Page 14 of Holding Hope

“Doing what?” I hopped onto the desk, using my boots to scoot across it like a raccoon trying to escape a trash can.

The horror on Clarke’s face when my boots scuffed the polished wood was almost worth dying for. Almost.

Because the next thing I saw was the light-pink body of her guitar swinging toward my head.

I screamed and ducked, covering my skull with both hands. “Clarke! How about you put the guitar down?”

I tumbled off the desk and landed in a rolling chair—a modern, squeaky, completely out-of-place rolling chair in the middle of a western-themed office. I used it as a shield. “C’mon,” I tried again, peeking over the backrest. “Put the instrument down. That thing probably cost half a fortune. We can talk like adults.”

“Talk?” she repeated, incredulous. “Is that what you’re here for? To talk like adults?” The guitar lifted again. Her eyes burned—anger, yes, but something else too. Something that made my stomach twist. “You’ve had three months to talk like an adult, Avalon.” Her gaze flicked to the scuff marks my boots had left on the desk. When she looked back at me, her eyes were slits.

“Look, I’m sorry I ghosted you,” I blurted. “I meant to call, and then my life got hectic—my parents got a new dog, I—well, you don’t care about that.” I ran a hand through my hair. God, I needed a shower.

“What I’m trying to say is that things got chaotic, and by the time I remembered to call you, two months had gone by.”

Clarke scoffed and lowered the guitar. “Wow. Two months? You didn’t think about me at all during those two months?”

I shrugged. Nervously. “No?”

“No?” she repeated, louder. “No?”

Oh, I had fucked up. Badly. She was absolutely going to kill me with that baby-pink guitar. I could already see the headlines. My parents would be embarrassed—but honestly, when were they not?

Then Clarke laughed. The sound hit me like a punch to the chest. I hadn’t heard it in three months. It was still beautiful. Still warm. Still capable of unraveling me.

“You didn’t think about me at all? Not even once?” she said through laughter. “So, you didn’t think about me when you stole my song and released it as your own?” Ah. Fuck me. I backed up until I hit the windowsill. I glanced over my shoulder. Could I survive a two-story fall? Maybe. Probably not.

Clarke stepped closer, one hand on the desk, the other still gripping the guitar. The laughter vanished from her face, replaced by anger and something that looked a lot like hurt.

“Look,” I said, “technically it was our song. We worked on it together, in case you don’t remember.”

“Oh, I remember,” she said. “I also remember you saying we should release it together. Maybe even make an album.”

I threw my hands up. “Why do you think I’m here, Clarke?” Technically true. I was here to make an album with her—but not because of some drunken hookup song. When I’d realized I had the hard drive, I’d almost sent it back. Almost. But then Jonas found it. Producers loved it. Beta teams loved it. It could change my reputation, they said. So I released it. Alone. And never told Clarke.

“You never even told me,” She said quietly.

I relaxed a fraction. “Is this about credit? You want credit? Or money? I can give you both. I’m sorry, really, I didn’t⁠—”

“I don’t want your fucking money,” she snapped. “And I especially don’t want your fucking apology.” She moved around the desk. I swallowed hard.

“Then what do you want?” I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.

“I want to know how you got here. The real reason you’re here. And what it’ll take to make you leave.” She was inches away. My legs turned to jelly.

“Well, I took a flight from LAX to Dallas Fort Worth—right, you don’t care.” I sighed. “When I released That Night, it wasn’t a decision I made lightly. I wasn’t with you that night planning to steal your song⁠—”

“Oh, so you do admit it was my song and you stole it?”

“Will you shut up and let me finish?”

Her brows shot up. Her mouth dropped open. I waved a hand dismissively. “My manager insisted I release it. It was new. Fresh. Different. It changed my career. Clarke, that song gave me control over my future.”

For a split second, she looked proud. Then she scowled again. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

Right.

“So… when you release a song outside your usual genre and fans love it, they expect more. And I—” I swallowed my pride. “I can’t do it without you.”