Page 90 of Holding Hope

She would never understand how deeply I envied that.

“Clarke!” she called again when I didn’t answer. “What are you doing?”

I nudged Apollo toward her. He trotted lazily to the fence. “Practicing,” I said. “Thought it was obvious.”

Avalon rolled her eyes. “Practicing for what?”

“The rodeo.”

She scoffed. “The Founder’s Day rodeo? Don’t tell me you’re actually considering going to that.”

“I’m not considering it,” I said, tugging Apollo’s head away from her face. “I’m going. And I’m going to win.”

“You’re serious?” She laughed—until she realized I wasn’t joking. “You are serious. Clarke, this is unbelievable. Your sister is in there⁠—”

“Dying?” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. Avalon stepped back. “Yes, Avalon, I know that. But I don’t know what else to do. What else to say⁠—”

“Just spend time with her!”

“You don’t know my sister,” I shot back. “She doesn’t want everyone fawning over her. And it’s not like I’m never going to see her.” I sighed, picking hay from Apollo’s mane. “I need to distract myself from the anger I still carry. I can’t fix her. I can’t make her better. But winning the rodeo? That I can do.”

Avalon stepped closer, hands gripping the fence. “So you’re still angry?”

I laughed—a brittle, broken sound. My hair whipped around my face in the wind, curls catching on my lips.

“Of course I’m still angry.” My voice cracked. I turned away, wiping my face before she could see. “I’m going to be angry about this for the rest of my life. I don’t get to opt out⁠—”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said softly.

Before I could respond, the crunch of gravel pulled both our attention toward the long driveway. A bright red Audi crept up the hill, windows tinted too dark to see inside.

“Who is that?” I asked. We weren’t expecting anyone. We never had visitors anymore —not since Melody’s last bad day. The one before last night.

Avalon’s shoulders loosened. “That must be the oncologist Jonas called this morning.” She checked her phone, frowning. “Weird. I didn’t expect them for a few more hours.”

I stared at her. “The oncologist?” My parents had talked to every specialist in the country. Every single one. Who the hell did Avalon think she was to call someone else?

The car door opened and a pair of red-bottom stilettos stepped out.

I frowned. “Since when was your Aunt Brie an oncologist?”

Avalon whipped her head toward me, tension snapping through her body. “My aunt?”

Sure enough, Aubrielle Kennedy—glamorous, uninvited, and wildly out of place—stood on my property like she owned it.

And all I could think was: Great. Another Kennedy woman.

Just what I needed.

Trying not to look like a complete idiot as I hurried up the hill toward my aunt’s car, I quickened my pace. My heart thudded with a mix of dread and disbelief. What the hell was she doing here? Why hadn’t she warned me she was coming?

“So, you’re alive,” Brie said with a sly smile the moment I reached her. “You know, your parents are coming up with some crazy explanations as to where you are and why they haven’t heard from you⁠—”

“What are you doing here, Brie?” I cut in, breathless. She arched a perfectly shaped brow and gave me a slow once-over, tapping her sunglasses against her chin like she was inspecting a crime scene.

“I think the better question is what are you still doing here,” she countered. Then she reached out, lifted a handful of my hair, and gasped. “Your hair is sun-bleached. Oh no.”

I groaned. “Brie⁠—”