Chapter 89
"I know, I know, this isn't fun," the doctor said sympathetically as he poked another needle into Avery's left thigh. She cried shrilly upon feeling that, of course.
Apparently it wasn't fun for Bellamy, either, because he stroked her soft little head and said, "God, I hate this."
"Gotta be done," Clarke reminded him. Vaccinations were a painful necessity for infants. She'd lost track of everything Avery had gotten, but she was pretty sure this particular shot was the diphtheria one. Or maybe it was tetanus. Or both? Plus, she'd gotten another dose of the hepatitis B shot. It was awful to watch her daughter be poked and prodded with needles, but her mom had assured her that it was essential.
"Just one more, kiddo," the doctor said as he got another shot ready. "Hang in there." He was a pretty nice guy, this Dr. Cillian. As much as Clarke had wanted to stick with Dr. Jackson, he'd described himself as the 'baby-in-the-belly doctor,' and Dr. Cillian was the doctor to have once your baby was out and in your arms.
"I can't even watch anymore," Bellamy said, looking away as their little girl got poked again, this time in her right thigh. She squirmed a little bit, surprisingly strong for someone who was so little, but they managed to keep her as still as possible.
"There, all done," the doctor announced, blessedly taking that last needle over to the desk, where he proceeded to jot down some notes.
"Thank God," Bellamy said. He scooped Avery up and held her against his shoulder, patting her back gently, whispering, "Shh," in her ear as she continued crying. All it took was that close contact with him, though, to start to calm her down. Or maybe it was the sound of his voice. Or even his smell. Dr. Cillian had informed them that Avery could recognize both of them just by their smell now.
Clarke's phone vibrated, and she would have just silenced it had she not recognized the number.
"Who's that?" Bellamy asked her.
"Just a minute," she said before answering. "Hello?"
"Hi, Clarke?"
"Yes."
"This is Rita from Charles Pike's office. How are you today?"
"Um, fine," she said. "Yeah, fine. Is he able to meet with us?"
"He's planning on coming back tomorrow," the woman told her. "We're trying to reschedule the appointments he missed. Does tomorrow at 1:30 work for you?"
"Tomorrow at 1:30?" she repeated, casting a questioning look at Bellamy.
"With Pike?" he said quietly. "Yeah."
"Yeah, that works." She didn't have any lessons, and even though he probably had practice scheduled, he'd switch it around.
"Okay, I'll pencil you in," the woman said. "We'll see you then, Clarke."
"Thanks." She ended the call and smiled shakily at Bellamy. On the one hand, it was great that they were going to be able to move forward with this. On the other hand, though, she didn't want him to see how nervous she was.
...
"So is this making sense?" Pike asked after a lengthy discussion about what their next steps were. Well, it hadn't been as much of a discussion as it'd been him just telling them what their next steps were going to be. He was the expert, after all.
"I think so," Clarke said. Trying to wrap her mind around all this legal stuff was still difficult. "We're gonna serve him with the paperwork where he can consent. And hopefully he does."
Sitting beside her, Bellamy was definitely less optimistic. "He won't."
"No, he might." There was still a slim possibility, and she didn't want to completely give up hope.
"But if he doesn't, then it turns into a shit show," Bellamy grumbled.
"If he doesn't, we still stand a very good chance of you two gaining sole custody," Pike assured them. He'd said that a lot, but it was never a guarantee. If it wasn't 'a very good chance,' then it was, 'a strong likelihood' or 'the most probable outcome.'
"So if he doesn't, then we're gonna try to have his rights . . . terminated," Clarke recapped.
"Yes."
That word, terminated . . . it was so final. It reminded her of the terminology the abortion clinic had used. "And that would mean I have full custody," she said.
"Yes, and from that point onward, moving ahead with the stepparent adoption would be a very simple and straightforward process."
If only the whole thing would have been straightforward and simple. If only Finn wasn't making things complicated. "So how do we prove that I deserve full custody and he doesn't?" she inquired, knowing that, even though it seemed like a no-brainer to her and her family, there were always legal grounds to dispute things.
"Well, as of right now, his rights are . . . really almost invisible," Pike said. "Because he hasn't done much to actually exercise them."
"But he could blame that on us," Bellamy recalled. "He could just say we denied him his rights."
