The kitchen screen door squeaks as I take out the last trash bag of the day. Mable left early, so I’ve been on my own for the past few hours, which is just as well. I haven’t been much of a conversationalist today.
Partly because it’s Charity’s birthday and I wanted to indulge in a private stroll down memory lane in my head. But mostly because I made my decision about NYU this morning and I’m not sure how I feel about it yet.
I spent the past year struggling with my college plans because planning seemed pointless. Why bother plotting out the future when everything about life can change in an instant?
But life is going to happen to me no matter what. Not planning won’t keep the future from coming. So I may as well try—or better yet, hope—for something my heart wants.
So I have a plan now. And it scares the crap out of me. But it also makes me feel alive.
I hear tires on gravel at the front of the inn and then a door slam. Levi’s truck. I’d know the sound of his truck anywhere.
I throw the trash bag into the Dumpster just as he rounds the corner, looking worn-out and sweaty, but in that good kind of way. The way that feels liberating and strong and helps you sleep soundly at night.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I say back, noticing he’s got a football tucked under his arm. “Where’ve you been?”
“Uh, practice.”
I lift my brows. “Football practice?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Wow. Good. Okay. Good.” I sound dumbfounded. I am.
He laughs. “I was surprised too. Zack kind of roped me into it.”
“Good for him.” I hold my hands out and he tosses me the ball. “Whoa,” I say, catching it and turning it in my palms. “I haven’t held one of these babies in a long time.”
“Do you feel powerful?”
“Like a god. Go long.”
He blinks at me and smiles. “Go long?”
“Yeah. Go. Long.” I wind my arm up to throw and wait for him to back up.
He shrugs and takes like four steps backward.
“Seriously?” I say. “Don’t insult me.”
He lifts his hands in apology and takes a few more steps back. “Far be it from me to insult a god.”
“Keep going.” I wave him farther and farther away until we’re standing a decent distance apart in the lavender field. Then I throw a perfect arc to him.
“Damn, girl.” He catches the ball with a smile. “Who taught you how to throw?”
I shrug. “Some hotshot quarterback I knew in high school.”
He throws the ball back to me. “He sounds wildly talented—and extremely good-looking.”
“Meh.” I catch the ball. “He was okay. He was a decent ballplayer but an awful artist. The boy couldn’t draw a stick figure to save his life.” I grin and throw the ball back.
He catches it with one hand. “Stick figures are overrated.”
“So are quarterbacks.”
He shakes his head with a smile and sends it flying back to me. I catch it.
“Charity’s birthday is today,” he says.
I wasn’t sure if either of us was going to bring that fact up. But now that it’s here, out in the open, it’s… nice. It doesn’t feel sorrowful. Just true.
I throw the ball back to him. “I know. She would be turning twenty.”
He catches it. “Yep. And probably be getting herself arrested.”
He throws it back. I catch. “Or thrown out of a bar.”
I throw. He catches. “Or running away to Vegas to get married.”
Throw. Catch. “Or all of the above.”
He laughs. “Yeah, probably all of the above.”
We stand there, two thousand lavender flowers between us in the setting sun, smiling at the memory of our favorite person, and it doesn’t hurt. Not at all.
“Hey, Pix?” Levi holds the ball still and looks at me. “I’ve missed you.”
I smile. “I’ve missed you too, Leaves.”
50 Levi
Charity’s birthday is almost over.
I settle into bed and stare at the ceiling. Two minutes later, my bedroom door opens to Pixie’s silhouette.
Without a word, and by the moonlight shining into my room, she makes her way to my bed and crawls in next to me. She tucks her body up against my side and places her head in the crook of my shoulder and her hand on my chest.
My heart feels funny and I don’t know what to do, but I know I don’t want to let go. So I wrap my arm around her and pull her close, resting my cheek against her head like we’re kids again and no tragedy has marred us.
Charity’s not here, but Pixie is. And that makes everything okay.
Not perfect, but okay.
I pull a sheet over us and, with my arms around the best piece of the worst thing that ever happened to me, I close my eyes and fall asleep.
51 Pixie
Levi’s steady heart pulses against my ear, and I’m completely surrounded by his body heat. His room is dark and quiet as I draw in a slow, deep breath.
God, I’ve missed him. His strength. His friendship. So much so that I could cry right now. I didn’t realize how much I needed this—needed HIM—until right this moment. I nuzzle my face against the soft cotton of his T-shirt where it’s safe and warm and smells like the boy who makes up all my memories.
52 Levi
Three days and hundreds of plays later, I’m sweaty and exhausted and more alive than I’ve felt in months. God, it feels good to do something I’m good at and have a purpose outside of the inn.
I didn’t mean to keep coming to practice, but Coach kept asking and my stupid mouth kept saying yes. So here I am again, after three hours of grueling workouts and running plays, sweating my ass off as we wrap up the day. And I love it.
I bullshit with the guys for a little while before heading home. Another storm is moving in as I drive along. I can tell from the dark purple hue of the clouds and the violent shades of orange in the sunset sky that this one will be big and powerful.
By the time I park, rain is coming down in buckets and the parking lot is a giant puddle of mud. I splash my way to the back door by the kitchen—not the front door since I know Eva hates it when I track in mud—and let myself inside as the purple clouds turn to gray and hide the sunset completely. The outside world is a dark mess of wind and rain as the kitchen lights flicker on and off. I wipe my feet on the mat and head down the back corridor, running smack into Pixie.
Her curves press against my soaking-wet body and mold to me with heat as she looks up through startled eyelashes.