I don’t bother explaining my wet clothes as I slosh downstairs to turn off the shrieking noise. Guests everywhere are fussing around, overreacting to the excitement.
Ellen’s in the lobby, assuring everyone that there is no fire as she leads them out back, per alarm protocol. “This is just a drill,” she explains. People hear this, but they still want to chat about the near-death experience they just had.
The only person in the whole place who just had a near-death experience was me. I almost died in the shower just now with Pixie on fire in my arms and my selfish body just burning alive with her.
What the hell was I thinking?
Never mind. I know what I was thinking.
Why the hell did I give in?
Never mind. I know that too.
But that doesn’t make it right. And if I’m trying to atone for anything in my life, I’m certainly not going to find my salvation with the one person who should resent my very existence.
I walk to the back hall, passing by flustered guests who stare at me and my sopping clothes like I’m a crazy person, to the system control box and turn the alarm off.
There is an audible sigh of relief, a brief moment of silence, and then the chaos erupts again. More chatter about the “great fire” that didn’t happen as people file out the back door.
I walk over to Ellen, who eyes me up and down. Her gaze lingers on my very stretched-out wet shirt collar and she raises a brow.
I don’t explain.
She looks around. “Where’s Pixie?”
Like we’re supposed to travel in pairs or something.
“How should I know?” And shit, I said that with a ferocity that was only going to raise questions.
“You two share the same wing, Levi,” she says. “What if there was a fire and she was trapped in it? The purpose of a drill is to practice being safe. Did you even look for her before you came downstairs?”
First of all, fuck that.
I would never leave Pixie to die. I might leave her wet and shaking in a hot shower with her clothes on, but I sure as hell wouldn’t leave her at the mercy of a fire.
Second, whoa.
If Ellen doesn’t know me well enough to know that I’d never let anyone—especially Pixie—die, then I should be shot dead on the spot.
I open my mouth to retort to Ellen in a very offensive and curse-filled way, when I catch the teasing glimmer in her eye.
Damn women.
“Pixie’s fine,” I say.
Ellen looks me up and down again. “You sure about that?”
Wow. I’m never living in a building filled with females ever again. They think they know everything.
“I’m sure,” I say. “Do you need help with anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Right, then. I’ll make sure everyone has evacuated.” I search the inn for any leftover guests, careful to avoid the east wing.
After the chaos dies down, I go back upstairs, taking my sweet time so I don’t accidentally run into Pixie. When I reach the top, I grab some clothes from my room and head to the bathroom.
Pixie is gone and the bathroom doesn’t smell like lavender, so I’m assuming she didn’t stick around for very long after I left her in the water. The mirror is still fogged up, though.
My chest tightens as I turn on the shower.
I need a cold shower, which apparently won’t be a problem because all the hot water is gone.
31 Pixie
I sneak down to the laundry room while Levi’s in the shower, carrying my wet pajamas in my hand. I don’t know why, but I’m wearing the most hideous clothes I own—a pair of plaid sweatpants and a large gray T-shirt that has a ripped collar and a grease stain on the front.
I’m heavily clothed, but I’m still cold.
When I arrive, I’m sure I’m safe because Ellen never comes to the tiny laundry room in the west wing. Never.
“Hi, Pix,” Ellen says behind me, and I want to cuss.
“Hi,” I say in a far-too-cheery voice as I turn around. I try to tuck my wet clothes under my arm without drawing attention to the obvious wet mark they’re branding onto my stupid gray T-shirt.
Ellen sees the clothes and smiles at me. “Doing laundry?”
I nod.
“With only”—she looks down—“two items?”
“Yep.” I nod. “I’m just trying to stay on top of things. These are my favorite pajamas. And I washed them in the sink to conserve energy.”
Okay, clearly, I suck at lying—Ellen knows this. And really, Pixie? Giving three excuses about why your clothes are wet when she didn’t even ask is a dead giveaway.
I pinch my lips together.
Ellen stares me down. “Spill it.”
“No.”
“Spill it.”
“No.” I throw my two items in the washing machine and cross my arms. I’m an impenetrable wall. I’m a fortress of silence. I’m—
“Does this have something to do with Levi?”
“Yes.”
Damn. I suck at being a fortress.
“Want to talk about it?” Ellen leans against the doorway and drapes her dark hair over her shoulder.
“No. I don’t want to talk about it. I want Levi to talk about it. I want him to look at me and stop seeing Charity and all the sadness and I want him to let himself love me again.” I’m totally talking about it, but now I can’t stop. “I mean, what the hell? He and Charity were my best friends. They were my whole life, and then Charity died and Levi just… just left me! And now it’s like we’re totally different people.” I say this loudly and realize I’m about to cry. “We’re not the same anymore. We’re not Levi and Pixie, Transformer and Barbie. We’re not the Three Musketeers with dreams and futures. Charity is dead and my heart is lost and Levi is a mess and I don’t… I don’t… I don’t…”
I start crying and Ellen pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair in a way my own mother would never have done. “I don’t know how to love him anymore,” I say into Ellen’s soft shirt as tears spill from my eyes.
She squeezes me. “Sure you do. Love doesn’t just stop, Pixie. It’s always there.”
I pull away and wipe at my face, frustrated for crying. “But he feels so far away from me. I just want him back. But I’m so…” I search for the word. “I’m so angry with him. For abandoning me. For letting me hurt without him. For forgetting me.”
She shakes her head. “He didn’t forget you.”
“He did.”
“No. He was just hurting, Pix. Levi lost a lot after the accident. He lost Charity, and then he lost his parents—”
“But he didn’t lose me.” My voice cracks.