Chapter 90

Clarke felt like crying by the time she neared the end of her mom's letter. In it, she'd written about how it brought so much joy to her heart to see her granddaughter loved unconditionally. She gave specific examples of things she'd heard Bellamy say to Avery and times she'd watched him care for her and play with her. Kind of touching stuff.

"Is that what you were looking for?" her mother asked.

"Yeah." She nodded, holding the tears back, and refolded the letter, sticking it back in its envelope. "Yes, this is perfect. Thanks, Mom."

"No problem," her mother said. "Bet you never thought I'd be able to say such nice things about Bellamy, huh?"

"I'm glad you saw the light."

"Yeah." Her mom handed her another unsealed envelope and said, "Here's Kane's."

"Oh, wow." That one felt bulky. "I'll have to read this when I get home." Emotionally, she probably couldn't handle reading another letter right now. From what she knew, Kane was a really good writer, too, so his would probably really tug at the heartstrings.

"How are you feeling about all this?" her mom asked.

"Honestly?" She'd plastered on a smile before heading over to her mom's house that day. She had Avery with her, of course, and was trying to seem upbeat and positive. But she felt like her façade was fading fast. "It's stressful. It sucks," she said. "I mean, to me, it's just so obvious that Bellamy's her father. I hate that we have to, like, prove it now."

"Well, it'll all work out, I'm sure." Her mom patted her on the back and headed into the kitchen to check the casserole she'd put in the oven.

"Are you really sure?" Clarke challenged. "Or are you just saying that?"

After a quick taste test, Abby closed the oven door again, stood up, and declared, "I'm sure. Just look at how things have worked out so far. I mean, don't forget, there was a time when you didn't even think you'd end up with him at all. And now look where you are."

True, Clarke thought, managing to find a small amount of comfort in that. If destiny was a real thing, so far, it seemed to be on their side.

...

There weren't enough places to sit in her aunt and uncle's living room, so Clarke stood off to the side while the rest of her family engaged in an overly-intense game of charades. The teams were split along gender lines, and so far, the women were winning. No thanks to her. She hadn't piped up with one guess, even though she knew most of the answers. This one that her cousin Zach was acting out had to be 'pig in a blanket,' right?

When he turned his nose up, that somehow inspired her dad to shout out, "Pig!" and Zach nodded emphatically. He wrapped his arms around himself, and for some reason, her uncle John guessed, "Three Little Pigs!" even though the category was food. Clarke mentally face-palmed and bit her tongue, but all it took was for Zach to get down on the ground and start rolling for her dad to realize what it was. "Pig in a blanket!" he shouted.

"Yes!" Zach exclaimed, shooting to his feet. "Nice! Right in the nick of time!"

"Another point for the men," her Uncle John said boastfully, even though they pretty much stood no chance of catching up and winning. "Who's up next?"

"Uh, I think that'd be Clarke," her aunt replied.

"Oh, someone else can go for me." She really wasn't in the charades spirit.

"No, we have to keep the same rotation," her dad said. "That's the rule."

She'd already gone once, though, struggled to get her team to successfully guess March of the Penguins. Waddling around like a penguin had really been the cherry on top of an already lackluster Thanksgiving.

"Go on, honey," her mom urged.

She just didn't have it in her to keep playing this stupid game. She knew she was being a downer, and her family would have a lot more fun without her standing there sucking all the energy out of the room. "Sorry, Raven's calling," she said, making up a quick excuse as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and pretended to look at a name on the screen. "I have to take this. You guys keep playing." She hustled out onto the porch before any of her family members could notice that her phone hadn't been vibrating at all and went ahead and dialed her best friend's number.

Raven picked up on the third ring. "Hey, chica."

"Hey. Thanks for calling me."

"What?" Raven said confusedly. "I didn't."

"Well, my family thinks you did. We're playing charades. You're my escape."

"Oh, in that case, I don't blame you," Raven said. "Having fun?"

