Page 3 of Holding Hope

Clarke shoved her hands into her jacket pockets as we walked. “Where are you taking me, Avalon?”

I grinned and pointed ahead. “Pit 5°. Best club in Mayfair.”

I didn’t mention the part where my aunt owned it. Or that they played my songs. Or that I could walk in wearing pajamas and still get VIP treatment.

Clarke’s eyes widened as we approached the entrance. “This is… huge.”

“Wait till you see inside.”

Benny, the bouncer, gave me a nod but didn’t announce my presence. That’s why I loved this place. No one here treated me like a spectacle. They treated me like a person. “You don’t know I’ll like it,” Clarke said as we squeezed through the crowd. “Maybe one day I’ll find out,” I teased.

Her cheeks flushed, and something warm flickered in my chest.

Pit 5° was all black and gold—sleek, dramatic, loud. Chandeliers glowed over the lounge, warm lights pulsed over the dance floor, and the DJ booth towered like a throne. The place was packed, bodies moving in waves, laughter spilling over the music.

I spotted her immediately.

“Avalon!” Aunt Brie practically launched herself over the bar to hug me. She smelled like coconut and citrus, exactly the same as she had when we spent a week in Cabo last summer. Her arms wrapped around me in a bone-crushing hug that made something in me unclench.

“You get more beautiful every time I see you,” she said, wiping at her eyes. I rolled mine. “I could say the same.”

She looked past me and froze. “Avalon… did you know Clarke King is behind you?” I laughed and motioned Clarke over. She approached shyly, giving Brie a small wave. “I didn’t realize you were a fan,” I said.

“Fan?” Brie sputtered, already tearing up again. “Can I hug you?”

Clarke blinked, startled, then stepped into her arms. “Of course.”

They whispered something I couldn’t hear. Clarke nodded, gentle and understanding, and Brie wiped her face before her makeup could smudge.

“Alright!” Brie clapped her hands. “Avalon, what brings you to Mayfair with one of the greatest young voices in country music?”

I smirked. “Clarke’s never had a night out in Mayfair. Thought I’d fix that. Starting with my favorite aunt’s bar.”

Brie beamed. “Then let’s show her a real good time.”

Clarke’s smile softened, and for a moment, I saw something in her eyes—something tender, something aching. Something that made my chest feel too tight.

She didn’t belong in my world of flashing lights and fake smiles. She didn’t belong in the chaos I carried like a second skin.

But she was here. With me.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to let her go.

Brie Kennedy was quickly becoming my favorite Kennedy. Not that I’d met many, but still—she was winning by a landslide. Watching her and Avalon together was like watching two versions of the same storm: same dark hair, same rare grey eyes, same effortless charisma. They could’ve passed as sisters instead of aunt and niece.

The sight tugged at something in my chest, sharp and sudden. I missed my own sister. Melody would cry if I didn’t call before my flight tomorrow. Colton wouldn’t care, but Mel… she always cared. I made a mental note to call home before bed.

“Alright, Clarke, you have to try this,” Avalon said, appearing at my side with a small glass of pink ombré liquid. She leaned in close, her breath brushing my ear. “Vodka cranberry with a shot of coconut liquor. Best thing on the menu.”

I took a cautious sip. Sweet, tart, smooth. Dangerous.

“This is really good,” I said, surprised.

“Careful,” Brie called from behind the bar. “Those are the drinks that sneak up on you. Next thing you know, you’re face-down in a dumpster wearing clothes that are very obviously not your own.”

Avalon snorted. “You’re not speaking from personal experience, are you?”

Brie raised her hands. “A Kennedy never snitches.”