Page 52 of Holding Hope

We hadn’t texted since the bathroom incident.

Actually, “hadn’t texted much” was generous.

We hadn’t spoken at all.

I hadn’t seen her as often either, and part of me wondered if she was avoiding me—assuming I was still angry. I hadn’t known Avalon long, but long enough to know she didn’t handle conflict well. She took everything to heart and preferred to disappear until the storm passed.

Confrontation was terrifying when you were still trying to make up for old mistakes.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. The anxious flutter returned.

What if she didn’t want to go? What if she thought it was a trick? A joke?

No. I wasn’t going there. Avalon wanted to make things better. And maybe she and Melody were right—maybe it was my turn to try.

I typed a simple message and hit send. It felt like an eternity waiting for those three little dots to appear… and an even longer one waiting for them to disappear.

ME

hi! several of us are getting together at Rorie’s tomorrow night, I was curious if you would be interested in joining?

Avalon

you want me to join you and your friends?

I frowned. I hadn’t expected that. But I couldn’t blame her for thinking I wanted nothing to do with her. Maybe she thought my friends felt the same.

Me

Of course, silly! I think you’ll have fun, and you’re right. Maybe we do need to let things in the past stay there and find ways to move forward.

The dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again. Was she skeptical? Did she see through me?

I did want to move on—no matter how hurt I’d been three months ago.

Avalon

Woah, Clarke King did you just tell me I was right about something? Is this you admitting defeat?

I snorted, shaking my head despite the smile tugging at my lips. I wasn’t waving a white flag. I was just…

Me

Shut up, I am not admitting anything. Would you like to join us for a night of frivolity, drinking, and really bad karaoke or not?

Avalon

You had me at hi.

Rorie’s was always crowded, but tonight it felt like the entire town had squeezed inside. Bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and the twang of country music vibrating through the floorboards. I pushed my way through the tangle of limbs and laughter, heading straight for the bar.

Avalon and Delia weren’t far behind. Delia had pulled her aside for a hushed conversation she insisted I couldn’t be part of. I wouldn’t lie—I was relieved when they rounded the corner intact. Delia had the impulsive energy of an orange tabby cat, all act-now-think-later, and Avalon… well, Avalon had claws of her own.

“—but nothing beats moonshine made in some old man’s cellar,” Delia declared, looping her arm through Avalon’s like they’d known each other for years.

“Okay, but you’ve never had a margarita made with Clase Azul while yachting in Tuscany,” Avalon countered, brows raised.

Delia rolled her eyes and tugged Avalon toward me. “We’ll just ask Clarke. C’mon.”