Best Kind of Broken

34 Levi

I occupy myself with outdoor jobs all day before heading back inside, hoping to avoid Sandra Marshall.

There are only three ways I can enter the inn. I can go through the front door—but Sandra might be in the lobby. I can go through the main back door—but Sandra might be in the library or by Ellen’s office. Or I can go through the kitchen’s back door.

Kitchen it is.

I wipe my shoes on the mat outside and let myself in.

“Hey, handsome.” Mable smiles warmly at me. “I made honey croissants. Want some?”

“Always.” I take a croissant from her and bring it to my mouth. Pixie’s over by the sink, her hair pulled back from her face so her cheeks and nose look extra small. Her yellow apron is covered in flour and what looks like chocolate, and I notice she’s wearing nicer clothes than usual.

Our eyes meet.

She looks away.

Sandra enters the kitchen and frowns at Mable. “Croissants are not good for a woman your age. Are you trying to die?”

Mable arches a brow. “Are you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mother.” Pixie rolls her eyes as she starts kneading dough on the counter. “Quit insulting everyone.”

Sandra isn’t listening to her daughter, though. She’s looking at me.

Here we go.

I’d been working at Willow Inn for only three weeks the first time Sandra Marshall came to visit her sister. I hadn’t seen Sandra since Charity’s funeral, and I didn’t expect her to speak to me at all.

But she did.

“You work here now,” she stated with disgust as I hung a painting on the lobby wall.

I turned around with a hammer in my hand, not sure if she wanted me to respond.

“My sister says you live here, as well,” she added. “Do your parents approve of this arrangement? Oh wait. That’s right. They’ve moved away.” She clucked her tongue. “You just destroyed your whole family, didn’t you? First your sister, then your parents.”

I clenched my fist around the hammer.

“Can’t say that I blame them.” She looked me up and down with a pitiful sigh. “You look just like her.” She shook her head. “Your poor mother. I bet she curses the day you were born.” And then Sandra Marshall turned and left, walking out of the inn like she hadn’t just ripped out my heart and verbalized every fear I had hidden inside.

I stood, hammer in hand, staring after her for long, hot minutes, waiting for my heart to stop pounding in fury. But I couldn’t shake the pain in my chest. Because she was right. I was the reason Charity was dead.

And now we meet again, this time in the kitchen. Sandra’s evil eyes narrow in on me, and I’m the same guilty boy I was six months ago.

She purses her lips. “Judging by the muck and stench you’re covered in, I guess you still work here.”

I smile tightly. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, you’re not,” she sneers.

“Leave Levi alone.” Pixie glares at her mother.

“I most certainly will not leave him alone. He almost killed you last year!” Sandra turns to me. “And you scarred her too. No man’s ever going to appreciate her naked now. Does that make you happy?”

Mable gasps, all color draining from her face.

I feel like Sandra just punched me in the stomach.

“Mom!” Pixie looks humiliated.

“Well, it’s the truth, Sarah!” she says. “You’re only half-pretty to begin with, but with that giant scar through your skin—and across your chest, no less—it’s just… well, repulsive.”

All feeling drains from my fingertips as I stand frozen by the counter. I can’t breathe. I’m torn between wanting to kill myself and wanting to kill Sandra Marshall.

I might do both.

“You hush your mouth, Sandy,” Mable says. “That’s no way to speak to your beautiful baby girl.”

Pixie looks like she’s going to cry, and my decision is made. I’m going to kill her mother first, then myself.

Sandra rolls her eyes. “Oh now, Sarah, don’t get emotional.”

“You need to leave, Sandra,” I say. And I call her Sandra because formalities are way the fuck over.

She whips her eyes to me. “I’m not going to take orders from the janitor.”

“Then the janitor will be escorting you out,” I say.

“Mom, can you just go?” Pixie’s voice sounds small, and I hate the defeat I hear in it.

Sandra looks appalled. “And leave you here with this”—she looks me up and down like I’m a criminal—“filthy, despicable, sister-killing boy?”

