Avalon
I felt stunned. Confused. “W-what? You’re going to throw out weeks of progress over one slip-up?”
That wasn’t true. She knew it. I knew it. Hell, even Melly knew it. Things had changed between us. They were getting better. We were getting better.
Clarke hadn’t tried to maim me in days, and I no longer felt the need to prop a chair under my doorknob at night.
They were all about you.
Now was definitely not the time to tell her I knew about the songs—even though I wanted to know what she’d written. Were they angry? Did she spend three months pouring her frustration and hatred for me into lyrics?
“That’s not true and you know it,” I muttered. “You might not want to admit it, but I can—I will. We’ve been making progress, Clarke.”
She inhaled sharply at the sound of her name. I’d grown up believing names held power—sacred, intentional. Melody wasn’t wrong about me being scared to say her sister’s name, but not for the reason she thought.
I didn’t want Clarke’s name to become overused. I didn’t want it to lose its meaning. So when I said it, I meant it. Every syllable.
Her lips parted. She dragged her lower lip between her teeth, emotions flickering across her face before she rubbed her eyes and exhaled shakily.
“I think I just need some air — I’ll leave.”
She brushed past me, her apple-sweet perfume lingering in her wake. “Don’t follow me.”
I didn’t.
I watched her stop in the hallway, one hand braced against the wall as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
I wanted to go to her. To comfort her. To fix this.
But she told me not to follow, so all I could do was watch as she let herself break for a moment before pulling her shoulders back and composing herself.
When she was gone, I closed the bathroom door and sank to the floor. My hands shook as I pulled out my phone and scrolled to Jonas’ contact.
He picked up on the second ring, his usual cheerful voice booming through the speaker. “Avalon! How’s my Los Angeles superstar faring in Texas territory? Any cute cowboys yet?”
“Ew, no.” I wrinkled my nose. I hadn’t spent much time looking at cowboys—not that I’d had the chance. Other than Colton and Ethan, the only men around were ranch hands who lived farther out on the property. I tried to avoid going past the Deity House.
“Jonas, I think I might’ve fucked up. Like really, really bad.”
His tone shifted instantly. “Uh oh. How bad is really bad?”
“No—not just really bad. Really, really bad. Like Clarke-called-it-quits bad.”
I didn’t know how serious she’d been, but I didn’t want to take the chance. I needed a plan B. A cushion for when the rug got pulled out from under me.
“Well,” Jonas said, “tell me what you did and I’ll tell you how to fix it. That’s my job.”
I recounted everything—the haircut, the explosion, the fallout. Jonas listened with the occasional hmm or uh-huh, which was not helpful.
“Tsk. Well, can it really be your fault if you had no idea the child used to be bald?” he finally said, sarcasm dripping. “I know they have a right to privacy and all that, but if they didn’t make it known…”
That’s what I’d been thinking too. The whole family was so secretive about Melody. They treated her like she was made of glass—seconds from shattering.
“You’re right,” I sighed. “I shouldn’t beat myself up too much. I didn’t know. Clarke can’t fault me for that.”
My thumbnail found its way between my teeth—a childhood habit I’d never broken.
“But maybe,” Jonas added, “try to be less destructive if you want this to work between you and that girl.”
“That girl has a name, Jonas,” I muttered, cheeks warming.
“Mmm, and don’t you know it. Tell me—anything X-rated happen between you two?”
I choked on my own spit. “What the fuck? No. No, no, and hell no! Nothing happened between us and nothing ever will. The Mayfair convention was a loose slip in judgment. I don’t even think she thinks of me that way—I know I don’t think of her that way.”
Silence.
Then Jonas burst into laughter. “You sure are making a lot of excuses for someone you’re so sure you don’t want to fuck. Maybe that’s what you need.”
“What did you just—I’m sorry, excuse me?”
He gasped dramatically. “What? Oh my God, Avalon, no. No. That would only make things more complicated. And from what I hear, you can barely handle things as is.”
“Hey!” I objected. “I’m handling things much better than I would have last year. Or last month. Your lack of faith is insulting.”
Jonas laughed, and some of the tension in my chest eased. I didn’t have many people who understood me—but the ones who did, I cherished.
“No, but seriously,” he continued, “I think there’s unresolved sexual tension between you two. And unless you release it—”
“Ew!”
“—until you get rid of this magnetic pull between you, things will always be tense. Sensual. That’s your task for the week: have sex!”
I chewed my nail again. “With Clarke or—”
“Anyone!” he shrieked. “You just need to exert some of that pent-up sexual frustration. It shouldn’t be hard. Texas should be full of gay cowgirls. Oh! You could go to Houston and party at Palomino’s—I hear the drinks are to die for.”
I considered it—not Palomino’s, since Houston was six hours away—but maybe I did have pent-up frustration.
We ended the call a few minutes later. I slipped my phone into my pocket and stepped out of the bathroom, careful to avoid a certain quick-tempered blonde.