I reached out. “Alex . . .”
She stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t, Dylan. I’ve already lost enough. I can’t afford to risk losing anything else.”
I dropped my hand. Our eyes locked, her green gaze filled with so much pain it was blatant. I had nothing to offer her, nothing I could say that would make anything better. Her life was about to change again—and once more, not for the good.
The worst part? I was the reason for it.
I PACED AROUND MY ROOM, running my hands through my hair in vexation. Over and again, Alex’s words replayed in my mind.
I was taking away her home. No matter what else she said, or how accepting she was about it, it was still the honest truth. It didn’t matter it was something that would happen even if I stepped back and didn’t buy the property. George Walsh had to sell. The hotel had to go, and Alex and her family had to leave the place they all loved.
Common sense told me she would find a job in town—or another local area. Once George was settled and she had a new place, her life would become somewhat normal—maybe even better. Without the worry of looking after George or all the heavy responsibilities involved in running the inn, her life might get easier, in fact. She could devote all her time to caring for Noelle and Seth.
One thought kept nagging me, though. Who would care for Alex?
I slugged back another shot of brandy, unsure how many I’d consumed since getting back to my room. I squinted at my watch. It was almost seven, so Alex should be here soon with my dinner. Maybe I would talk to her some more.
When I heard the knock at the door, I lunged for it, throwing it open. Seth stepped back, startled. “Hey, Dylan.”
“Oh.” I peered around him into the empty hall. “Hey. Where’s Alex?”
“She’s, ah, busy. I brought your dinner.” He grinned, thrusting the tray forward. “I didn’t even forget this time—it’s still hot!”
I took the tray, feeling disappointed.
“What is she busy doing?”
“She has some things to take care of. I’m looking after Noelle.”
I sighed. “Yeah, fine. Thanks for dinner.”
He looked at me strangely. “Dylan, you okay? You look weird.”
“I’m fine. Hungry, I guess.”
“You’ll love your supper. Alex makes awesome Tater Tot Casserole. It’s Noelle’s favorite.”
What the hell was a tater tot?
I had no idea, but it did smell delicious.
“Thanks.”
“You can leave your tray outside, and I’ll get it later.”
“I can bring it down. I thought I might watch the hockey game in the bar later.” I had noticed it had a decent-sized TV, unlike the small, out-of-date one in my room.
“Okay. You’ll have the bar to yourself.” He turned to go, then paused. “Alex asked if you need anything to knock on the door down the hall. Room 200. There isn’t anyone at the front desk.”
“Why?”
“You’re the last guest. She’s out right now. But I ca
n get you anything you need.”
“Oh. Okay, fine.”
He left, and I sat down, lifting the lid, inhaling the fragrant meal in front of me. Beside the large portion of casserole still bubbling it its dish, there was a salad and some sort of cheesy bread, literally dripping with butter. A ramekin of salad dressing was on the side, which was thoughtful since I rarely used any—or had butter on my bread, never mind with the addition of more cheese.