Best Kind of Broken

by Chelsea Fine

  Pixie looks at me for a second before moving toward Mable. Once she’s out of the kitchen, my heart starts beating again and I hurry back to the lobby. Ellen is guiding people out of their rooms and to the back doors as Angelo leads everyone to the gazebo.

  “Where’s the fire?” Ellen yells over the blaring lobby.

  I shake my head. “There isn’t one!”

  “What?” She can’t hear me over the alarm and the rushing guests.

  I run back to the control panel and disengage the alarm, throwing the inn into silence. As the last of the guests hurry out the back door, I start running around the west wing just in case, looking in every room, sniffing the air. Nothing. I search the dining room, the bathrooms, but there’s no fire anywhere.

  As I make my way back to the lobby, I slowly start to relax. There’s no danger. Pixie’s fine.

  “What happened?” Ellen asks, standing by the front desk, looking incredibly stressed.

  “Something must have tripped the kitchen alarm,” I say. “It was probably the rain seeping into the old wiring system.”

  “No fire?” Pixie, who clearly didn’t follow Mable’s orders and join everyone under the gazebo, comes up to Ellen with a concerned look.

  “No fire,” Ellen confirms.

  My eyes catch on Pixie’s, and we stare at each other. Powdered sugar is still on her cheek. Why is my heart pounding?

  “Charity’s on the phone.”

  We whip our heads to Haley, who is holding a phone out to Ellen.

  “Charity from the alarm company,” Haley quickly clarifies, looking at us apologetically.

  “Oh.” Ellen takes the phone and walks away as she answers.

  “Good grief, woman! Answering the phones?” Angelo shouts at Haley from the back door. “What, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Get your cute butt out here, where I know you’re safe.”

  “I’m coming. Geez.” She hurries toward the door. “I had to get the phone, Ang. It was Charity from the alarm company…” Their voices disappear as the back door closes.

  And then it’s just Pixie and me, standing in the lobby, thinking about Charity and not making eye contact.

  I should say something she needs to hear.

  Something like, I’m sorry I killed your best friend.

  Or, I’m sorry I almost got you killed.

  Or better yet, I’m sorry I intervened with fate and fucked everything up.

  But I say nothing. I realize my guilt isn’t entirely rational, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling it.

  Pixie looks at me with unreadable eyes and swallows. “I’m glad you’re okay. When I first heard the alarm go off—” She presses her lips together. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  And for the second time today, my heart stops.

  “Pix, I… if anything ever…” Am I brave enough to say something real here? Something honest? “I’m glad you’re okay too,” I say, because I’m chickenshit.

  She nods, and we stand in silence.

  I shift my weight. “About the other day—”

  “It’s fine.” She waves me off.

  “No, it’s not.” I shake my head. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have called you a whore. I’m an ass and I’m sorry. I really am.”

  She shrugs. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.”

  I slowly nod. Sure. That’s what we’re good at: pretending things didn’t happen.

  21

  Pixie

  When I was seven years old, I spent nearly every weekend at Charity’s house. On one of these nights, while sleeping beside my bestie in our matching My Little Pony sleeping bags under the glow of her night-light, I woke up shaking from a nightmare, convinced there were monsters out to get me.

  I tiptoed out of Charity’s bedroom and headed for the bathroom—for some reason I thought bathrooms were monster-free zones—and on my way down the dark hallway, I heard a voice.

  “What are you doing?” Levi whispered.

  He scared the crap out of me, and I totally jumped and started crying and blabbing about my scary dream and how there were monsters everywhere and how I was going to die.

  He looked at me like I was crazy as tears and boogers ran down my face.

  “Don’t cry, Pixie. Hey…” He stepped out of his room and hesitantly pulled me into an awkward boy hug. “If I see any monsters, I’ll punch them until they turn into mush, okay?”

  My tears and boogers started to subside as I shook in his skinny arms. If Levi would mush monsters for me, I knew I was safe.

  “Want to see something cool?” he asked, no doubt trying to distract me.

