Page 51 of Holding Hope

The songs.

There was no way she meant those songs—the ones I wrote in the weeks after the convention. The ones that were raw and vulnerable and full of emotions I hadn’t told a soul. Not even Delia knew about them.

“You went through my things?” My voice came out quieter than I intended.

Melody’s ears turned bright red. She shifted in the chair, stumbling over her words. “I wouldn’t say—I didn’t go through your things… not necessarily. I was trying to find an old shirt of yours and you left your notebook open, so naturally I got curious. You’re a literal star—of course I’d want to know if you were writing any more songs about me.”

I nodded slowly, tapping my pen against the notebook. “How much of it did you see?”

The songs weren’t explicit, but they were honest. Too honest. They were the closest thing to a confession I’d ever written. And the idea of Melody—sweet, nosy, too-perceptive Melody—reading them made my skin prickle.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“Not a whole lot,” Melody said slowly, eyes dropping to her beat-up Converse. “Just enough to know they weren’t about me.”

That was true. I’d been painfully specific in those songs. If they were ever released or read by anyone, it would be obvious who they were about.

Avalon was written into every line, even when her name wasn’t.

“So do you think she’s lonely?” I asked, steering the conversation back to her earlier comment. I didn’t want to think about my little sister reading the most vulnerable, angriest pieces of me. She was getting too close to the cracks in my façade—the parts of me I never wanted her to see.

The ugly me.

The angry me.

The me she shouldn’t grow up to become.

Melody perked up, propping her leg onto the chair. “Well, she’s always following me around. And don’t get me wrong, I love having her here… but I think she needs to spend time with people her own age.”

I snorted. “She could go back to Los Angeles.”

“Clarke!”

“Fine! I’m sorry.” I dropped my head into my hands. “I’ll… I’ll take her to Rorie’s tomorrow night if that’ll satisfy you.”

Rorie’s was the small-town bar that hosted karaoke and line dancing and was always packed, even on weekdays. If Melody wanted Avalon to meet people her own age, there was no better place than a bar overflowing with irresponsible young adults.

“Yes!” Melody launched herself from the chair and crushed me in a hug. “You should take Colton too. He’s been really down the past few days.”

She stepped back, tucking a short piece of hair behind her ear. And despite everything I’d said to Avalon, Melody’s haircut did suit her. It made her look older. Stronger. Like she hadn’t spent most of her life fighting an illness that tried to take everything from her.

Maybe that was why I’d been so angry. She was growing up, and I wasn’t ready. If she stayed little, she stayed safe. If she stayed little, she still needed me.

“Do you know why he’s in such a bad mood, Sissy?”

I shrugged. Colton had been in a foul mood since our argument in his homestead, but I hadn’t told anyone—not even Mama, who would’ve known exactly what to say. She always knew how to reach him in ways I couldn’t. Maybe because they’d grown up together in a way she hadn’t with Melody and me.

But I couldn’t break his trust. Even unspoken, I knew he didn’t want me dragging Mama into this. And he’d never forgive me if I did.

My hands were tied.

“I think he misses the city,” I said instead. “I’ll check on him later.”

I pulled out my phone and sent Delia a quick message about tomorrow night. “A night out will do us all some good.”

Melody squeezed me again before bounding out of the studio with a squeal. I smiled as the door clicked shut, though the anxious flutter in my stomach was impossible to ignore.

Avalon and I had exchanged numbers weeks ago—purely practical. She’d ask where the laundry detergent was; I’d remind her to stop leaving her combat boots by the front door.