Page 110 of Holding Hope

“I’m fine,” Melody said. “Avalon caught me.”

Mrs. King turned to me, placing a warm hand on my cheek. I froze. “Thank you, Avalon. Truly. I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened.” Her eyes softened—Clarke’s eyes.

They said their goodbyes and left. I made a mental note to tell Clarke so she wouldn’t worry.

“So, you’re one of Clarke’s friends,” Mr. Lautner said, looking me over with thinly veiled judgment.

I crossed my arms and mirrored his expression. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. But if you’re asking whether we’ve fucked, the answer is yes.”

His face went through every shade of shock imaginable. Mrs. Lautner glared and dragged him away.

I stifled a laugh behind my fist.

“That’s not… funny, Avalon,” Mr. King said, though his eyes betrayed a smile.

“Oh, come on. You heard how he said friends. He’s still mad Clarke doesn’t like boys and won’t marry Ethan.” I had wanted to call him a homophobic prick but but my tongue.

Mr. King finally let out a laugh—a deep, warm King laugh. He looked like Colton, like Clarke, like the whole family rolled into one. “The Lautners try to be accepting,” he said, “but yes, they are still sour about Clarke turning down Ethan’s proposal. He’s a good kid, but she wouldn’t have been happy with him. Her happiness is what matters.” He studied me. I straightened instinctively.

“She wasn’t happy when she came home from the convention. Did you have something to do with that?” His question hit harder than I expected.

“I did something a few months ago,” I said quietly. “I hurt her. And I don’t think one summer is enough to make up for it. But I’d spend every summer of my life trying to earn her trust.” I swallowed. “I think I’m in love with your daughter, sir.”

The words felt good—right—even if saying them to her father first was… questionable.

Mr. King nodded slowly. “Clarke is my most sensitive child. She’s been in the public eye for years, and it wears on her. She tries to hide it, but it gets to her.”

He sighed. “Whatever you did—the pain you caused her and her mother—it was indescribable. The only reason you’re still here is because she begged me to let you stay.”

Tears stung my eyes.

His voice softened. “I’m not trying to scare you. But as her father, it’s my job to protect her. Which means you’re in the doghouse a little longer.”

I blinked. “The… doghouse?”

He laughed. “It’s an expression.” He cleared his throat. “All I’m saying is—you’ll have to work for her forgiveness. It’ll take time. But it’ll be worth it.”

Someone called his name, and he left. For the first time that night, I was alone. Really alone. I grabbed a cup and sat on the steps outside the Minister’s barn. The sun was still lingering, cicadas humming, field mice squeaking in the cornrows.

I understood why Clarke loved this place. It was peaceful. Loyal. Alive. Everything my childhood was not.

Why hadn’t my father ever fought for me the way Mr. King fought for his children? Why had I spent so long trying to earn love from people who didn’t know how to give it?

“Hey, have you seen Melody?” Clarke brushed past me in a blur of cream and boots. I hadn’t even heard her come outside.

I scrambled to my feet. “Mels wasn’t feeling well. Your mom took her home.”

Clarke’s face drained of color. “I was supposed to look after her and then Emerson showed up and⁠—”

I touched her hand gently. “Hey. I took care of her. I don’t mind. She’s a cool kid.”

Her shoulders relaxed. Relief softened her features.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said, suddenly nervous. My hands tucked behind my back.

Clarke’s eyes widened. She nodded and led me into a small office space—dusty boxes, mismatched furniture, quiet.

She stood in front of the desk, arms crossed, gaze steady. Terrifying. And warm. And home.