Page 63 of Holding Hope

I looked at Ethan, confused. He shrugged.

“She was saying nasty things, Clarke. Don’t be mad at Avalon. She did it for you.”

Me?

Avalon punched Arabella for me?

Why?

I’d been nothing but downright awful to her since she arrived.

“I think we need to get her into the bath and into clean clothes,” I said quickly, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory. For me.

Avalon did this for me.

And maybe Ethan wasn’t the only one proud of her.

Helping Avalon off the floor was easier with Ethan’s steady hands, and soon enough she was upright—wobbly, but no longer collapsing in on herself.

“Why is she so drunk, Ethan? She wasn’t like this when I left.”

I looked over the top of her dark head at him. He flushed, ducking his gaze.

“We had to celebrate,” he said with a sheepish shrug. “It’s not every day you get to see Arabella Finch finally get put in her place. It was about time someone did something. She’s too coddled.”

I snorted. That wasn’t wrong.

The Finch family were among the earliest founders of Opal Springs, and their descendants never let anyone forget it. Arabella came from money, too, which only inflated her ego further.

But she’d never leave this place. She’d die here, surrounded by her own bitterness. Even her father was tired of her antics—the whining, the entitlement. I didn’t know how he tolerated both her and her mother, considering Arabella was practically a carbon copy of the woman who raised her.

We rounded the corner into the small bathroom. I gave Ethan a grateful smile; he tipped his hat before slipping out the door.

“Okay,” I said, easing Avalon onto the toilet seat and pressing her back against the tank. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

She mumbled something incoherent, eyes fluttering in a slow blink. When they opened again, a sloppy smile spread across her face.

“Have I ever told you how… hiccup… beautiful…are you—hiccup?” Her face fell. “No, that’s not right.”

I laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s okay, Avalon, I understa⁠—”

A warm finger pressed to my lips.

Avalon shook her head, placing a finger to her own mouth. “Ssh, ssh, ssh… no. I think you’re beautiful, Clarke. I’ve never met anyone as beautiful as you. And it’s not just your outward appearance…”

She sighed, brows knitting. “There’s something… something more to you.”

Heat flooded my face. I was no doubt redder than a tomato.

She didn’t mean it—she was drunk. Nothing a drunk person said should be taken seriously.

But God, I wanted to believe her.

Did that make me selfish? Or just a fool?

“My, you sure do have a lot to say while drunk off your ass, Avalon.”

I pulled off her boots and set them aside. “I never thought you’d be a high-functioning drunk.”