Page 83 of Holding Hope

“Why?” I asked softly, placing my hand over hers. “We still have so much to learn about each other. You hardly know me.”

Avalon shrugged lightly, her gaze flicking to mine. “The fact that you’re letting me hold you tells me you’re willing to try. And we’ve been making progress all summer, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

She squeezed me gently, as if trying to mold herself into my shape. “I want to know you, Clarke. All of you. You’re not broken—or whatever you’ve been telling yourself in that pretty head of yours. Not to me.”

I smiled—small, but real—and leaned into her a little more. Being held like this felt strange. Being seen felt stranger. Being believed felt impossible.

But for the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Safe in my body. Safe in my mind. And I found that safety in her arms.

“Let’s try,” I whispered. “Let’s try and see if this could really work.” I turned to face her, mischief tugging at my lips. “It’s terrifying. But it has to be worth a shot, right?”

Avalon bit her lower lip, nodding eagerly. “We’ll never know if we don’t try. Best to face our fears head-on. Together.”

I cupped her face, and she rose onto her tiptoes to kiss me. She smiled into my lips, fingers curling around my wrists.

Our mouths moved in perfect synchronicity—molding, tugging, pulling—but not with the same hunger as earlier. This was different. The desperation was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but something else threaded through each kiss. Something deeper. Something I couldn’t name, only feel vibrating through every inch of me.

Avalon’s hands slid down my body with a kind of hungry certainty, gripping my waist and slipping beneath my shirt. Her fingers traced the curves of my torso, firm enough to make me gasp into her mouth instead of pulling away.

Our chests brushed together, and even through the thin flannel of my rodeo shirt, I could feel the heat of her body, the tension coiling between us. I dipped my head, kissing beneath her jaw before dragging my teeth lightly across her neck, soothing the mark with my tongue.

Avalon let out a sharp, breathy sound, her head tipping back. I pressed my knee between her legs, pulling her upright again as my lips continued their slow path along her throat. Her soft moans and whispered pleas filled the barn, each one hitting me like a spark.

For a moment, I let myself imagine it—the two of us disappearing into the shadows of the barn, waiting out the storm in each other’s arms.

“C’mere,” I murmured against her skin, stepping back just enough to cup her cheek with my thumb. Her eyes were glazed with want, her lip caught between her teeth as she nodded.

I laced our fingers together and tugged her after me, weaving us through the rows of sleeping animals. Their soft snores filled the quiet, the storm outside rumbling like a warning.

Avalon squeezed my hand, excitement and anticipation practically humming through her skin.

“Where are you taking me?” she whispered as we slipped through a narrow passageway formed by stacked hay bales.

I tossed her a smile over my shoulder.

“Just a little farther—” A sudden, deafening bang cut through the air. We froze.

I turned toward the barn entrance and my stomach dropped. A dark silhouette stood in the doorway. Lightning flashed, illuminating the grim, strained expression on my father’s face.

“Clarke!” he shouted, voice tight with panic. “Clarke!”

His eyes landed on us—on our joined hands, our flushed faces, our closeness—and something in his expression shifted.

“Clarke,” he whispered, this time with relief. “It’s your sister— your mother needs you. Melody⁠—”

The repetitive pacing of Clarke’s footsteps was the only thing keeping my heavy eyelids from fully dropping. I was trying my best to stay awake, to be a sense of support and strength for her, but truth be told, I was exhausted.

I couldn’t imagine the amount of exhaustion Clarke was feeling, but I could tell by the slump in her shoulders and the bags settling under her eyes, she was about to pass out any moment.

For the past three hours, we had waited outside Melody’s door as she screamed and whimpered from pain. The time read 3:45 in the morning, and still, no end seemed near. The closest doctor that would be of any help was hours away in Houston, and even if we tried contacting him, he would still be bound by the storm.

The house shook as thunder rumbled and roared outside, the rain hitting the roof with loud angry thuds.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Clarke muttered repeatedly, pressing her palms to her eardrums and shaking her head. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” she continued, over and over.

Was it the rain? The exhaustion? The overwhelming fear of watching her baby sister slip away before her eyes?

Not knowing what else to do, I stood and went to her, my arms outstretched. “Clarke, stop; you’ll wear yourself out.”