eyes filled with water. My normal uncontrollable anger took hold, sparked by a truckload of self-hatred. Then, I noticed Vin standing in the doorway, staring at the unfinished sculpture, a blank expression on his old face.

  “How long have you been there?” I asked, gritting my teeth as I went to pick up a towel I’d thrown on my tools. I wiped my face.

  “A while,” Vin said, as he shuffled his ageing body into the room, his wooden cane by his side. I tensed as he came closer. I hated anyone seeing my work at any point, but especially when it was in progress. I couldn’t take the judgment.

  Vin walked to the sculpture with drawn eyebrows and slowly circled it. I ignored him and walked to pick up my pack of smokes. I lit one and took a long drag.

  Vin shuffled over to me, I could see him looking about the sparse studio. His eyes targeted the large double bed in the far corner.

  “You’ve been staying here a lot?” he asked.

  “I work late.”

  Vin nodded, but I could see the concern in his eyes. I blew out a long cloud of smoke.

  I didn’t get why anyone fucking cared.

  “I know you work late, Elpi. It’s nearing one in the morning.”

  I ran my hand down my face. Shit, I’d been here all damn day.

  I slowly turned my head to look at Vin. “Nearly one a.m.?”

  “Yes, it’s twelve forty-five,” he replied in confusion. “I’ve been out at dinner with friends and thought I’d drop by. I just knew you’d be awake. I have to go back to New York in the morning, so wanted to say a quick goodbye. My work will keep me away until nearer the opening of your show.”