Avalon
“So she shut you down completely?” Jonas’ voice chimed through the phone in his usual singsong tone.
It had been three days since the blow-up in the Red Barn kitchen, and I’d finally caved — I needed someone to talk to.
Someone who wasn’t Clarke. Someone who wasn’t going to look at me with those cool blue eyes and make me feel like I was unraveling.
Jonas Hayes wasn’t exactly unbiased—he was my manager, and his relationship advice was historically terrible—but he was all I had. My parents wouldn’t care, and Aunt Brie was in New York. That left Jonas.
I sighed, staring at my open notebook. I’d been trying to write music, but the page stayed blank. Clarke had taken up all the space in my head.
“I wouldn’t say she shut me down completely,” I muttered. “But she made it seem like the other night was a big mistake.”
Jonas laughed—a condescending little sound, but that was just him. “I mean, can you blame her, Avalon?”
“For having sex? Didn’t you tell me I needed to get it out of my system?” I snapped.
“Yes, but not with her.” He sighed dramatically. I could practically see him spinning in his office chair, chewing on a pen cap. “I told you anyone would do, but you just had to have her. What were you expecting? That she’d forget everything you did simply because you know where her clit is?”
“Jonas!”
“Avalon!” he mocked, and despite myself, I laughed. “Honey, you know I love you, but this is something you’re going to have to work for. If you think she’s worth it—”
“I do,” I cut in sharply. “Obviously I do.”
“Then show her,” he said simply. “Show her this is more than a one-time thing. Be consistent. Care about the things she cares about. Not just the fact that you two have great sexual chemistry.”
I snorted. He wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t win Clarke over with one night of incredible sex — or three days of sulking.
“You’re right,” I muttered, pacing the length of my room. “I need to come up with something.”
“I always am,” he said smugly. “Oh! Speaking of being right — have you spoken to your parents yet? You can’t hide from them forever.”
I groaned, collapsing onto my bed.
“No, Jonas, I haven’t had the chance,” I lied.
I’d had plenty of chances. I just didn’t want to hear another lecture about the Kennedy name or how I was wasting my potential. They’d tell me to come home, let someone else write my songs, let someone else shape my life.
But I didn’t want that anymore. I wanted to prove I could create something real. Something mine. Maybe then they’d finally be proud of me.
“Well,” Jonas continued, oblivious, “Lou from Dante DeLuca said Ayana was talking about putting missing-persons flyers up around the studio.”
I groaned. Of course Dante would be dramatic about it.
“I’m sure that was Dante’s idea,” I said. “He’s been telling me to call him Uncle Dante since I was five.”
“He probably still wants you to quit singing and become his next muse,” Jonas teased. “You do have the build for it.”
I rolled my eyes and stared at my notebook again.
“Maybe I’ll have to become a model if I can’t get Clarke on board with this album,” I muttered.
Because we had fallen right back into our old patterns — awkward glances, clipped conversations, the kind of tension that made my skin itch. I was running out of ideas. And Clarke… Clarke was impossible to read.
“Don’t give up hope, Honey,” Jonas said. “She’ll come around.”
He didn’t believe that. Not really. But I wanted to.
“Anyway, I’ve got errands,” he continued. “Elton’s hosting his end-of-summer party in the Hills. But take care of yourself — and call your parents, Sweetie.”
I smiled faintly. “Have fun, Jonas. And stop patronizing me.”
“Clearly someone has to,” he laughed before hanging up.
Silence settled over the room—or as close to silence as you could get on a farm. Shouts echoed from the paddocks outside, voices carrying on the warm air.
Curiosity tugged at me.
I slipped out of the Big Barn and followed the noise down the small hill toward the fenced arena.
There, leaning against the rail, were Colton, Ethan, Mr. King, and Melody — all watching Clarke on the back of a golden horse.
Three barrels stood in the arena, evenly spaced. And Clarke…
Clarke looked like she belonged there. Confident. Focused. Beautiful.
My chest tightened. I wasn’t done trying.
Not even close.