Pike nodded slowly to confirm. "Yes. And that's really the only hiccup I can foresee here. In terms of everything else, you have the upper hand. Not only do you have the parental experience, but the potential of maintaining family relationships is something Avery can only have with the two of you. You said Finn doesn't have a family, correct?"
"Uh, no, he was in foster care his whole life," Clarke replied. "Are they really gonna hold that against him, though? I mean, that seems kinda harsh."
"Oh, well," Bellamy muttered.
"It's harsh," Pike agreed, "but that's how it goes sometimes. He doesn't seem to have a record of bad character, but neither do you two, so that's encouraging. And financially, it sounds like you two are also more stable than him."
"Are we?" Clarke wondered. "I mean, I'm self-employed. I have one music student."
"Yeah, but your parents are loaded," Bellamy mumbled. "We're fine."
She knew it was kind of a bitter pill for him to swallow that they might have to rely on the financial support of her family in this scenario, just to make themselves look better. But if that was what it took, then that was what it took. "Should I see if they're willing to sign the house over to us?" she wondered.
"It wouldn't hurt," Pike answered. "When making these decisions, the court will look at the suitability of the residence, and if you own that residence, that's just another advantage over him."
"Are people gonna come visit our home?" Clarke asked, suddenly envisioning herself having to become all Martha Stewart and conduct a home tour for a bunch of social workers or something.
"It's unlikely, but it could happen. That's very rare in this state, though," Pike said. "Still, it might not be a bad idea to make sure everything in your house is baby-proofed, just to put your best foot forward in that scenario."
She nodded, trying to think of everything that was already done versus everything that still needed to be done. Maybe they could get Roan to help since he had two kids of his own and was very handy.
"What else can we do while you draw up this paperwork Finn's not gonna sign?" Bellamy asked morosely.
"Well, you can collect references," Pike told him. "Find those people who are willing to put it in writing that they vouch for you be allowed to adopt the child."
"So like a letter of recommendation?" Bellamy said.
"Exactly."
He sighed dejectedly and mumbled, "I was never good at getting those."
"But this is, like, based solely on his parenting, right?" Clarke said. "Don't worry, it's not like academic letters of recommendation in high school."
"Ask godparents, family friends, neighbors, anyone who's willing to voice their support," Pike said.
"Grandparents?" Bellamy added.
"Sure. Particularly the ones on Clarke's side."
Four people right there, Clarke thought. Her mom, her dad, Kane, and Alyssa would all definitely write one. Plus, they had Raven, Murphy, Harper, Miller . . . so many friends who knew very well how much Bellamy loved Avery. "Okay, we can do that," she said, feeling slightly optimistic, because she knew there was no way Finn would have so many letters. "I think we've got a lot of people who would be willing to help. Could I even write something?"
"Of course," Pike said.
"Okay, I will. I'll do that tonight." She glanced over at Bellamy, who still looked worried as hell, and put her hand on his thigh, giving it a little squeeze. "See, we don't just have to wait," she said. "There's stuff we can do." Hopefully, they'd do enough.
...
Standing at the sink, Bellamy gave his reflection a long, hard look in the mirror. Did he look . . . fatherly enough? Maybe a plaid shirt would help. For some reason, when he thought of dads, he thought of plaid.
He left the bathroom and pulled open the closet, but as usual, it was hard to find his stuff, because it was shoved in the back behind Clarke's. He decided he'd look for typical dad clothes tomorrow, shut the closet, and joined Clarke on the bed, where she was sitting back against the headboard, typing a mile a minute on her laptop.
"Should I shave my beard?" he asked her, perching himself on the side of the bed.
For a moment, she stopped typing. "What?"
"I just think that I might look a little more wholesome without one." He touched the hair on his chin, pondering the pros and cons out loud. "But then again, the beard makes me look mature."
"Bellamy, what . . ." Clarke trailed off, confused.
"I'm just thinking about if someone ends up coming out here for some, you know, legal visit," he explained. He had to look the part.
"We don't know if it's even gonna come to that," she reminded him as she resumed typing her letter. "But go ahead, do whatever you want."
He sighed, thought about it a little more, and decided, "Maybe I'll just keep it. I know you like the way it feels." He grinned at her.