And that’s the end of any strength I had. Sandra played the Charity card, and all the oxygen has officially left my lungs.

“You are a horrid woman,” Pixie says, straightening her shoulders. “You are truly awful, and I hate that we share DNA.” She points to the dining room door. “Leave.”

“But we haven’t even had dinner.”

“You didn’t come for dinner. You came to be a bitch and remind me how very worthless I am. And you know what? Mission accomplished.” Pixie throws the rolling pin down. “I’m ugly. I’m scarred. I’m worthless. Whatever.” Her eyes harden. “I might be all of those things, but you know what I’ll never be?” She pauses. “You.”

She’s more confident than I’ve ever seen her before, and I’m so proud.

“And you,” Pixie continues, “are the ugliest thing in this room.”

So fucking proud.

Sandra runs cool eyes over her daughter, looking her down in condescension, and mutters, “I knew I should have had an abortion.” Then she turns and walks out of the kitchen.

I start to follow after her, but Pixie’s voice stops me.

“Leaves, no.”

Leaves. She called me Leaves.

My heart is pounding, my palms are sweating, and my soul is screaming to run after Sandra and hurt her for all the hurt she’s done to Pixie.

But Leaves…

Leaves stops me in my tracks.

I look at Pixie and she shakes her head. “I just want her gone, okay? Just let her go.” She looks exhausted.

I nod once and watch as Pixie takes off her apron, hangs it on the hook, and exits the kitchen. I stand there for a long time, trying to figure out what to do with all the rage inside me. I’m so angry. Angry that Sandra put so many emotional scars on Pixie and angry that I went and put a physical one on her too.

When I finally move from the kitchen, I travel up the east wing stairs only to find Pixie seated at the top, like maybe she was trying to run away from everything but got discouraged and just sat down where she was.

I slowly climb the stairs and stop a few steps from her. “Your mom’s a piece of work.”

She nods. “My mom’s a bitch.”

“Yep.” It’s awkward for a moment, and I’m not sure if I should go to my room or stay where I am. But something about leaving Pixie feels… wrong, so I shove my hands in my pockets and stand still for a moment. “I’ve never seen you stand up to her like that before.”

She sweeps a loose hair back from her face. “Yeah, well. I don’t live with her anymore, so it’s not like I’ll have repercussions for days and days.”

I nod. I look to the side.

She looks at her shoes.

“I’m proud of you.” The words fall out of my mouth.

Pixie looks up and gives me a small smile, which just encourages my mouth to keep moving.

“You were pretty kick-ass back there,” I say.

Her smile grows, and something inside me warms.

“Nineteen years too late, I guess,” she says.

“No,” I say quietly. “Never too late to be brave.”

She rubs her hands over her face, and I have this overwhelming urge to sit down beside her and wrap an arm around her. I used to do things like that all the time. It used to be so natural for me. For us.

She glances at me and wrinkles her brow. “What my mom said, about my scar—”

I start shaking my head, panic and fear racing through my veins. “She was right.”

Pixie looks like I just slapped her. “About it making my body repulsive?”

“What? No! God, no!” I want to kill Sandra all over again. “No. She was right when she said it was my fault. I’m the reason you almost died—”

“No, you’re not.” She looks confused.

“And I’m the reason Charity died.”

“What?” She blinks. “Levi… what? Are you insane? A truck driver named Joe Willis who feel asleep at the wheel is the reason Charity died. The accident wasn’t your fault.” She looks baffled and raises her voice a notch. “And if anyone else is to blame for that night, it’s me. I’m the one who decided we should drive home drunk.”

“But I messed with fate, Pix. I basically forced the two of you to pull over, and then I drove you straight to death—”

“You were trying to protect us!”

“Yeah?” I’m yelling now. “And how’d that work out? Did I protect Charity? Did I protect YOU?!” My voice echoes up and down the east wing and my eyes start to burn.

It’s so silent I can hear the beating of my heart and the very shallow breath Pixie just took. Her face is stunned.

My chest aches. My chest aches so much.

I head to my room and slam the door behind me.