Page 119 of Holding Hope

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“You did it, Kid.” Colton’s voice cracked with emotion I’d rarely heard from him. His large hand settled on my shoulder as I slid off Hestia, giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.

The earth vibrated beneath my boots as the herd ran past, but more than that—I could feel their joy. Their relief. Their freedom. It was magic. Pure, unfiltered magic.

There were only a handful of moments in my life where words felt too small to hold the weight of what I felt—moments that carved themselves into memory.

And as those moments flickered through my mind, they took shape. Colors. Feelings. A presence. Dark at first. Then pale white, like Magnolia’s fresh milk. Then grey, storm-cloud grey.

Avalon. Her hand slid into mine, fingers locking with mine. Her touch grounded me, pulled me into the present. With her, my mind didn’t wander into dark corners. I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to hide.

She had seen the real me—the messy, scared, angry, grieving me—and she stayed. Every moment this summer, good or painful, came back to her. She had been there through all of it. My anchor.

My hope.

I lifted our joined hands and kissed her knuckles. She smiled, biting her lower lip as she rose onto her toes.

“They’re free, Clarke,” she whispered, cupping my cheek. “You saved them. With your quick thinking and determination. You did that. Be proud.”

“I am,” I breathed. “But more than that… more importantly…” My voice faltered, but I pushed through. “I think I’m in love with you, Avalon Kennedy—no. I know I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth parting. Shock. Wonder. Something unspoken flickering across her features. “You… you love me?” she whispered.

I nodded, cupping her face. “With a fierce conviction. I am in love with you. Do you understand that?”

She shifted, almost as if she wanted to run—but I needed her to hear this.

“I think I’ve been in love with you for months,” I said softly. “Since the moment I saw you in my daddy’s office. And I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared to give you another chance to hurt me.”

Her face fell—thinking of last spring—but I caught her chin gently.

“But I don’t care anymore. My heart—break it, use it, shatter it—it’s yours.”

Avalon let out a watery laugh. “But why me? Why would you let me have that kind of power? There’s nothing special about me. Why—how could someone like you love someone like me?”

I wanted to shake her until the truth stuck. Instead, I kissed her. I pulled her into my arms, her hands looping around my neck, my hands settling at her waist.

“It doesn’t need to make sense,” I murmured against her lips. “It just is. And it will be—until my heart gives out and my mouth stops working.”

She giggled, tugging my hat off my head. The wind tangled our hair together—light and dark strands mixing like they belonged that way.

“That’s a bit much,” she teased. “Especially for me.”

“It’s not nearly enough,” I whispered, kissing her again. “Especially for you.”

The early morning sun had melted into mid-afternoon heat by the time we made our way back down the mountain, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Clarke rode ahead, her posture tight with urgency—she was desperate to get home and tell Melody everything.

And maybe it was selfish, but a part of me wanted to stay up there just a little longer.

To hold onto the quiet. To hold onto her confession. To hold onto the moment she told me she loved me—no, that she was in love with me.

Before Clarke, I’d never known the difference. Not really.

My parents used to say the words when I was little — before I had opinions, before I could talk back, before I understood that love was supposed to feel like something. They said it out of obligation, out of performance, out of habit.

But never out of truth. Never with action behind it. Never with warmth.

With Clarke, it was different. She didn’t say it to manipulate me. She didn’t say it to get something from me. She said it because she meant it.