Best Kind of Broken

30 Levi

It was a false alarm, the fire drill. The feeling of belonging when Pixie had her arms around me.

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.