Page 18 of Holding Hope

Twelve inches separated us. Twelve inches of air and tension and everything we weren’t saying.

I couldn’t answer her. Not honestly.

So, I didn’t.

“I’m doing this for the music,” I said. “Nothing else.”

She nodded slowly. “Then let’s get to work.”

But her eyes said something else entirely.

And I hated that mine did too.

On Saturday nights, Mama makes chili.

Her mama did the same before her, and her mama before that. Every woman on my mother’s side has served chili and cornbread on Saturday evenings for as long as anyone can remember. They always said it was the perfect way to close out a week—warm, hearty, comforting, with just enough spice to remind you you’re alive.

I miss Saturday nights the most when I’m on tour. The five of us around the table—Melody to my left, Colton across from me, Mama and Daddy at the ends. Then Colton moved to Nashville, and his chair became the most sacred spot in the house. Not because it was special—it was mismatched like the rest of Mama’s thrifted chairs, dented from years of roughhousing, and I’m pretty sure the teeth marks weren’t from an animal—but because it was his.

He’d let me sit in it on my birthday. After Melody got sick, he’d switch with her when Mama wasn’t looking. That chair held memories.

Tonight, someone else was sitting in it.

Avalon Kennedy.

She tried her best to ignore the way I stared at her from across the table, but every so often our eyes met and her brows shot up like she couldn’t believe I was still glaring. She’d kept her distance since our conversation in the Big Barn, staying in her designated space. I’d overheard her phone calls—one to her manager, Jonas, one to her parents (judging by her mood afterward, that one hadn’t gone well), and one long call to Aunt Brie. That last one reminded me why I was doing any of this in the first place. Brie Kennedy. The only reason Avalon was sitting in Colton’s chair.

Melody, bless her heart, tried to break the tension.

“Have you ever been to Texas before?” she asked, practically vibrating with excitement beside her idol.

Avalon dipped cornbread into her chili before answering. “No, this is my first time. I was supposed to have a show in Austin last year but had to cancel because…”

She trailed off, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m excited to be here. It’s a beautiful state.” She turned to Mama with a polite smile—the same one she’d worn at the convention. “You have a lovely home, Mrs. King. I love the mismatched furniture. It’s so different from my parents’ place in California.”

Mama beamed. “Thank you, Avalon. Clarke helped with most of the decorating.” Avalon’s gaze slid to me, slow and deliberate. A soft smile tugged at her lips. “Did she? You have great taste, Clarke.”

Just not in the people I choose to sleep with, I thought.

“Thank you,” I said aloud, pushing aside my soggy cornbread.

Avalon perked up at the acknowledgment—the first words I’d spoken to her since the barn. “Did you also help decorate the Big Barn?”

Melody snorted into her water. “No, Clarke would never put those rugs with that bedspread.”

“Melly, hush.”

My spoon clattered against my bowl.

Silence fell over the table like a heavy blanket.

I felt my parents’ eyes on me—disappointment radiating off them. They knew I knew better than to snap at the table, especially in front of guests.

Avalon cleared her throat. “Was it something I said⁠—”

“No,” Daddy cut in, voice firm and cold. “Clarke simply needs to excuse herself from the table. Now.”

I didn’t look at anyone as I stood and walked out. I could feel Avalon’s eyes on my back the whole way.