"Not really." Rural Pennsylvania left a little to be desired. They'd been out there for days, and while she'd at least gotten to know her dad's side of the family better than ever before, she'd kind of had her fill of them. "What about you?" she asked. "Enjoying Thanksgiving with Zeke's family?"

"Yeah, they're great," Raven said. "And it's been . . . it's been good to see him again."

Clarke frowned, not sure why her friend didn't sound more . . . enthused about spending the holiday with her boyfriend. She knew they weren't talking every day anymore, but . . . she just hated to think of them drifting any further apart.

"So I got some tea for you," Raven revealed suddenly, changing the subject.

"Like gossip tea?"

"No, honeysuckle." Raven laughed at her own joke. "Yes, gossip. You wanna hear it?"

"Sure." Clarke leaned against the porch railing, figuring the more time she could waste out here, the better.

"Bellamy's back in town."

Of all the 'tea' she'd been expecting, though . . . for some reason, that hadn't been it. "What?"

"Yeah, he texted Zeke a few days ago."

She literally stopped breathing for a few seconds, although she wasn't sure why. Of course Bellamy was back. She'd figured he would be, which was exactly why she and her parents had decided to spend the holidays away from Arkadia. But still, just the thought of him being there, only a three or four hour drive away . . .

"Have you seen him?" Clarke asked quietly, trying to sound less interested than she actually was.

"No. And he didn't text me," Raven said.

"Yeah, me, neither." She wondered what that was all about. Did he just . . . not care anymore? Had he maybe even brought a new girlfriend home?

"That's weird," Raven commented. "I thought he would've."

Truthfully . . . so had she. In fact, for days now, she'd subconsciously been bracing herself for some kind of communication from him, whether it be a text or a call. "Well, it's good that he didn't," she decided, trying to force herself to believe that. "I mean, it's over between us. I'm sure he's moving on. And that's . . . that's for the best." As long as they didn't talk or text or see each other at all, then he'd never find out about . . . her choice. And that was definitely for the best. No need for him to feel the loss of something he never even had to know they'd had.

"Well, do you want me to tell him anything if I run into him?" Raven offered.

"No," Clarke answered quickly. "Nothing from me." She didn't even want him knowing about this conversation.

"I guess I just don't understand why you guys cut things off completely," Raven said. "Did you ever even think about trying the long-distance thing?"

It was too late for that. Too late for them. Everything was just . . . over. "Um, Raven, I have to go back inside," she said, now using her family as the little white lie. "My mom's yelling at me. I'll talk to you later, okay?" She ended the call abruptly, let out a heavy sigh, and shook her head, upset with herself for her complete and utter inability to move on. Was it always gonna be like this?

"Mom's yelling at you, huh?"

She looked over her shoulder as her mother came out onto the porch.

"I just needed to get off the phone," she said.

Her mom pulled the sleeves of her shirt down over her hands and shivered as a gust of wind blew past. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." She averted her eyes, well aware of how suspicious she must have been acting. Sometimes, there was no hiding how she was feeling from her mom. "Bellamy's home on break," she mumbled.

Her mother tensed up a bit, folding her arms across her chest. "Well," she said. "Then it's a good thing we came here. You need to avoid him, and it's easier this way."

None of it's easy, she thought. Whether she was here or there, it all hurt just the same.

"Now come back inside," her mom said, "spend some time with your family." She walked back into the house, clearly expecting Clarke to follow her; but Clarke stood out there for a few more seconds, unfazed by how cold it was getting. She didn't wanna go back in that living room and be a spectator for any more stupid charades. Sure, those people in there were her family, but . . . it just felt like part of her family was missing.

...

Touching her stomach nervously, Clarke quietly said, "Mom? You don't think Finn would bring up . . . my past, do you?" She was afraid to even consider the possibility, but she felt like she had to be ready for anything. "I mean, if this ends up going to the courts, do you think he'd try to . . . cast doubt on my character?"

