Clarke
On Saturday nights, Mama makes chili.
Her mama did the same before her, and her mama before that.
Every woman on my mother’s side has served chili and cornbread on Saturday evenings for as long as anyone can remember.
They always said it was the perfect way to close out a week—warm, hearty, comforting, with just enough spice to remind you you’re alive.
I miss Saturday nights the most when I’m on tour.
The five of us around the table—Melody to my left, Colton across from me, Mama and Daddy at the ends.
Then Colton moved to Nashville, and his chair became the most sacred spot in the house.
Not because it was special—it was mismatched like the rest of Mama’s thrifted chairs, dented from years of roughhousing, and I’m pretty sure the teeth marks weren’t from an animal—but because it was his.
He’d let me sit in it on my birthday. After Melody got sick, he’d switch with her when Mama wasn’t looking. That chair held memories.
Tonight, someone else was sitting in it.
Avalon Kennedy.
She tried her best to ignore the way I stared at her from across the table, but every so often our eyes met and her brows shot up like she couldn’t believe I was still glaring.
She’d kept her distance since our conversation in the Big Barn, staying in her designated space.
I’d overheard her phone calls—one to her manager, Jonas, one to her parents (judging by her mood afterward, that one hadn’t gone well), and one long call to Aunt Brie.
That last one reminded me why I was doing any of this in the first place.
Brie Kennedy. The only reason Avalon was sitting in Colton’s chair.
Melody, bless her heart, tried to break the tension.
“Have you ever been to Texas before?” she asked, practically vibrating with excitement beside her idol.
Avalon dipped cornbread into her chili before answering. “No, this is my first time. I was supposed to have a show in Austin last year but had to cancel because…”
She trailed off, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m excited to be here.
It’s a beautiful state.” She turned to Mama with a polite smile—the same one she’d worn at the convention.
“You have a lovely home, Mrs. King. I love the mismatched furniture. It’s so different from my parents’ place in California. ”
Mama beamed. “Thank you, Avalon. Clarke helped with most of the decorating.” Avalon’s gaze slid to me, slow and deliberate. A soft smile tugged at her lips. “Did she? You have great taste, Clarke.”
Just not in the people I choose to sleep with, I thought.
“Thank you,” I said aloud, pushing aside my soggy cornbread.
Avalon perked up at the acknowledgment—the first words I’d spoken to her since the barn. “Did you also help decorate the Big Barn?”
Melody snorted into her water. “No, Clarke would never put those rugs with that bedspread.”
“Melly, hush.”
My spoon clattered against my bowl.
Silence fell over the table like a heavy blanket.
I felt my parents’ eyes on me—disappointment radiating off them. They knew I knew better than to snap at the table, especially in front of guests.
Avalon cleared her throat. “Was it something I said—”
“No,” Daddy cut in, voice firm and cold. “Clarke simply needs to excuse herself from the table. Now.”
I didn’t look at anyone as I stood and walked out. I could feel Avalon’s eyes on my back the whole way.
I knew my parents wanted an explanation—they’d wanted one since I came home from the convention.
I hadn’t given them one then, and I wasn’t ready to give them one now.
They’d always been accepting of my sexuality.
They’d always said my happiness mattered more than their religious beliefs.
But this—sleeping with a stranger—wasn’t me.
They’d raised me better. I’d held myself to a higher standard because they did, because Melody did, because the whole damn town did.
Everyone saw me as this pure, angelic, feminine thing—incapable of flaws. So was it really wrong that I hid the parts of myself that didn’t fit that image?
My legs carried me to the Deity House without thinking. The largest stable on the property, home to seventeen award-winning show horses worth more than sixty million dollars combined.
I’d spent half my teenage years here, finding comfort in the quiet presence of horses when people felt too loud, too demanding, too complicated.
I loved my family. I’d do anything for them. But they didn’t always understand. And maybe that was my fault—I’d built walls to protect the version of me they loved. But those walls had become a sanctuary. A hiding place. A shield.
If they couldn’t get past them, they couldn’t see how broken I really was.
“Your dad said I’d probably find you here.”
Avalon’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I looked up from Odysseus’ dark mane to see her taking hesitant steps toward me. I smiled softly despite myself—she was terrified of them. These gentle giants who wanted nothing more than clean water and fresh hay.
“They don’t bite,” I called out—then paused. “Except for that one. Hestia likes to nip at anyone she doesn’t know.”
Right on cue, the black mare stretched her neck over the stall door and peeled her lips back in a warning grin.
Avalon jumped back like she’d been shot.
I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “Noted,” she muttered, her voice wobbling with nerves as she sidestepped toward the golden mustang in the next stall.
“Apollo, Hestia, Odysseus…” She traced her fingers over the silver nameplate on Apollo’s door. “I’m sensing a theme. Were you into Greek mythology as a kid or something?” Heat crept up my cheeks. “Or something.”
Daddy had let us name all the show horses growing up.
I’d insisted on a theme— everything needed to match, to flow, to make sense.
And yes, maybe I’d had a mild obsession with Greek mythology.
And Sappho. And the way her words made something inside me click into place long before I had language for it.
Avalon noticed the shift in my expression and smiled, closing the small distance between Apollo and Odysseus’ stalls. She was still in the outfit she’d changed into before dinner—black jeans, cropped baby tee, oversized jacket. Her hands were shoved deep in her pockets, like they lived there.
“Why did you follow me out here?” I finally asked, turning back to Odysseus as he nudged my palms for more sugar cubes.
His whiskers tickled my skin, and I laughed softly.
He had the biggest sweet tooth on the ranch—one of the many reasons he was my favorite.
Avalon stopped just outside the stall. “I wanted to apologize, I guess.”
“You already have,” I said. “Multiple times.”
“I know. But you didn’t accept any of them.”
I raised a brow. “What makes you think I’ll accept this one?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because I mean it.”
A laugh escaped me—sharp, disbelieving—and I covered it with a cough into my shoulder. “So does this mean you didn’t mean all the other apologies?”
Avalon let out a breathy, frustrated laugh—the kind you force out when you’re at your limit and the alternative is breaking. “No, of course I meant them, Clarke. I just… I feel like I need to keep apologizing until you believe I’m actually sorry.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and stroked Odysseus’ neck. He sighed dramatically when he realized I was out of sugar cubes.
“What exactly are you apologizing for?” I asked quietly. “Taking my song—” “Our song,” she corrected.
“—or leaving me like I was just some hooker you picked up on the corner?” Avalon’s eyes flew wide. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She hadn’t expected that. Good. I wanted her stunned. I wanted her to feel even a fraction of what I’d felt. I wanted answers.
“I never thought of you as just some hook-up, Clarke—”
A watery laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. “But I don’t believe that, Avalon. If that’s true, then tell me right now—”
I met her eyes, refusing to look away.
“Then why did you leave me like that?”