Clarke
We finished the drive in a quiet that wasn’t hostile anymore—just… tentative. Like we were both learning how to breathe the same air without combusting.
Avalon had her phone out for most of the ride, but after the third dropped call and the fifth “Are you kidding me?” she gave up and shoved it into her pocket with a dramatic groan.
By the time the tops of Opal Springs’ tallest buildings came into view—all three of them—she looked like she was seconds from dying of boredom.
“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped out onto the dirt road that cut through the center of town. “You really live in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Why didn’t you move to a big city like normal singers?”
I shrugged, climbing the steps to Doc’s office. “I wanted to be close to home.”
That was the truth—or at least the part of it I was willing to say aloud. I used to tell myself I was needed here. For Melody. For my parents. For the ranch. For Delia. But the truth was simpler: I was scared. Scared of leaving. Scared of being alone. Scared of the city swallowing me whole.
“It’s so busy out there,” I added. “Too much paparazzi.”
The door swung open, and cool air washed over me, raising goosebumps along my arms.
“Yeah, but the city has so many things you don’t have here,” Avalon said, glancing around the small waiting room before her eyes landed on mine. “Things that could make your life easier.”
“What does the city have that I need?” I asked softly. “What could it possibly offer that would make my life better than it is right now?”
Her expression told me she didn’t believe me. That she wanted to challenge me. That she wanted to prove me wrong.
“Even a recording studio?” she asked.
I nodded. “When my first record went platinum, I realized I couldn’t be so far from home. So, Daddy and I spent the next summer building one.”
A smile tugged at my lips as I pictured the room—the soundproof walls, the baby-blue pillows, the quiet that wrapped around me like a blanket. It was more than a studio. It was a sanctuary. A place where I could fall apart without anyone watching.
Avalon grunted, unimpressed, and turned her attention to the street outside.
Opal Springs was a patchwork of history—old brick storefronts, faded paint, wooden porches that creaked under the weight of time. Most of the businesses were family-owned, passed down through generations. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everyone’s business.
Leigh Anne’s Tailoring Shop sat across the street, its gold lettering gleaming in the sun. Leigh Anne Marshall was the town gossip—not malicious, just… thorough. She knew everything about everyone, and she shared it with the enthusiasm of someone reporting breaking news.
Next door was Marietta’s Dress Shop, owned by Leigh Anne’s twin sister. Their rivalry was legendary—dramatic, petty, and wildly entertaining unless you were the subject of their latest feud.
I used to find their antics amusing. Until the rumors became about me.
I sucked in a breath and forced a smile. “Doc’s office is just down the street. We’ll get your tetanus shot and then find you a nail salon.”
There was only one full-service salon in town, and I avoided it like the plague.
Mama had taught me to braid my own hair when I was little, and I rarely wore makeup unless I was performing.
My management team insisted I keep a glam squad on call, but I never used them.
It was one of the few compromises we’d made when I insisted on staying in Opal Springs.
I got to live my small-town life. They got three months of touring a year. Fair trade.
Doctor Harris Ferguson was a tall man with a snowy beard that had convinced me he was Santa Claus until I was nine.
He and his wife, Honoria, ran the doctor’s office and the veterinary clinic in the back.
It wasn’t unusual for a single storefront to serve multiple purposes—space was limited, and the town was growing faster than anyone expected.
Honoria greeted us with a warm smile from behind the front desk. Her graying hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her floral blouse matched the golden undertone of her skin.
“Do my eyes deceive me,” she said, rising with open arms, “or is that Clarke King walking through my front door?”
I smiled—a real one this time. “Your eyes do not lie, Mrs. Ferguson.”
I stepped into her embrace, letting myself melt into the familiar warmth. She smelled like lavender and honey—the scent of childhood comfort.
“It’s been ages,” she said, pulling back to cup my face. “You look tired, sweetheart.”
I laughed softly. “Long week.”
Stepping back, I realized just how long it had been since I last set foot in town. Three months, to be exact. Honoria’s hair was a little grayer, the smile lines around her face a little deeper—and yet she was still the same beautiful, kind woman I’d known my whole life.
“I do hope you’re feeling alright. The sisters were coming up with all sorts of crazy ideas about why you wouldn’t leave the ranch.”
Honoria squeezed my hands, her expression a careful blend of concern and curiosity.
I knew her well enough to understand what she wasn’t saying. Everyone wanted answers.
Where was Clarke King? Why hasn’t she left her house in over three months?
Those questions had hovered over me like a raincloud ever since I’d returned home from Mayfair.
I hadn’t meant to worry anyone—I had just needed to disappear for a while, to lick my wounds in the privacy of my own four walls.
Thankfully, Avalon hadn’t told anyone about us hooking up, so the papers had nothing to go on except drunken speculation.
And the hotel staff knew better than to talk.
Honoria squeezed my hands again, and I felt my cheeks ache from smiling so hard.
“Well, I’m here now,” I said. “We have so much to catch up on.”
Honoria wiggled her brows and jerked her head toward Avalon, who stood awkwardly nearby. “Yes, we do.”
That mischievous gleam in her green eyes I had loved since childhood. Heat crept up my neck as I stepped aside and motioned Avalon closer. She took a few hesitant steps, fingers fidgeting with the silver and leather bracelets around her wrists.
“Hi, I’m Avalon Kennedy.” She waited, maybe expecting recognition. Instead, Honoria gave her a silent, assessing once-over.
“Your knee is bleeding,” Honoria murmured, pressing a thumb to her bottom lip. She bent down to inspect the gash more closely.
“Harris!” she called, straightening. “My husband will get you stitched up, don’t you worry.”
She offered Avalon a small, friendly smile before turning back to me.
“I hope to see more of you, young lady.”
A smile broke across my face as she returned to her desk. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be sure to come out to town more often,” I promised.
The door behind her swung open, and Mr. Ferguson stepped into the foyer. He looked exactly the same—big beard, round belly, and that mischievous twinkle in his eyes. As a child, I’d been convinced he was Santa Claus. Or at least related.
“Clarke!” he boomed, his smile widening. “Who’ve we got here?”
His welcome was short but warm. He’d always been business-oriented, always giving his patients his full attention. That was why everyone loved him—he cared, and he took the time to care.
“This is Clarke’s friend, Avalon Kennedy,” Honoria said, flashing me a wink that made my cheeks burn. Friend was generous—we were barely acquaintances.
“She scraped her knee on Daisy’s door.”
Dr. Harris’ laugh rumbled through the room, vibrating in my bones. Avalon turned to me, her face as red as a spring tomato.
“What? Does everyone know about Daisy’s door?”
“Well, it’s somewhat of a rite of passage,” Dr. Harris said, placing a gentle hand on her back and guiding her toward the exam room. “I’ll tell you about the time I had to stitch up three of the McGafferty boys while we get you this tetanus shot.”
Avalon nodded vigorously, hanging onto every word. Harris Ferguson had always been a gifted storyteller—maybe he exaggerated the trivial details, but that was what made his stories so captivating. Those little white lies that softened the truth, made it easier to swallow.
But I was a terrible liar.