"I would hope not," her mom said. "But even if he did, it's not against the law to have an abortion."

"Yeah, but what if we get some ultra-conservative super evangelical judge who just wants to stick it to me for-"

"Clarke," her mom cut her off, walking back towards her. "Don't get yourself all worked up over this. It's a worst case scenario. And if it does happen, I'll take the responsibility for it. We'll say it was my decision, that I practically forced you to have it done."

"What . . ." That wasn't how it'd happened, though. Sure, her mother had influenced her decision, but ultimately, the choice had still been her own. It wasn't fair for her mom to just throw herself down on the sword like this. "No, I—I couldn't ask you to do that," she stammered.

"I know. But I'd do it anyway," her mom said. "If it comes down to it, it's better to have my reputation attacked than yours." Reaching out, she pulled Clarke in for a hug, and a few tears slipped out of Clarke's eye, down her cheek, and onto her mom's shirt. Dammit, she thought. Here she'd been doing such a good job of holding them in.

...

Sitting down on the floor, Clarke watched as Avery tried to roll over from her stomach to her back. She didn't quite have the hang of it yet, but she was doing a good job of lifting not only her head, but also her shoulders and chest. Clarke was giving her lots of tummy time, because Dr. Cillian had said it would help strengthen her upper body muscles.

"Look at you," she cooed, jingling a rattle out in front of Avery. "You're getting strong."

Avery tried to reach for the rattle—her hand/eye coordination was really improving, too—but she wasn't quite strong enough to support herself with just one hand yet.

"Daddy's gonna be excited to have an athlete in the family," Clarke said, handing the rattle to her. She grasped it, looked at it for a moment, and then gave it a little shake.

The doorbell rang, drowning out the jingle of the rattle, and Clarke said, "Huh, Madi must be early for her lesson." She got up and went to open the door with a smile on her face. "Hey-" But it vanished suddenly when she saw that the person on the other side of the door was definitely not Madi. "Finn."

"Clarke." His face was half-covered with his hair, so his expression wasn't very readable. He didn't sound like he was in a good mood, though.

"What're you doing here?" she asked him, even though she had a feeling she already knew.

"I thought we should talk. It's been almost a week," he said. "And I got something interesting in the mail today."

Her stomach clenched. For some reason, she hadn't anticipated another face to face conversation. She'd expected an irate phone call, maybe, or a furious flurry of texts. And even though she knew it was probably a good thing that Bellamy was at practice and wouldn't be home for a couple more hours, the prospect of hashing this out with Finn all on her own was . . . kind of daunting.

"Can I come in?" he asked, his lips drawn tightly together.

She tried to block as much of his view of what was behind her as possible. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"I let you into my house," he pointed out. "The least you could do is let me into yours."

Dammit, she really wished she'd put Avery upstairs before going to the door. For some reason, all she could picture was Finn running in there and snatching her, then running back out. Of course, that wasn't going to happen, but . . .

"Is that Avery?" he asked, looking over her shoulder. He took two steps forward, practically inviting himself in, and she didn't feel like she could get him to step back out without putting her hands on his chest and actually pushing him out. And even though it wouldn't have been a forceful push, she wasn't going to give him any more ammo to use against her.

"There she is," he said, smiling at the baby as she reluctantly shut the door behind him. He did make his way towards her and scoop her up, but . . . no darting away with her.

"Careful," Clarke cautioned him. Even though she was getting stronger, she still wanted him to support her head when he was holding her.

As if to protest being held by him, Avery started to cry. Not too much, but just enough to make Clarke feel . . . vindicated, somehow.

"Why's she crying?" Finn asked.

"Probably because she doesn't recognize your face. Or your smell," she said. "Or anything about you." Avery knew who her daddy was, and this man was not him.

"Well, let's change that." Finn shifted her so that she was upright, head resting against his shoulder, and he rubbed her back and whispered, "Shh. It's okay."

