Page 62 of Holding Hope

Yeah. I’d be alright.

The barn had been built for ranch hands, so it had a bathroom and kitchenette on the main floor, with sleeping rooms on both levels. I rarely used the shower or kitchen—I preferred Mama’s bathroom and Mama’s cooking—but tonight, I wanted privacy they couldn’t give.

I grabbed pajamas and stepped into the bathroom. It wasn’t as big as the one in my parents’ house, but it was enough.

As I scrubbed my skin clean, my mind replayed that moment at Rorie’s—the way the lighting shifted, turning Avalon’s eyes almost orange. The way she’d looked at me like she wanted to understand me. Like there was something worth seeing beneath the façade I’d spent years perfecting.

Why look at me like that if she was just going to go kiss someone else?

A loud slam jolted me. Followed by grunting. Laughter.

What the hell?

Had Avalon brought her bar hookup home?

That was low—even for her.

Kissing someone in front of me was one thing. Bringing her home—into my safe space—was another. This was my sanctuary. My comfort zone. I wasn’t about to let it be tainted with images of Avalon and some blonde from the bar.

Anger surged. I stormed out of my room, ready to unleash hell.

But the words died in my throat.

Ethan was trying—and failing— to lift a very drunk Avalon off the floor.

“What is going on?” I asked, staring between the two of them. Avalon was a mess—hair falling in her face, eyes unfocused—while Ethan looked like he needed a drink himself.

“Clarke,” he breathed in relief. “I know you said to bring her straight home, but there was an incident with Arabella⁠—”

“Fucking bitch!” Avalon slurred from the floor, hair falling over her face no matter how many times she tried to tuck it behind her ear. “I really, really hate her. Did you know that?”

Arabella?

Arabella Finch?

That’s when I saw it—the red staining Avalon’s knuckles.

Blood.

Not hers.

“Don’t tell me you punched her,” I said, kneeling beside her.

Avalon turned to me, smiling wide—for a moment, she was there, looking right at me, through me. And then it vanished.

She folded over and retched onto the hardwood floor. I quickly pulled her hair back, tucking the strands behind her ear as she leaned into me. Then I looked up at Ethan.

“What the hell happened?”

Ethan wiped his neck with his bandana, sheepish. “Things were fine. We were heading to the door and Arabella… well, you know how she is. Something snapped in Avalon. I don’t know—she got angry, and before I knew it, Arabella was on the floor holding a bloody nose.”

There was pride in his voice.

And, embarrassingly, in my chest.

“It was really fucking cool to see,” he added.

Avalon retched again, holding up a hand to stop me from helping. “She deserved it,” she muttered between heaves.