Page 12 of Holding Hope

Then her voice. Clarke’s voice. Sweet, warm, angelic. Then mine, blending with hers. Memories slammed into me—the photo booth, her hand in mine, the moment before I kissed her.

I ripped the hard drive out and tossed it into the trash. “Remind me to take my trash out more often.”

Jonas sat beside me, hands on his knees, eyes wide. “Well. I was not expecting that reaction.” He wiggled his brows. “Who was that girl? She had the voice of a southern angel.” I rolled my eyes. “Just someone I met in Mayfair.”

Jonas gasped like he’d been stabbed. “A quick New York fling!” He leaned in. “Tell me everything. Who is she? Why does she sound familiar? And why haven’t you talked to her?” I shrugged. There were a thousand reasons. None I wanted to say out loud. “Okay, you do know a shrug is not an answer⁠—”

“I don’t know, Jonas!” I snapped. “There’s something wrong with me. I ruin every good thing that ever happens to me.”

He softened. “Oh girl… I don’t think I’m the one you need to apologize to.” I looked away, throat tight.

“You should release it,” he said suddenly.

I froze. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“It’s your song, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s also Clarke’s⁠—”

Jonas lit up. “AHA! Mystery girl has a name.”

“I never said she didn’t,” I muttered.

He blinked. “Clarke King? That was Clarke King? You hooked up with Clarke King? I didn’t even know she swung that way.”

I ignored him. “What if I released the song? You like it, right?”

Jonas looked at me like I’d asked whether water was wet. “Avalon. It’s one of the best things you’ve ever done.”

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and turned my chair toward him. “You wrote it. You and Clarke.”

I nodded.

“It’s good,” he said softly. “It’s really fucking good.”

My face warmed. Words of affirmation always hit too hard—maybe because I so rarely believed them.

I stood and switched out the CD. “Yeah, well, you’re the first and last person to hear it. Without Clarke’s consent, I can’t do anything.”

Jonas was quiet for a moment. Too quiet.

“Or,” he said slowly, “you could drop her verse.”

I snorted. “That’s cruel.”

“Is it?” he asked, voice sly. “It’s your song too.”

He wasn’t wrong. But technically… it was hers too.

I dragged my fingers through my hair. “Isn’t there some legal battle that could happen?” “You’re deflecting,” he said. “Poorly.”

Maybe I was. Or maybe I didn’t want to see Clarke again—not when I’d left her the way I did.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked.

I swallowed hard.

“What’s the best that could happen?”