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.

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.

Ellen bites her lip and waits a beat. “Maybe he doesn’t know that.” She pauses. “Maybe you should tell him that.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head, and a wild blonde curl falls into my eyes. “I can’t. We’re so messed up. I don’t think it would even matter if I did. We’re just too broken.”

Ellen tilts her head and looks me over sympathetically. She tucks the loose curl behind my ear and lightly brushes my cheek with her finger. Then she smiles softly. “There’s no such thing as too broken. Anything can heal.” She kisses my forehead and wraps her arms around me. “Especially you.”

I need to move.

I can’t sleep one door away from Pixie anymore—especially after feeling her up in the shower yesterday. I just can’t do it.

Last night, I stared at my ceiling all night long, telling myself that if I ever tried to touch Pixie again, I was going to kill myself. And then I spent the next few hours staring at the ceiling, thinking of whether or not I actually could kill myself, and came to the conclusion that, no, I couldn’t, because then Pixie would be at the mercy of douche bags like Daren and dirty old men like Earl and I was not cool leaving her in a world where Darens and Earls could look at her without the threat of me.

And then I stared at the ceiling and thought of all the ways I would hurt Daren and Earl if they ever tried to touch Pixie, which led to a very dark train of thought involving plastic bags and bleach.

So obviously, I need to move.

I shake myself as I walk downstairs and into the lobby. Enough thinking about Pixie.

Looking out the front windows of the inn, I see a familiar car pull into the parking lot, and my hands go numb.

Sandra Marshall.

Pixie’s mother, Ellen’s sister, and hater of me.

I watch Sandra exit the car and head for the front doors.

This is not good.

A quiet knock on my door has me leaping out of bed, thinking maybe it’s Levi. We haven’t spoken since our couples shower yesterday, and my nerves are pretty much shot from the silence.

But when I open my door, I see Ellen.

“Hey.” I smile at her and try not to look disappointed.

“Hey…” Her facial expression goes crooked for a moment, and I know—I just know—my mother is here.

“Oh, no.” I beg her with my eyes, Save me.

She makes a face of helplessness, and we both cringe when my mother’s voice drifts up the stairs from the lobby.

“Why, Haley, how are you?” Oh God. My mother hates Haley. She hates Haley with a passion. Run, poor woman. Run for your life.

“Hello, Sandra.” Haley’s voice is polite and friendly.

“Fell off the diet again, I see?” my mom says. “Well, at least curvy suits you. You’ve never been one for the lean look.”

“Mom!” I holler down the stairs, moving from my room, not caring that I’m still wearing my hideous pajamas from the day before. I need to spare Haley any further abuse.

When I see the woman who gave birth to me, I plaster on a smile so fake I think it might crack my face open.

“Hi there!” I say.

“Hello, darling.” She gives me a fake smile as well. “I have a box of your old things at the house. You should come pick it up before I throw it away.” She lifts one overplucked eyebrow. “What are you wearing?”

I look down. “Pajamas.”

“Ellen!” my mother yells at my aunt, who has followed me down the stairs and is now standing behind me. “Is this how you let your employees dress?”