She blushed a bit, finished up another sentence or two, then sat up on her knees and said, "Okay, I think I finished. You wanna hear it?"
"Sure."
She moved over to the side of the bed with him and said, "Alright, tell me what you think," then cleared her throat before starting in. "My name is Clarke Blake. I am the proud wife of Bellamy Blake, a man who is not only my husband and best friend, but also an amazing father to our daughter, Avery."
He smiled.
"Although he might not biologically be her dad, in every way that matters, Bellamy has and will always be that pivotal person in her life," Clarke continued on. "I know for a fact that he loves his daughter more than anything in the world. She is the center of his universe, the apple of his eye, and they both deserve for their relationship to be legally recognized for what it is: an undeniable, powerful, and everlasting parent/child bond."
All good words for it, he thought. Couldn't have said it better himself.
The rest of the letter talked about how Bellamy was with Clarke throughout the entire pregnancy, providing both emotional and financial support. She wrote how he'd been there to see the first ultrasound and had been there to see Avery's birth into the world. How the first hands she'd felt had been his, because he'd been the one to catch her had been the first person to hold her. Just hearing Clarke say those things brought tears to his eyes, ones that he tried to blink away. It was all pretty damn special, though, moments he'd never forget.
"I gave my daughter Bellamy's last name for a reason," she said, sounding like she was nearing the end of her letter after she read the part about all the time they spent together as a family, "because I know that his place in our lives is permanent, that he will always love us both unconditionally."
He nodded, silently agreeing, Always.
"We will forever be a warm and loving family, and all we ask is to be legally complete. Without a doubt, this is the best decision for all of us, especially Avery. Neither she nor I can imagine life without Bellamy, and thankfully, we don't have to."
That last part . . . it resonated. Hit deep. Mostly because there had, at one point, been a time when he'd had to imagine life without her.
...
The dorms were chaos. Hallways were crowded, and elevators were jamming because of overuse.
"Deadline for checkout is noon!" the RA of the floor shouted as he squeezed past Bellamy. "Enjoy your Thanksgiving break!"
It wasn't going to be much of a break for Bellamy. Just a few days at home, but he'd take it. The past two weeks had been rough for him, between the Gina situation and the team's first loss. Coach Lightbourne had debated putting him in during the fourth quarter, but he'd decided to keep Brady in instead.
Luckily, Bellamy got on an elevator that didn't jam. Loaded down with luggage, he made it outside, where his Uber to the airport was waiting for him. No need to say goodbye to his roommate or anything like that. They'd barely exchanged three words all semester so far, so no need to start now.
When he got to the airport, he found out his flight was delayed, but only by half an hour, so he texted his mom to let her know. She texted back that they were on their way to the airport already and couldn't wait to see him.
The flight seemed long and wasn't particularly comfortable. He'd ended up close to the back, so the turbulence sucked. He put in some earbuds and passed the time watching film of the last game, noting all the mistakes Brady and the offense had made. Would it have gone any better with him at the helm? Maybe. They'd never know now.
When he landed down at the BWI airport, the anticipation of seeing his family ratcheted up a notch. Other than that first game, his mom and his sister hadn't been able to visit him at all. It was weird to hardly see them anymore after so many years of seeing them every single day. He looked around for them when he got off the plane, but it wasn't like the movies where they were right there waiting for him. They weren't passengers, so they couldn't go past the security checkpoint. He headed in that general direction, carry-on bag slung over his shoulder, and heard Octavia exclaim, "There he is!" before he even saw her. "Bellamy!"
He swung his head in the direction of her voice and saw her jumping up and down excitedly, waving her hand in the air to get his attention. She looked like a spaz, and he couldn't wait to hug her.
"Hey," he said opening his arms when he was close enough. No need to bend down anymore since she was definitely going through a growth spurt. "Whoa," he said, catching her when she practically launched herself at him. "Someone missed her big brother."
"Only a little," she said, hugging him tightly.
"I missed you, too, O," he told her quietly. Annoying as she could be, she was kind of fun to be around sometimes. He'd rather hang out with her than most of the guys on the team any day.
When she finally let go of him, his mom came in for her hug. "Hi, honey," she said.
"Hey, Mom."
She grabbed at his arm and marveled, "Oh my goodness, you're so muscular."
