Clarke
The early afternoon sun beat down on me without mercy as I pulled Apollo around the barrel.
The mud beneath his hooves sucked at every step, making the turn heavier, slower, messier than it should’ve been — but that wasn’t his fault.
We couldn’t control the weather. We could only work with what it gave us.
“Good boy,” I murmured, patting his neck. “But I know we can do better.”
He snorted like he agreed, tossing his head with a spark of excitement that made my chest loosen just a little. Even after hours of running patterns, Apollo’s enthusiasm never dimmed. Mine didn’t either— not when I needed this distraction like oxygen.
I steered him back toward the barrels, nudged him with my heels, and we took off again. The figure-eight pattern flowed smoother this time, Apollo adjusting to the mud, finding his rhythm. If we could keep this up, we might actually place in the top three at tonight’s rodeo.
“Clarke!”
I turned toward the fence. Avalon stood there, leaning against the wood, concern etched across her face.
She wore a pair of my old shorts and an oversized country band tee, her hair thrown into a messy bun.
Even dressed in my hand-me-downs, she was still effortlessly pretty— the kind of pretty that didn’t require effort or awareness.
Her natural beauty was almost unfair. Those strange grey eyes, the sharp lines of her face, the dark hair that made her look like she’d stepped out of a magazine.
Half the country envied her — not just her looks, but her life.
The freedom she carried like a second skin.
The way she did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.
Including dropping everything to spend a summer in the middle of nowhere with a girl she barely knew.
She would never understand how deeply I envied that.
“Clarke!” she called again when I didn’t answer. “What are you doing?”
I nudged Apollo toward her. He trotted lazily to the fence. “Practicing,” I said. “Thought it was obvious.”
Avalon rolled her eyes. “Practicing for what?”
“The rodeo.”
She scoffed. “The Founder’s Day rodeo? Don’t tell me you’re actually considering going to that.”
“I’m not considering it,” I said, tugging Apollo’s head away from her face. “I’m going. And I’m going to win.”
“You’re serious?” She laughed—until she realized I wasn’t joking. “You are serious. Clarke, this is unbelievable. Your sister is in there—”
“Dying?” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. Avalon stepped back. “Yes, Avalon, I know that. But I don’t know what else to do. What else to say—”
“Just spend time with her!”
“You don’t know my sister,” I shot back.
“She doesn’t want everyone fawning over her.
And it’s not like I’m never going to see her.
” I sighed, picking hay from Apollo’s mane.
“I need to distract myself from the anger I still carry. I can’t fix her.
I can’t make her better. But winning the rodeo? That I can do.”
Avalon stepped closer, hands gripping the fence. “So you’re still angry?”
I laughed—a brittle, broken sound. My hair whipped around my face in the wind, curls catching on my lips.
“Of course I’m still angry.” My voice cracked. I turned away, wiping my face before she could see. “I’m going to be angry about this for the rest of my life. I don’t get to opt out—”
“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said softly.
Before I could respond, the crunch of gravel pulled both our attention toward the long driveway. A bright red Audi crept up the hill, windows tinted too dark to see inside.
“Who is that?” I asked. We weren’t expecting anyone. We never had visitors anymore —not since Melody’s last bad day. The one before last night.
Avalon’s shoulders loosened. “That must be the oncologist Jonas called this morning.” She checked her phone, frowning. “Weird. I didn’t expect them for a few more hours.”
I stared at her. “The oncologist?” My parents had talked to every specialist in the country. Every single one. Who the hell did Avalon think she was to call someone else?
The car door opened and a pair of red-bottom stilettos stepped out.
I frowned. “Since when was your Aunt Brie an oncologist?”
Avalon whipped her head toward me, tension snapping through her body. “My aunt?”
Sure enough, Aubrielle Kennedy—glamorous, uninvited, and wildly out of place—stood on my property like she owned it.
And all I could think was: Great. Another Kennedy woman.
Just what I needed.