Page 30 of Holding Hope

If I wanted to get on her good side—or at least off her bad one—insulting her hometown wasn’t the way.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clarke glance down at my hands before quickly looking away. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For what happened back there.”

Her apology was barely audible, but I heard it.

“What did she mean?” I asked carefully. “About you not being in town for three months. I thought Opal Springs was the one place you could feel most like yourself.”

Clarke hesitated. I braced myself for her to shut down or change the subject.

Instead, she exhaled deeply and adjusted in her seat. “What she said was true—I mean, not entirely true, but I really haven’t left the ranch since you⁠—”

She stopped herself.

“—in three months.”

Since I.

Since I.

Since I.

Another half-confession.

It was starting to grate on me.

“Oh,” was all I managed.

Clarke shrugged, as if brushing off the weight of her own words. “Yeah, but it wasn’t just because of what happened that night. Melly needed me.” She exhaled. “It was nice, honestly. I wrote music and worked on healing for whenever I was finally ready to step foot in town again.”

Her words washed over me like cold water.

I had never once considered how my actions might have affected her life beyond that night.

I had never thought about the way she would have to face people.

Or avoid them.

Or hide.

She had secluded herself for almost four months.

Four months with no one but her parents and little sister.

I couldn’t imagine being trapped with my family for that long—even with all the space the Kings had. The thought alone made me shudder.

But she had written music, she said.

At least I hadn’t ruined that.

“What music have you worked on? Maybe we could listen to some demos when⁠—”

Clarke cut me off with a raised hand. I stared at her fingers—slim, gold-ringed, nails short and clean.

“Woah, slow down there, California. We still have to work on this—” she motioned between us, the tension thick in the air, “—before we can even think about writing music together.”

She meant we needed to fix us—whatever us was—before we could co-write.