Page 111 of Holding Hope

“Is something wrong?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I wanted to go to her—to close the space between us—but I held myself still. “If this is about watching Melly for a moment⁠—”

Avalon shook her head, smiling softly as she cut me off with a quiet laugh. “No. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but your sister is a cool kid. I really don’t mind spending time with her.”

Relief bubbled up in my chest, loosening something tight inside me. I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. The familiar shape of her knuckles, the warmth of her palm—it grounded me.

Despite her chaos, Avalon felt steady. Safe. Like a buoy in a storm. She lifted our joined hands and brushed them against her cheek. “I had a very interesting conversation with your father earlier.”

I choked out a laugh and kissed her knuckles. “Oh God. Did he scare you off? Are you about to tell me you’re packing your bags and sprinting back to the Hollywood Hills?”

She giggled, and I took the opportunity to spin her gently. She laughed louder, arms settling on my chest as she steadied herself.

“It’ll take more than knock-off Tom Selleck to get rid of me,” she teased. “We talked about you, actually.”

I raised a brow. “Me? What did he say?” I sighed, leaning back against the desk. “Did he apologize for selling my horse? Or—wait, he probably told you I’m a crybaby and you need to handle me carefully because I’m one emotional hiccup away from detonating like an old bomb.”

I inhaled sharply. I really needed to remember to breathe between monologues.

Avalon crossed her arms, watching me with that quiet, unnerving attentiveness she’d developed over the summer. I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to meet her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, mirroring her pose.

“Like what?”

I pressed my palms to my forehead. “Like you understand. This is not the time to play the sympathy card.”

I heard her shift—soft footsteps—and then she was beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence settled warm and heavy between us.

“You’re right,” she said gently. “I don’t understand. But I do know he cares about you. And sure, selling Artemis might feel huge— but I’m sure he has his reasons.”

I nodded slowly. Dad was a good man. A good father. And sometimes good fathers had to make hard decisions. I knew that. I just didn’t want to accept it.

“Maybe selling Artemis was a business move,” Avalon continued, “but that doesn’t mean your feelings don’t matter.” Her voice softened. “Who takes care of Clarke? Who apologizes to you? Who puts your feelings first?”

Something warm and wet slid down my cheek and over my lip. Salty. God. Was I crying?

“I guess… I do,” I whispered. “I always have⁠—”

“Let me, Clarke.” Avalon’s voice cut through my sentence—firm, steady, certain. “Let me.”

Two words. Two small, devastating words.

And the wall I’d spent years building—brick by brick, wound by wound—crumbled in her hands.

If she hadn’t caught me, I would’ve sunk to the floor in a chiffon heap. Her arms wrapped around me, holding me upright as I folded into her. She smelled like cedar and vanilla and something warm I couldn’t name.

How did she do this? How did she get past every defense I’d ever built? Was it the way she cared for Melody? The self-awareness she’d grown into? The fact that my sharp edges didn’t scare her away? Or was it simply that she wanted to be here?

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” she whispered into my hair. “I’m so sorry.” She pressed soft, warm kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

I turned toward her, vision blurred with tears, trying to make out her face.

“Kiss me,” I breathed. “Do you think you could kiss me?”

Avalon wiped my tears with her thumb, and when my vision cleared, she was smirking—that signature, infuriating, irresistible smirk.

“I don’t think there’s a universe where I say no to that.”

She kissed me with so much force and certainty it stole the air from my lungs. I clung to her, breathless, wanting more.