No, it's not, Clarke thought. Everything inside her wanted to revolt against the sight she was seeing. It didn't even look right. As much as she would have loved to take Avery out of his arms, though, she worried that he'd hold onto her too tightly, that she'd get hurt.

"See?" he said as Avery's cries began to abate. "Better already."

Clarke couldn't even remember a time when she'd wanted her daughter to keep crying. Or to cry louder.

"This is all I want, this right here," Finn said. "And what do I get instead? Adoption papers."

"Well, that can't possibly surprise you," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "I mean, I thought I was pretty clear that that's what Bellamy and I want. It isn't changing."

"So you just expect me to sign them? Sign all my rights away?" He huffed. "And then what? I never see my daughter again. I never get to hold her like this."

"Finn . . ." He was making himself out to be such a victim, but he'd had his chance to step up to the plate back when she'd first revealed she was pregnant, and he hadn't done it. "It just it is what it is. You and I . . . we're not a family. And Avery deserves a family, a loving one. You can't compete with what Bellamy and I can offer her. You know that."

"Oh, I know," he said, catching her off guard with his readiness to agree. "I'm not an idiot. I don't sit here imagining myself getting sole custody of her. That's not even what I want."

"Well, we're not sharing custody, so where does that leave us?" she questioned. "You either sign the papers or we go to court and see how it all shakes out."

"Or . . ." He paused dramatically, giving her a long, hard look in the eye. "We try something else."

"Like what?"

He reached into his back pocket and took out an envelope, not unlike the ones she'd gotten her mom and Kane's letters in. "What's this?" she asked, taking out the paper inside.

"Read it."

There were multiple pages of text, small font, full of legal jargon that, quite frankly, went way over her head. "This is too much to read right now."

"It's an agreement," he informed her. "A legal agreement put together by my lawyer."

"You have a lawyer?"

He glared at her, almost as if he were offended by the question. "Don't you?"

She just couldn't imagine who he would have hired, who he could afford. Then again . . . she and Bellamy could only afford Pike because of Kane.

"That agreement details the only thing I want: time with Avery," Finn revealed, stroking the downy hairs on the back of the baby's head. "I wanna know that you're not gonna cut me out of her life completely. I'm not aiming for shared custody. I'm not even offering to pay child support because I know you don't wanna take it. I want three hours with her once a week. That's all. I don't think that's asking for too much."

"Three hours?" she echoed. That would accumulate.

"Once a week," he reiterated. "For the next three months. You give me that, and I'll sign your fuckin' papers."

She looked at him skeptically, trying to decipher the catch. This had to be a trick or something. "How do I know you'll keep your word?" she said.

"Because my word's all written right there," he said, motioning to the papers with his head. "And I already signed it."

She flipped to the back page, amazed to see that there was, in fact, a date and signature there, underneath a line that attested to the truth and validity of the agreement outlined in the document. It . . . seemed like he was trying to strike a deal. But did she really want to give up three hours a week with her little girl?

"What if I don't?" she challenged, wanting to see if he was willing to negotiate further, to drop it down to two hours, or just three hours every other week. Or something.

"Then I guess we take it to court," he said. "And then we'll see how much time with her I get awarded. Could be a lot more than three hours."

That was exactly what she feared. Even though Pike had assured her that they had the upper hand, she'd made the mistake of getting online and reading about custody battles, how sometimes parents ended up having to send their kids to the other parent for entire weekends at a time, or sometimes even entire holidays.

"So you're giving me an ultimatum," she said.

"No."

"Yes, you are. Pretty much. Either I sign and compromise, or you escalate things."

"It's hardly a compromise," he argued. "Once a week, Clarke."

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you take care of her," she said, nearing him with what felt a lot like fury in her eyes. "You don't know the first thing about taking care of a baby. How could I trust you with her?"

"I'm not asking to spend time with her alone. You can be there, too," he said. "Even Bellamy, if that's what he wants."

She gave him an incredulous look. Did he really think that they'd be able to do that? He and Bellamy couldn't stand each other, and she grew less and less fond of him all the time.

