Page 85 of Holding Hope

The front door creaked open, and I drew my eyes up to see Colton and Dr. Ferguson in the doorway. They were drenched to the bone despite their raincoats, their cowboy hats being the only thing that kept their vision clear.

As if he did not see us, Dr. Ferguson brushed past us and knocked quietly on Melody’s door. A few short moments later, Mr. King opened the door and ushered the doctor inside, closing and locking it immediately behind them.

Colton took a few hesitant steps forward, his face stricken and drawn. “Is she…”

I nodded and smoothed back some of Clarke’s stray curls from her forehead. She had stopped sobbing, but I could still feel her shaking in my arms; from the corner of my eyes I could see her taking slow and dazed blinks.

“She’s calmer now, she just needed…to release her anger.” I chose my words carefully, trying not to give away too much about what had just happened.

Colton’s dark blue eyes searched my face, trying to put the pieces together himself. The exhausted slump in his sister’s body, the slackness in my face, our tight embrace.

“Okay,” he said once, nodding his head. “Take her upstairs and get her out of those clothes, I’ll wait for answers.”

I nodded, silently obeying. I led Clarke up the stairs to the master bathroom, murmuring and whispering the best words of strength and encouragement I could muster.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”

After easing Clarke into a seated position on the toilet, I turned on the bath water, letting it run over my wrists as it rose in temperature. Behind me, I could hear her mumbling words to herself, just low enough to be out of earshot. When I turned around, she was slowly rocking herself back and forth, running her hands up and down her legs; the dazed expression still covered her eyes, although she was slowly pulling herself from it.

Long, slow blinks, repetitive movements, and deep inhales of breath. I waited as she tried regulating herself and gathering her emotions until I was unable to continue watching her try and fail to calm herself.

“Let me,” I whispered, gently prying her fingers away from the buttons on her shirt. Her hands still shook, much less with anger than the fact that she was freezing. “I can do this, let me help.”

Without protest, Clarke lowered her hands and allowed me to unbutton and slip her arms free from her wet clothes. Before long she was standing naked, but this wasn’t the time to stand and stare at her.

Once the bathtub had filled with hot water, I poured some of the bath salts into it, figuring the lavender and herbal scents would soothe her enough so she could sleep. With gentle hands and voice, I guided her into the water; she sank quickly to the bottom, her eyes almost immediately closing at the sudden warmth.

“God, this feels so nice,” Clarke breathed out, letting the water rise up to her chin. Her golden hair, now fully curled, floated around her like rays of the sun; the darkened lashes kissed the tops of her cheeks, and slowly but surely, the rosiness in her face returned.

I allowed myself to admire her natural beauty for just a moment before clearing my throat. Clarke opened her eyes and sat up, raising her knees to cover her chest.

“I’m going to give you a moment and find you some dry clothes,” I told her, quickly standing to my feet and reaching for the door.

“Join me.”

I froze, my hand inches above the handle. Join her? In the bathtub? The idea was tempting; the two of us alone with nothing but water between our bare skin.

But Melody was downstairs⁠—

“Please,” her voice was much lower, softer. “I’d feel better with you here.”

There really was no other option or choice when she spoke like that. I’d do just about anything for her at this moment.

“Yeah, okay,” I nodded, combing my hands through my hair. “Okay, let me just go find some clothes and I’ll come right back.”

“Promise?” She asked.

“Pinky,” I answered.

Mrs. King kept spare clothes in the guest bedroom on the third floor, which was more of an attic than anything else, two pairs of cotton pajamas and several daisy print socks. Colton led me up the stairs and waited for me in the hall while I found bath towels and more salts.

The room he led me to was quaint with its usual King charm, although this one seemed to be a little more lived in than I had expected. The white linen sheets looked rumpled and slept in, the desk had crumpled sheets of paper strewn about, and a pair of slippers sat underneath the bed.

“Clarke likes to sleep here some days,” Colton said from his spot in the doorframe. “The ones when our mother is too exhausted to look after Melody.”

I ran my fingers over the soft pillows and imagined Clarke spending hours laying awake, just in case her sister needed her. How many times had she slept in this room only to be woken up to the sound of thrashing and screaming?

She had sacrificed so much of herself for her family, always taking the backseat in her own life. It didn’t seem fair or right in my mind, but it wasn’t as if I could tell her outright. It wouldn’t be my place, not now.