Page 42 of Holding Hope

Melody shook her head. “I don’t think any of it would work for the album.”

I laughed lightly, reaching for the last egg hidden under a russet hen. “Why not? I’m sure it’s great. Your sister is very talented.”

“It’s not that,” Melody said, straightening. “I know how talented she is. It’s just…”

Her mouth twisted in a way that looked painfully familiar—Clarke’s nervous tell.

“They were all about you.”

Delia was waiting for me in the kitchen when I stepped into the Big House. She sat at the large island with her back to the door, her red hair spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of fire.

Delia Hanson—granddaughter of the minister, raised on scripture and Sunday school—had somehow managed to land us in more trouble than I could count. She had the spirit of a wild mustang and the same restless urge to run.

But today, the sight of my best friend made my stomach sink. I had spent the past several days turning over my brother’s request—convincing Delia to marry him—and the more I thought about it, the more I hated the idea.

Colton was a great brother. The best I could’ve asked for. But he’d had a different childhood than Melody and me. He was the product of teen pregnancy—Mama barely sixteen, Dad almost eighteen. They’d struggled. Nana and Poppa nearly cut Dad off, telling him he was throwing away his future. Dad had threatened to throw his own father out of the house if he ever insulted his family again.

Poppa King never tried it twice. King boys were fiercely protective. And short-tempered. And hot-headed. Which was exactly why I didn’t want my best friend marrying one.

What would happen when they fought? When the honeymoon phase wore off? Delia was just as quick to start a fight as my brother—I’d seen it firsthand. She could hold her own, sure, but what if? What if Colton pushed too far? What if Delia said something she couldn’t take back?

I didn’t want to choose between my brother and my best friend.

But was it even my choice? Delia was grown. She could make her own decisions. Whatever she chose, I would stand by her—even if it wasn’t the choice I’d make for her.

The oak door clicked shut behind me, alerting the house dogs. A moment later, Roman and Tiberius barreled down the hallway —nearly three hundred pounds of Rottweiler enthusiasm—and smothered me in fur and wet kisses.

“Roman—Roman, get down!” I laughed as the larger one reared up, planting his paws on my chest. “Yes, I know, I love you too.”

He barked happily and nudged Tiberius, who nipped at his ear. Soon they were wrestling, paws thudding against the hardwood.

“Clarke!” Delia squealed, launching herself off the island and wrapping me in a tight hug. “Oh my God! Where is she?” Her green eyes darted past me toward the door, searching for Avalon. “She’s still here, right?”

I forced a tight smile. “Unfortunately, yes.”

I hugged her back, not wanting to let go. Delia was the only one who knew the truth about Avalon—the only one who’d seen me at my worst during those three long months.

She’d held my hair while I cried until I threw up. She’d convinced Mama I had the flu. If Avalon thought I was vengeful, she had no idea what Delia had imagined doing to her.

Delia Hanson was a devil with an angel’s face—and I loved her for it. She was the heat to my cold, the chaos to my calm. And I couldn’t let her fall victim to my brother’s charm.

“Well, it shouldn’t be long before she packs up and goes back to whatever multimillion-dollar Hollywood apartment she crawled out of.”

Delia’s smile stretched wide, mischief gleaming in her eyes. “I’ll make sure of that.”

I shook my head with a laugh. “No, Delia. Please don’t maim her. As much as I can’t stand her and would love for her to stop invading my space, I don’t want a lawsuit.”

Delia sighed dramatically and flopped onto the leather sofa. “Not even just a little bit?”

“No.”

I stood at the edge of the couch, fidgeting with my bracelets. I didn’t want to do this. Would it be selfish to never bring it up? If I said nothing, Colton would assume she’d rejected him. He’d move on—like he always did—and find someone else. Someone who wasn’t my best friend.

“Uh oh. What’s wrong?” Delia’s brows pinched together as she studied me. “You have that look again. Is it that little bitch? I’ll kill her⁠—”

“Jesus, Lia, no.”

I shook my hands and finally sank onto the couch, leaving several inches between us—which she definitely noticed.