"We don't need the court to work this out for us; we can do it ourselves," he said. "We can all get what we want out of this. I get to know my daughter, and Bellamy gets to adopt her. Where's the problem with that?"

When he put it like that . . . it didn't sound like there was a problem. But she knew better than to just agree to something with Finn without thinking it through first. Hell, doing that was probably what had gotten her pregnant in the first place.

"I have to go feed her now," she said, reaching out to take her from him. "You should leave."

"I can wait," he said.

"It takes a while." Actually, Avery didn't even need to be fed. She just wanted Finn to go away, give her some time to think about things before Madi came over for her lesson—how the hell was she even going to be able to focus on that now?—and before Bellamy got home.

"Well, listen . . . think about it," he told her. "Talk to Bellamy. And let me know."

She nodded, just barely, and started heading up the stairs. She waited until he'd walked out the front door to walk back down to the living room, sit in the recliner, and just hold her little girl, trying to make sense of the whirlwind that was now wreaking havoc on her mind.

Avery lifted her hand to try to grab at her hair, and she gave it a little tug. How ironic that she was getting so much stronger when Clarke just kept feeling weaker and more powerless.

...

Bellamy felt like he needed his hearing checked the first time Clarke told him what Finn was proposing. Or maybe he'd had one too many drinks with Murphy at Eligius, because . . . he just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"Jesus Christ, Clarke," he swore, lying back on the bed.

"I know," she said, looking down at the multi-page document she had in her lap. "I've been thinking about it non-stop since he came by."

He sort of wished she'd called him right afterward. He would have ended practice early and headed home right away instead of stopping at the bar. "How do we know if that thing's even legit?" he said, doubting the legitimacy of the paper in Clarke's hand.

"I sent Pike a copy," she informed him. "He's still reading it, but he said, just from a first glance, it looks like the real deal. A legal agreement that Finn will sign over his rights if we let him spend a little time with her. For three months."

"And then what?" They kept throwing that number out there, three. Three hours, three months, but what was that all going to amount to? "What happens after I adopt her?"

"Well, then she's ours," Clarke said, a bit of a dreamy smile on her face. "Completely."

Maybe he was just being pessimistic, but that almost sounded too good to be true. "He's gonna wanna keep spending time with her," he predicted.

"It'd be on our terms, though," she reminded him. "Once he signs over his rights, he doesn't get a say."

Sitting up, he said, "So, what, we'd just keep her from him?" That sounded easier said than done in a small town like Arkadia.

Clarke inhaled shakily, looking away.

"You don't wanna do that, do you?" He could tell just by looking at her that, on some level, she felt sympathy for Finn. That was where they differed. He felt nothing of the kind.

"I don't feel right about it," she admitted.

He bit his tongue, not about to remind her that she'd kept him away from a child once.

"I'm not saying he'd be a huge part of her life," she said. "God, no. But . . . maybe once a month? I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing, Bellamy."

"Well, that makes two of us." He hadn't felt so unsure about things in a long time. In fact, ever since he'd come back to Arkadia, his life had been almost nothing but certainty. He'd always known that he needed to be there for Clarke, to step up and support her during her pregnancy. He'd known he wanted to marry her, and even though it'd taken some time to get her to say yes, he'd even eventually known without a doubt that he wanted to forgive her for the past. But now . . . he didn't have that same feeling of knowing. He didn't know what the right decision was, or if there even was a right decision or a wrong one. He felt like he was going into this whole thing blind, with his hands tied behind his back. "Part of me wants to just say, 'Fuck it, see you in court,'" he said, shaking his head angrily as he pictured that utter jackass in his mind. "Go for broke, you know?"

"Yeah. Part of me wants to do that, too," she said. "But if we do that and we lose . . ."

"We could end up sharing custody." Just the thought of that made his blood boil. "You really think that would happen, though?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not. But is it worth the risk? At least this way we'd know how it's gonna turn out."

