Avalon
Mornings came early on the King ranch. Too early to properly nurse a hangover—and sharing a space with someone who didn’t drink didn’t make it any easier.
Clarke liked to be up before the sun even considered rising. Before the chickens started pecking at the dirt. Before the dogs whined at the door.
She showered but never straightened her hair—always letting it curl into its natural patterns. Then she spent the next hour doing what I could only assume was meditation. I’d never thought of her as religious, but the hour after her shower was always strangely quiet.
I was usually wandering the property at that time, trying to get over my fear of the horses named after Greek gods. The fact that Clarke had insisted on Grecian names surprised me—just like finding out she’d been a sharpshooter at twelve.
There was so much about this girl I didn’t know. And the more I learned, the more I realized I was barely scratching the surface.
The question that started all of this kept circling my mind:
Who exactly was Clarke King?
Seeing her with her brother and Ethan, I’d glimpsed a different side of her—one she hadn’t shown me during the first few days of my stay.
She laughed more around Colton. Her smile wasn’t forced, wasn’t meant to please her parents or comfort Melody.
And the way she interacted with Ethan… there was history there. More than she’d ever admit.
Not that I was jealous.
Simply curious. But if curiosity killed the cat, where would it take me?
By day fifteen, restlessness had settled into my bones. Despite the vastness of the King ranch, I felt trapped—like a bird confined to a cage.
Technically, I had the keys. No one was holding me captive. But leaving would mean giving up, and if my parents taught me anything, it was that Kennedys do not quit.
I was going to mend things with Clarke. I was going to leave Texas at the end of the summer with a completed album and one less blonde trying to make my life miserable.
She hadn’t pulled any new stunts since Daisy’s door, but something told me I shouldn’t get too comfortable. Clarke King always had one more trick up her sleeve.
To distract myself, I tried helping around the ranch.
Melody brought me along during her chores so I could learn the ropes.
She fed most of the show ponies—the ones named after Greek gods—since that stable was closest to the Big House.
But she was more than happy to help me conquer my fear of the animals.
“The only one you really need to watch out for is Hestia. She’s a little nippy.”
Melody pointed to the horse I’d been avoiding since my first visit to the Deity House.
“Has she always been this way?” I asked, fidgeting with the sugar cube Melody had given me. She said it was to show the horses I came bearing gifts—friendship in the form of sweets.
Melody shrugged. “Clarke rescued her from a slaughterhouse when she was nineteen. I think all that time being abused made her a bit grouchy.”
I looked at the horse with newfound sympathy. “So, Clarke rescues horses too?”
What didn’t this girl do?
Melody grinned, mischief in her eyes. “Oh yeah. She’s a real saint. Horses are her favorite animal, so naturally she was bound to save one.”
I tentatively held my hand out to Hades, an all-black Arabian who looked like he’d walked straight out of Tartarus.
Melody told me he’d been a rescue too—all the show ponies were—and when he first arrived at King & Co.
, he broke free and ran up the side of a mountain.
It took both Mr. King and Colton to bring him back, but it was Clarke who finally broke him.
“She saves horses, shoots guns, sings, performs—what can’t your sister do?” I laughed softly as Hades’ whiskers tickled my palm. Despite his name and intimidating size, he was one of the gentlest horses I’d met.
“What’s the deal with you two anyway?” Melody asked bluntly.
My back stiffened. “What has she told you?”
Melody grabbed a brush from the wall. I picked one too, trying to look casual.
“Clarke never tells me anything about her love life. Or lack of one. She became full of secrets after the convention.” Melody’s voice dropped. “I think something bad happened out there. I want to ask her, but she shuts down every time.”
Across Athena’s back, Melody’s eyes met mine. “Did you see or hear anything at the convention that might’ve caused this? She wasn’t like this before. I don’t know how to help her.”
My stomach plummeted. Melody’s lower lip wobbled.
Jesus fuck.
I turned back to Hades, brushing his coat in slow, steady strokes. How was I supposed to look this girl in the eye and tell her I was the reason her sister had locked herself away for months?
She idolized me. Looked up to me. Was I supposed to shatter that?
Would it be selfish to lie to her? To protect her image of me—and protect myself?
“No-no,” I lied, shaking my head. “Your sister and I hardly crossed paths.”
Technically true. Before that night, Clarke and I didn’t cross paths.
But I’d always been watching her.
Still, the guilt gnawed at me.
Melody sniffed. “Thank God. I know you would never hurt her.”
I forced a laugh. “Oh yeah? Why do you think that?”
She shrugged. “You like her, don’t you?”
“What?” My voice cracked. Thank God her back was turned so she couldn’t see my face. “I do not like your sister.”
“Sure you do,” she said simply. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” I followed her down the hall as she handed out sweets to the horses.
“Saying ‘your sister’ instead of Clarke. Like you’re scared to say her name. Or like it’s something special.”
I hadn’t even noticed. But thinking back… yeah. I’d done it a lot.
“I’m not scared of saying her name,” I muttered. “She is your sister.”
Melody giggled as we headed toward the other barn. Usually, Mrs. King accompanied her since it was farther from the house, but today I had the honor of helping.
“Prove it.”
“I’m not proving—”
“If you’re not scared of saying her name, prove it.”
That mischievous gleam again.
“You act like she’ll appear if you say it three times. Like Bloody Mary.”
I snorted, trying to find a way out. Melody wasn’t backing down —a trait she clearly inherited from Clarke.
“I am not—”
“You’re chicken shit.”
“Hey! I can accept being called scared, but chicken shit is where I draw the line.”
I crossed my arms, hip popped out. Melody mirrored me, looking adorable in her overall shorts and striped long-sleeve shirt.
“Then prove me wrong, Kennedy.”
“Fine!” I threw my hands up. “Clarke King! Yeah, yeah, get your laughs out.”
Melody doubled over, laughing so hard she had to brace herself on her knees.
“You should turn around,” she wheezed.
Gravel crunched behind me.
My stomach dropped.
Slowly—painfully slowly—I turned.
Clarke stood fifteen feet away, arms crossed, expression sour enough to curdle milk.
You’ve got to be kidding me.