  I nodded.

  He led me to an upstairs window overlooking their backyard, opened it, and climbed out onto the porch roof below, motioning for me to follow. I did, and we sat side by side on the roof and stared up at the night sky.

  “This is what I do when I have a bad dream,” he said. “There aren’t any monsters out here.” He sounded very matter-of-fact, in his Superman pajamas and messy hair.

  As I took in the twinkling stars and quiet shadows of the night, I realized he was right. There weren’t any monsters outside. Or at least none when I was sitting beside Levi.

  That was the first time Levi Andrews was my hero.

  And yesterday, when he thought I was hurt and he looked scared out of his mind, it was like he was that eight-year-old boy again. Protecting me. Looking at me like I was worth saving. And it made me want to cry for everything that we’d lost. Everything I’d ruined the night I let Charity drive drunk.

  I swallow, trying to push the memory back into the cold corner of my mind where most of my childhood is locked up, and step out of my bedroom.

  Levi’s in the shower, hogging all the hot water again, and I’m both mad and relieved. Yesterday’s scare broke the silence between us, and with it came an unspoken truce. And I’ll take a cold shower over a cold shoulder any day.

  When he finally emerges from the steamy bathroom, I put on my best “I’m pissed” look and stare him down in the hallway. He’s wearing only a towel, of course, and I’m momentarily distracted.

  “Waiting outside the door, Pix?” He slants his eyes with a cocky smile. “Have you been missing me?”

  I raise a bored eyebrow. “Only with my shotgun.”

  Okay, it’s a cheesy line, but come on. It’s early. And he’s only wearing a towel. I can’t be expected to whip out witty comments when I’m sleepy and aroused.

  I try to step around him and enter the bathroom, but he blocks my path. With his bare chest just inches from my face, the textured skin of his nipple catches my eye and white-hot desire darts through me. It’s all I can do not to lick him.

  This is what I’ve been reduced to. Nipple-licking fantasies.

  “If you want to see me naked that bad, all you have to do is ask.” He winks.

  “Move, asshole.” I push against his chest with my hand, damp heat wrapping around my wrist, and move him out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

  When he speaks, his chest vibrates and the current runs up my arm. “Ah, Pix. You know you love me.”

  I remove my hand from his chest. “I know I loathe you.”

  “Promises, promises,” he says with a crooked smile as I start to shut the bathroom door.

  But for a moment—for a super-tiny second, right before I close the door on his face—our eyes meet in a vulnerable gaze.

  No facades. No snarky remarks. Just him and me, seeing each other. Knowing the hard things we wish we didn’t and wanting to undo things we can’t. It’s raw and it’s honest and it makes me want to cry.

  But he blinks.

  And I blink.

  And then it’s gone.

  The bathroom door latches shut, and I’m left alone in the spearmint bathroom with my scar and an endless supply of cold water.

  22

  Levi

  Note to self: Do not look in Pixie’s eyes. From now on, stare at her mouth or her nose or… just anywhere els
e. But not her eyes. Her eyes see inside me and know the things I’m too afraid to say out loud.

  On my way to Ellen’s office I pass Haley, who quickly looks away.

  She feels bad about saying the name Charity yesterday, and how stupid is that? People shouldn’t be so afraid of Pixie and me that they can’t even speak Charity’s name around us. That’s bullshit. Pixie and I are fine.

  I rub the back of my neck because that’s a lie straight from hell.

  I turn a corner and pace down the back hallway.

  Most people who lose someone close to them support each other through the tragedy.

  Not Pix and I.

  After Charity died, Pixie and I just stopped talking.

  In fact, the first time I saw Pixie after Charity’s funeral was just a few weeks ago, when she started working at the inn. And her presence took me by complete surprise.

  I walked out of my bedroom and there she was, in her yellow dress, looking lost and found at the same time.

  Little Pixie, whom I had spent my whole life loving and one night destroying, was standing outside my bedroom with pink toenails, a blue suitcase, and a look on her face that made me feel like I was home.