"What if he's just playing us, though?" Bellamy kept worrying. "What if this is all his way of going to judge and saying, 'See, for three months, I've been a part of her life every single week. Look what a good dad I am.'"

"Well, you've already been a part of her life for three months," she pointed out. "You've already been a good dad. And if anything, maybe this would make us look better. It'd show that we're not denying him his rights, but we're still the obvious best choice."

Since she'd had longer to think about it than he had, it made sense that her mind was a little more made up. She said she didn't know what she was doing, but it sure seemed like she was trying to persuade him to go along with all of this. "So you wanna do this?" he said.

"I think it's definitely something to consider."

"Well, we gotta make a decision."

"What, like right now?"

"I don't know. Tonight. Tomorrow. We can't just drag our feet on this." Every second they wasted felt valuable somehow. "It's your call, Clarke."

"My-No, I . . . why do you always put stuff like this on me?" she stammered, her voice quaking.

He looked down at his lap, mumbling, "I just feel like you should have more of a say."

"No, I shouldn't," she argued fervently. "We're both her parents. Your opinion matters just as much as mine."

"Well, my opinion's that it sucks either way, so I'm not gonna be any help." He got up and stormed towards the bathroom, needing to just be done with the whole conversation.

"Bellamy . . ."

He went inside and slammed the door louder than he'd intended to. Quickly stripping out of his clothes, he got in the shower, hoping a torrent of hot water would help relax him. It didn't. Every one of his muscles felt tense, and his heart had started to beat fast again. He didn't quite have that breathless feeling, but he did feel like there was all of this turmoil just bubbling up inside of him, needing to be released. Curling his hand into a fist, he punched at the marble wall. It didn't do any damage, other than crack open the skin on his knuckles a bit. He didn't bleed much. The small amount of blood that came out just washed right on down the drain.

He didn't hear the bathroom door open, but he heard the shower door slide open. "Hey," Clarke said, stepping in with him, fully clothed. "You okay?"

"No." He was pretty sure he hadn't been okay ever since they'd gotten back from Long Beach. On their honeymoon, he'd had no worries, but back here at home, he couldn't seem to stop worrying.

Turning around slowly, he felt awful when he saw the concern in her eyes. Once again, he was being a burden on her. All the uncertainty and fear he was feeling . . . she was feeling it, too. Maybe it wasn't exactly the same, but she did understand. As much as she could.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her. "I shouldn't have walked off like that."

Reaching up, she put her hand on his cheek, stroking her thumb over his wet beard. "Are you mad at me?" she asked.

"No, I'm just . . ." If he was mad at anyone, it was Finn. If he was mad at anything, it was the whole situation. He couldn't get any of that out, though, because that hard-to-breathe feeling all of a sudden swept over him again.

"Hey, shh," she soothed, moving in close to him. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna be alright."

He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself in the feel of the water, the touch of her hand, the closeness of her body, the sound of her voice. All of those things made him feel like he could breathe again, so when he opened his eyes, he said, "I just don't want Avery to have these two competing dads, you know?"

"Avery has one dad," she said, pressing one finger to his lips. "It's no competition. But if it was, you'd win, hands down." She managed a little bit of a smile.

He admired her so much in that moment for taking care of him, because she shouldn't have had to do that, yet she wasn't complaining. "I love you, Clarke," he said, the words pouring out fluidly just like the water poured down on him.

"I love you, too."

He brought both her hands up to his mouth and kissed them. "I love you, and I trust you," he said. "So if you think this is the right thing to do, then I'm with you. Besides, like you said, all that really matters is that I'm able to adopt her. As long as I can do that, then nothing else matters."

"Nothing else matters," she agreed, leaning in to press her lips to his. She moved in close enough to hug him then, and just stood underneath that water with him, clothing and all. Since she was resting her head against his chest, he wondered if she could feel how quickly his heart was still beating. It wouldn't slow down.