Page 73 of Holding Hope

I blinked. Melly. My sister. My Mells. A strange twinge of jealousy flickered through me — Avalon had given Melody a nickname, and she insisted on calling me Texas. Why did that bother me?

“What are you doing?” I asked, shoving aside my thoughts.

Avalon shrugged, looking down. “I was trying to make you breakfast and surprise you with it in bed, but as you can see, I have no coordination or cooking skills whatsoever.”

I chuckled, rising from my seat. Three more strips of bacon sizzled unattended in the pan. I grabbed the tongs, removed them, and set them on a paper-towel-lined plate.

She watched me with wide eyes as I reached into the cupboard for hot sauce. I doused the bacon, broke off a piece, and popped it into my mouth.

A soft moan escaped me. “Not all is lost,” I murmured. “I’m actually surprised you’re still here. And attempting to cook in my kitchen.”

I leaned back against the counter, arms folded. “I half expected you to be in your room or on a flight somewhere.”

Avalon mirrored my posture, leaning against the bar. “And the other half?”

I dropped my gaze. “I had hoped…” But I stopped myself. There was no point in saying it. Speaking it aloud wouldn’t change anything.

Avalon chewed her lip, crossing one leg over the other. She looked deep in thought — and I wanted to know what she was thinking. I wanted her to say something first.

“Do you regret it?” she asked quietly. “What happened last night? Because I know I didn’t. Sure, it complicates things, but things have always been complicated between us, Clarke.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No, I don’t regret it. But we can’t go back. We can’t undo it.”

She scoffed. “So nothing’s changed? We’re just going to pretend it never happened? Pretend we weren’t screaming each other’s names last night?”

Her gray eyes locked onto mine, cool and sharp.

“Can you do that? Pretend I didn’t have you coming apart on my fingers and in my mouth? Is that what you want, Clarke?”

No. God, no.

“Avalon, stop.”

“Stop what? I’m just remembering the events of last night. Unlike you, I don’t want to go back to pretending I don’t want to fuck you every night and wake up and try to cook shitty breakfast foods for you.”

“Why can’t you just listen!” I snapped, dragging my fingers through my tangled hair. I needed a shower. I needed to get ready for Founder’s Day. I needed to be doing anything but this.

But there was no escaping it. I had dug this hole. Now I had to face the aftermath.

“When I woke up and you weren’t there, everything from four months ago came rushing back,” I said, grounding myself against the bar. “But I wasn’t surprised.”

Avalon’s face fell.

“I think I’m still hurt from the last time we did this⁠—”

“So, you do regret it,” she cut in, voice flat. Her posture shifted — no longer relaxed but coiled tight.

I chose my next words carefully. “I want to believe you’ve changed, Avalon. Really, I do. But I… can’t.”

“You mean you won’t,” she muttered, turning away.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, chewing on the corner of my lip as silence stretched between us— heavy, awkward, fragile.

Finally, Avalon spoke. “I kind of thought—hoped— this would get us one step closer to writing that album.” Her voice softened. “So, we could part for good and you wouldn’t have to be subjected to my presence anymore.”

I groaned, pressing my palms to my eyes. She was getting this all wrong. How could I possibly say this in a way that would actually get through to her? “I don’t want you to leave, Avalon. That’s not what I’m saying⁠—”

“Then what are you saying?” she asked, confusion etched into every line of her face. “Because I’m pretty fucking confused right now.”