  And God, I wanted to be home.

  But guilt’s a hungry bastard, so any thoughts I had about hugging her and begging her to forgive me for hurting Charity—for hurting her—were swallowed alive by the shame in my soul.

  We stood in the hall, staring at each other in confusion for a minute before a very strained conversation took place.

  “Uh… what are you…?” I had no words.

  She licked her lips. “I just started working here. In the kitchen. For my aunt. School’s out, and I couldn’t stand the idea of staying with my mom.”

  “Oh.” I nodded, staring at her mouth. “Ellen must have forgotten to mention that to me.”

  She shifted her weight. “What, uh… what are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  “Oh.”

  I paused. “And I live here.”

  Her eyes widened briefly, then turned expressionless. “Really.” She inhaled. “Ellen didn’t tell me that.”

  Awkward silence.

  I cleared my throat. “So if you’re working in the kitchen, what brings you up here, to the east wing?”

  She bit her lip. “Uh, my room’s up here?”

  “Your room?”

  “Yeah, I uh… I live here now. Too.” She pointed to the bedroom door next to mine, and I nodded, thrilled and terrified. Mostly terrified.

  “So I guess we’ll be sharing a bathroom.”

  Her eyes moved between me and the bathroom, then slid to our bedroom doors. “I guess so.”

  We locked gazes, and suddenly that stupid pigeon of sexual tension was in the air, swooping all around us.

  Once again, I cleared my throat. “I’ll be seeing you, then.” Then I left down the stairs, trying to outrun the heat from her body and her pretty green eyes.

  That was the first conversation we’d had since the night of the accident, and in all the conversations since then, we’ve never once mentioned Charity’s name.

  We exist as though Charity is still alive. I treat Pixie like she’s my annoying little sister, and she treats me the same way. It works. It helps. And it’s familiar.

  Except we’re not like siblings. At all.

  I reach Ellen’s office and rap my knuckles against her door.

  “Come in,” she says from within.

  I let myself in and leave the door open. “Do you have my list for today?”

  She looks up from her computer screen and hands me a piece of paper, looking exhausted and stressed out.

  “What’s up?” I take the list from her hand.

  She sighs and rubs her temples. “Yesterday was a disaster. I can’t have the fire alarm go off every time it rains. Guests will just freak out.”

  I shrug. “So install an updated system.”

  “Right. I know.” She looks back at the computer. “I just don’t know where to start. I’ve been looking up alarm systems all morning and there are so many and I have a ton of other work to do and a bunch of new guests are arriving this afternoon, and I’m just so overwhelmed.”

  “I’ll do it.” I smile, partly because I’m sincere in my offer and partly because Ellen reminds me of Pixie when she rambles like that. “I’ll do research and figure out what type of alarm system would suit the inn best.”

  Her hazel eyes light up. “Really? Ah! Levi, that would be great.”

  Haley knocks on the open office door and finds my eyes. “You have, uh… visitors.”

  I frown. “Visitors?”

  “Visitors.”

  “O-kay.” I look back at Ellen. “I’ll start doing research this week—sound good?”

  She smiles brightly. “Sounds excellent.”

  Leaving her office, I follow Haley back to the lobby, where I find Zack staring at the Fourth of July flyer by the front door—and beside him is his goat, on a leash.

  “Seriously?” I say as I near them. “You brought the goat inside?”

  He turns. “He has a name, you know. Marvin.”

  “You brought the goat inside.”

  “Well, I can’t leave him in the car. He cries and screams and it’s very unsettling. It’s like toting around a hairy toddler.” Zack points to the flyer. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

  “About the Fourth of July thing?”

  “No. About the cornhole tournament at the Fourth of July thing. We are so doing this.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  Ellen walks past the lobby in her high heels, stops in her tracks, and turns back around to face Zack.

  She points at Marvin. “Is that a goat?”

  Zack nods once. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “In my lobby?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But he’s a friendly goat.”

