Page 75 of Holding Hope

Her emerald eyes narrowed, and she leaned in, smirking. “Okay, spill it. You need to tell me everything. Right now.” She jabbed her finger into the table. “Like right now right now.”

I lifted my hands defensively. “Nothing—I didn’t—I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. I may have just… overcomplicated things with someone⁠—”

“With Avalon, you mean.” She leaned closer, whispering, “Did you two fuck?”

The hesitation in my silence was enough to make her sit back with a triumphant grin.

“What? What do you mean by that?” I sputtered.

“Oh my God, you two totally boned.” Delia crossed her arms, smug. “I knew it was only a matter of time. All the weird looks, the tension—you wouldn’t even let me hit her.”

“I did not almost cry,” I protested when she brought up the night at Rorie’s. “There were no tears. I was drunk and confused.”

“You don’t drink,” she said flatly. “Not enough to act like that.”

I frowned at the bow in my hands. She was right. I couldn’t blame anything on alcohol. I avoided drinking for a reason—too many mistakes happened under the influence. I’d seen my brother make more than a few.

Avalon had been drinking last night, but the shower—and the vomiting— had sobered her up. Was that why I couldn’t let myself fall into this? Because I had nothing to blame it on but myself?

“She wants to make this work,” I said quietly. “I initiated everything last night. And I was the one who ended it this morning.”

Delia nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think you made the right choice?”

“Which one?” I laughed. I’d made several choices last night. I could’ve stopped things before we reached my bedroom. I could’ve not kissed her at all.

“The one you’re doubting,” she said simply. “That’s the only one that matters.”

Doubt. I hated that word. It made me feel small and insecure when I was supposed to be larger than life— for my sister, for my fans. Hell, even for Avalon.

“You know,” I said softly, “she kept those pictures. The ones from the photo booth.”

Delia’s needle clattered onto the table. Her eyes went wide. “I thought she told you the booth ate them?”

“That’s what she told me.”

She crossed her arms. “Huh. So, she lied. But she probably had a good reason.”

Or she’d planned to slip out in the middle of the night and wanted a souvenir. Something to pin on her wall with all the other hearts she’d broken.

“I can’t believe you’re siding with her,” I muttered, grabbing another bow.

“I’m not siding with anyone,” Delia said, chuckling. “And certainly not the girl who broke your heart⁠—”

“She didn’t break it,” I snapped. “Just… bruised it.”

Delia snorted. “And the bruise is so big that forgiveness is out of the question?”

“You sound like Mells,” I grumbled, stitching the white button into place. “And it’s not out of the question. Just… farther on the horizon. I need her to work for it.”

Delia laughed loudly, shaking her head. “If she’s lasted this long, she’ll earn it eventually.”

I hid my smile behind the bow. She was right. Avalon would try— she’d said as much. The real question was how hard would she work for it.

And how long I could hold out before I gave in.

“So she shut you down completely?” Jonas’ voice chimed through the phone in his usual singsong tone. It had been three days since the blow-up in the Red Barn kitchen, and I’d finally caved — I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wasn’t Clarke. Someone who wasn’t going to look at me with those cool blue eyes and make me feel like I was unraveling.

Jonas Hayes wasn’t exactly unbiased—he was my manager, and his relationship advice was historically terrible—but he was all I had. My parents wouldn’t care, and Aunt Brie was in New York. That left Jonas.