"Yeah, defensive players are huge in college, so I've been tryin' to bulk up a bit," he said. "I don't wanna get killed out there." Not that he'd actually been out there a lot during games, but . . .
"Well, you look great," she told him. "I'm so happy you're home. Even if it is just for a few days."
"Why do you have to fly back on Friday?" Octavia asked. "Can't you just stay longer?"
"I wish," he said. "But we got a game Saturday afternoon." Some of the guys weren't even going home for break.
Octavia frowned sadly.
"Hey, we'll make the most of the time we have," he assured her. Three days was better than nothing. But if the weekend flights had been cheaper, he would have gotten out of Florida sooner.
"Maybe we can start by going out for dinner," his mom suggested. "What do you say?"
Those cookies the airline had provided had pretty much been solidified crap, so he was hungry. "Yeah, sure." It would probably be dark out by the time they got home. That didn't leave him time to go visit . . . anyone else. But he felt like he needed to make his family his top priority anyway.
It didn't really hit Bellamy that he was actually back home until they got home to Arkadia. It seemed so small. Hell, it was so small. Especially compared to a big city like Orlando. The traffic was non-existent, and there were more stop signs than stoplights. It was all so familiar, though. Every street, every house, every person who saw him drive by and waved at him. The only thing that was different was that there was a big sign in his yard that said, "Welcome home, Bellamy!" on it. It looked like Octavia had decorated it, but she denied it, of course.
Between the three of them, they were able to haul everything inside pretty easily. They put his suitcases in the laundry room, and he brought his bag into his room, glad that nothing seemed to have changed. It was exactly the way he'd left it. "Same old room," he remarked.
"I didn't touch anything," his mom assured him.
That was probably a good thing, because who even knew what she might find? Lots of dirty magazines, a stock supply of condoms, and probably a couple compromising photos of him with various girls from high school.
Octavia seemed to have gotten worn out, because she didn't join them in his bedroom. Instead, she'd lain down on the couch, curled up on her side, and closed her eyes. "Look at her," his mom said, glancing out into the living room. "She's so tired."
"Why?" She'd been on break since Friday.
"She could hardly sleep last night," his mom replied. "She was counting down the hours until you came home."
"Wow." He knew she'd missed him, but that was some Santa Claus shit right there. Not being able to fall asleep was something kids did on Christmas Eve.
"Maybe you could do something with her tomorrow?" his mom suggested.
"Yeah." He planned on it.
"I have to work, so . . ."
"Yeah, we'll hang out," he said. "I'm gonna text Miller and Zeke, see if they wanna come over for a while, too."
"Alright," his mom said. "I'll go ahead and do your laundry tonight."
"Thanks, Mom." He'd actually done some laundry the past couple months. But he'd definitely Febreezed a couple shirts once in a while.
His texts didn't end up getting him very far. Miller responded quickly, but apparently he had one last final exam tomorrow and still needed to study for it. He said he could hang out tomorrow any time after 9:00, though. Zeke doesn't respond, which didn't surprise Bellamy. They hadn't really done a good job of keeping in touch.
He didn't text Clarke. He thought about it. He wanted to. But he just didn't.
The next morning, he woke up late and shuffled out to the kitchen, hoping his mom had gotten his favorite cereal. (She had.) Octavia was sitting at the kitchen table eating what appeared to be lunch, her eyes on her phone. Sounded like she was watching a video.
"Did Mom already go to work?" he asked her.
"Yeah. Do you always sleep so late?"
"No, I usually get up for class. Gotta sleep in while I can." He brought a bowl, his cereal, and a half-empty carton of milk over to the table, sitting down beside her. "What're you doing?" he asked.
"Watching YouTube."
He leaned over, peeking at her screen. "What is that?
"A makeup tutorial," she replied.
He grunted. "I think you're wearing enough." It wasn't only the growth spurt that was making Octavia look older. She looked like she was already in high school, which was . . . a little concerning.
"I wanna know how to do a smoky eye by the time Thanksgiving break's over," she said.
He had no idea what the hell a smoky eye even was, but he knew for a fact that he couldn't help her with it. "Well, I was gonna offer to hang out today, but not if we're watchin' that shit."
She paused the video and eagerly said, "We could go to a movie. Something violent. Mom won't let me see those, but I'm sure you will."
"Fine, as long as it's not a chick flick."