  Ellen plasters on a polite smile. “I don’t care if he’s a tap-dancing goat. I want him out of here.”

  “Ooh. Harsh,” he says. “But fair. Come on, boy.” He pulls Marvin away from the activities board, where he was chewing on a flyer for bingo night.

  Ellen turns to leave, her heels clicking on the wood floor as she sings out, “Thank you, Zack. Always a pleasure to see you.”

  “You too, Ms. Marshall,” Zack calls out, lowering his voice as he watches her walk away with his lips parted. “Trust me, the pleasure is all mine…”

  “Dude.” I stare at him. “Stop it.”

  He yanks his eyes away from Ellen and mocks an innocent grin. “What?”

  I shake my head. “Come on.”

  Zack and Marvin and I walk out the back doors and stand beside the lavender field as the morning sun slips behind a few leftover storm clouds. The smell of rain still clings to the humid air, but otherwise the storm has cleared out.

  I cross my arms. “So why are you here?”

  “Very blunt. I like it.” Zack pulls Marvin away from the potted flowers Ellen has flanking the back door. “You’re being a stubborn jackass.”

  I raise a brow. “Me? Or the goat?”

  “Both of you, really.” Zack tries to unwind himself from the leash as Marvin starts walking around him in circles. “But mostly you.” I watch Marvin yank on the leash and nearly trip Zack.

  “I doubt that,” I say.

  Zack unwinds from the twisted leash and exhales as he looks at me. “Coach said you haven’t even responded to Dean Maxwell’s request.”

  I run a hand over my head and mutter, “Not this again.”

  “It’s one fucking essay, dude. You can do that. Hell, you can pay someone to do that.”

  “It’s more than an essay,” I say. “It’s me. I lost focus. And I don’t know if I even want to go back.”

  He steps over the leash as Marvin moves in circles again. “So what, then? You’re just going to fix toilets for the rest of your life?”

  I shrug, a thin burst of stress la
yering my skin. “Maybe.”

  That’s my biggest fear. There’s nothing shameful about being a handyman. In a way, it’s actually pretty rewarding work. But it’s not what I want for my life, and with every day that passes I feel any future in something other than handiwork slipping farther and farther away.

  He curses and pulls Marvin away from the nearby lavender flowers. “You’re unbelievable. And selfish.”

  “Me? Or the goat?”

  Zack looks up. “YOU, dude.”

  “I’m selfish?”

  “Yes,” he says, completely serious. “Me and the guys chose to be on this team because Levi Fucking Andrews was going to be our quarterback. This isn’t just about you anymore. Don’t screw us over, man. Get your goddamn head figured out and come back and play.”

  Well… shit.

  The kitchen’s back door opens and Pixie comes out carrying a bag of trash. She throws it away, completely oblivious to us, until Zack opens his giant mouth.

  “Sarah!” he shouts out merrily.

  Her face breaks into a wide grin. “Hey, Zack.” Her smile slips a bit as her eyes catch on mine, then quickly move back to Zack. “How’ve you be—is that a goat?”

  Marvin bleats out a noise that sounds eerily similar to the cry of a small child.

  “This is Marvin,” he says. “He eats everything and yells like a distressed baby to get attention. I’m goat-sitting him this summer.”

  “Why?” She steps to the side as Marvin tries to lick her apron. “Did you lose a bet?”

  He grins. “Better. I gained a phone number.”

  She shakes her head. “You will do anything for a hot girl.”

  “Present company included.” He winks.

  “In that case…” She gestures to me. “Think you can get this schmuck to stop using all the hot water so I don’t have to take a cold shower every morning?”

  I glare at her, but she simply cocks an eyebrow in return.

  “Levi is depriving you of hot showers?” Zack turns to me and slowly says, “Interesting.”

  I look at Pixie. “Maybe you could set an alarm and hog the hot water yourself.”

  She says, “Maybe you could shower at night and save us both the trouble.”

  “Maybe you could quit nagging me.”