Page 27 of Holding Hope

“Perhaps that’s why they won’t forgive you yet. You haven’t come to terms with what you did and how much it affected them. Place yourself in their shoes. Sit with the idea of what you did happening to you instead.”

I frowned. I’d been ghosted plenty of times. Sure, it wasn’t fun, but I eventually got over it.

But then again, I’d never been forced to see those people every day. Or share a living space. Or have dinner with their families. I had never been in Clarke’s shoes—not like this.

“How would you feel?” he asked. “Would you expect yourself to forgive and forget so easily?”

The questions burrowed deep. I shook my head. “No. I’d probably be pretty fucking pissed.”

He nodded with a smile, placing a parental hand on my shoulder. “Clarke King can be stubborn, but she’ll come around eventually. Until then, allow her to be angry with you.”

My mouth dropped as he stood with a wink. I hadn’t even mentioned names, and he already knew. Was I really that easy to read?

“You won’t tell her we had this conversation, will you?” I asked, fiddling with one of my silver rings.

Dr. Harris shook his head. “That would be a direct violation of doctor–patient confidentiality.”

The smile that spread across my face as we left the room was so big it made my cheeks ache. I was going to find my footing here in Opal Springs. I was going to make amends with Clarke. And it was clear what the first step was.

Clarke needed to know that I understood what I had done — and how badly it had hurt her. She needed to know I was okay with her being angry, and that I wasn’t going to leave again. I needed to let her be angry. To hate me.

I would ride out this storm, even if it meant spending the rest of the summer in Opal Springs.

Opal Springs was a relatively large town for what I’d imagined a small town to look like. Some things were lacking, sure, but Clarke was right—they had everything they needed. One movie theater, one full-service salon, a bed-and-breakfast, one convenience store.

“Opal Springs was built on farmland,” Clarke said as we crossed the street. “Most folks either raise and grow their own food or buy directly from those who do. Grocery stores aren’t really necessary when everyone prefers homegrown.”

I nodded. She didn’t seem angry or forced into conversation, and I didn’t want the moment to slip away. I wanted to hold onto it for as long as I could.

“Even prom dresses?” I asked, trying to imagine a teenage Clarke with wild hair and a giant puffy-sleeved dress. The image soured when I pictured her closeted, on the arm of some faceless cowboy.

A blush crept across her face as she ducked her head and opened the door to a fabric shop. “I never went to prom. Melly was sick, and I was needed at home.”

I stopped in my tracks. “You couldn’t have been spared for one night? That’s like the highlight of your high school life.”

She shrugged, the wind lifting stray strands of her golden hair. They floated around her face like something out of a movie.

“It didn’t seem important,” she said softly. “Not like Melly. Giving up my prom so she might be able to go to hers someday was worth it. I’ll never regret that.”

I’d known Clarke loved Melody fiercely—I had seen it from their first interaction—but hearing it like this made something twist inside me. Jealousy, maybe. Or longing. I’d never know what it felt like to be either girl. To be loved like that. To love like that.

But another part of me was relieved. My fucked-up decision to bail on her hadn’t ruined her ability to care for the people she loved.

She was still selfless. Still sweet. Still Clarke. Just… not with me. And I deserved that.

“You’re smiling,” Clarke said, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

I shrugged, walking past her into the shop. “I’m just accepting that there are things within my reach that I simply cannot control.”

Confusion flickered across her face as she hurried to catch up. “What do you mean by that, Avalon?”

Pretending to study a green-and-white floral fabric, I rubbed the material between my fingers. “I think that your feelings toward me⁠—”

“I don’t have feelings for you,” she snapped, crossing her arms.

I ignored the interruption. “Your feelings toward me, whatever they are, are a direct result of what I did.”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I cannot believe we’re doing this again. Here.” She glanced around nervously.