"Please," she snorted, "when have I ever been into those?"
True. They'd once watched A Walk to Remember, and he'd enjoyed it a hell of lot more than she did.
"Would you be okay by yourself for a little while, though?" he asked her. "I was gonna go see some of my friends, just catch up with them a little it."
She gave him a look and sounded all skeptical when she said, "Mmm-hmm."
He made a face. "What's that? What're you-"
"I'm not stupid, Bell," she cut in. "I know what 'friend' you're gonna go see."
"Who?" he said. "You mean . . .?" He trailed off, reluctant to even say her name. Because she wasn't exactly just a friend. Besides, it was after 9:00, so he could go ahead and meet up with Miller somewhere, maybe go down to the field. It was cool out, but not too cold.
Octavia didn't say anything else, just sat there giving him a knowing look. And he felt that look, because dammit, she was right. He wasn't gonna go hang out with Miller until he saw someone else first.
After showering and shaving the very faint beginnings of a beard, he got in the car and headed over to Clarke's house. Maybe he should have called or texted her first, but he kind of liked the thought of just showing up on her doorstep, surprising her. It couldn't be too much of a surprise, though, right? She had to be expecting him. Hell, there was a fucking sign in his yard welcoming him home. And when they'd ended things, they'd said that they would see each other again. Over break. It was break now.
When the Griffins' huge house came into view, he started to feel nervous. More like the excited kind of nervous, but still . . . It just felt like it'd been so long since he'd seen her face, heard her voice . . . touched her. He wasn't exactly sure how much touching was going to take place today, especially if her parents were home, but at least he'd be able to hug her. Maybe kiss her a couple times before he left. He'd really missed kissing her.
The driveway was empty, so he pulled up by the garage, got out of the car, and took a deep breath. This was it. Finally. He walked up to the door, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans—since when did he get sweaty palms? This wasn't normal—and rang the doorbell. It chimed loudly, and he stood there with a ridiculously eager smile on his face, waiting for her to come open the door and see him. From her bedroom, she could look out the bay window and see him standing there, so he liked to picture her quickly fixing up her hair and running downstairs.
Any second, he expected to hear footsteps. But he didn't. So he rang the doorbell again and even knocked this time.
Still no answer.
It was a fancy front door, the kind with glass on the sides of it, so he leaned close to it and peered through, trying to see if anyone was home. It didn't seem like it.
"You lookin' for the Griffins?" someone across the street asked loudly.
He spun around and said to the neighbor, "Yeah."
"Not home," the man said as he bent down to grab his morning paper off the sidewalk. "They took off a couple days ago for Thanksgiving."
Bellamy frowned, his hopes of seeing Clarke today immediately dashed. "Where'd they go?"
"I don't know," the neighbor man replied. "To visit family, I guess. Jake said something about a road trip. I think his parents live in another state."
Another state? Bellamy's whole stomach clenched up with disappointment. "Any idea when they're gonna be back?" he asked.
"Not 'til next week," the man said. "If you want, I can tell 'em they had a visitor."
Shit, Bellamy thought. Next week, he'd be gone. It'd be too late.
"You want me to tell 'em?" the man offered.
What was the point? It wouldn't do any good. Clearly Clarke didn't want to see him as much as he wanted to see her. She really had moved on, hadn't she? They weren't a part of each other's lives anymore, and if this was any indication, their time had just . . . passed.
"No, that's okay," Bellamy said. "In fact, don't tell 'em anything." He lowered his head and hustled back to his car, ready to get the hell out of there now. Whatever he was feeling—disappointment, anger, heartache . . . it didn't feel very good.
...
Angling her body towards him, Clarke asked, "So what do you think?" once she'd finished reading what she'd written.
He thought it was a damn good letter. But there weren't any words in the universe that could convey just how much of a hand fate had played in bringing him and Clarke back together. A year ago, he wouldn't have even thought this life that he currently had was even possible.
"It's good," he told her, struggling to speak because of the lump in his throat. "It's, uh . . . it's really good."
"And it's all true," she said, setting her computer aside on the pillow. She looped her arms around him, hugging him against his side, and rested her head against his shoulder. "Every word," she whispered.
He knew that, of course. Their family and friends knew it. He just hoped a judge would know that, too.
