Chapter 91
Bellamy blew his whistle, stopping the play before his wide receiver could run it into the end zone. "What the hell, Smith?" he yelled. "What kind of block was that? You just let him run right past you!"
Smith just looked down at the grass and didn't answer.
"Is that how we play now? We gonna be chumps like that?" Bellamy threw his playbook down and shouted, "Fuck!" fed up with correcting the guys on the same damn mistakes over and over again.
"Whoa, hey, Bellamy, calm down," Miller said.
"No, I'm not gonna gonna calm down when they're playin' like shit!" He turned his back to his team, feeling like he was about to erupt. He'd been in a pissed off mood ever since he'd shown up to work that day, and this practice wasn't making things any better. "I can't be here, Miller," he grumbled, shaking his head. "I can't be here right now."
"What's goin' on?"
Too much, he thought. Even though there were plenty of people who were dealing with a much crappier life than he was, he still felt like he just had too much on his mind, like he couldn't handle it. "You just finish practice, alright?" he said. "I gotta go. I gotta go do something." He picked up the playbook and put it in his confused best friend's hands, then jogged off the field, across the track in the direction of the parking lot. He didn't have to cast a glance back over his shoulder to know that his team had to all just be standing there wondering what the fuck was wrong with their coach.
"Let's run that again," he heard Miller say.
Sorry, he thought. He hadn't meant to yell, hadn't meant to be unprofessional. He'd just barely gotten any sleep last night, and he had a headache, and he would have much rather been sitting at a bar than standing out on a football field. The bar wasn't open yet, though, so he figured he'd go somewhere else first.
Target was only a couple miles away from the school, so Bellamy swung by there first. If Finn wasn't there, he'd drive to his house, give him a piece of his mind within the relative comfort of his own home instead. But lo and behold, there he was, Finn Collins, behind the very first register, one of only a couple of cashiers on duty. Unlike everyone else who worked there, instead of donning a red shirt and khakis, he had on a red shirt and jeans. Which was just typical, wasn't it? Finn always thought he was the exception.
Rude as it was, Bellamy moved past the other people in Finn's line, making his way to the front. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" an irritated woman asked, followed by a man who growled, "Back of the line, pal." Bellamy ignored them and stepped in front of a guy who was just about to start unloading his cart. "We need to talk," he said to Finn.
"I'm working."
"So take a break." Would that get him fired? Possibly. Did Bellamy care? Not at all.
"Wait ten minutes," Finn said.
Reluctantly, Bellamy moved along, allowing the guy behind him to resume his checkout. "I'm sorry about that, sir," he heard Finn apologize. "How are you doing today?"
Bellamy spotted an empty red bench not far away, so he sat down, crossed his arms, and proceeded to stare daggers at Finn while he went about his work. Ridiculous as it was, he kept hoping that Finn would screw up somehow, like maybe he'd scan something incorrectly or upset a customer or jam the register. But he didn't make any mistakes. He'd been at that job for a while now, and it looked like he could do it in his sleep.
He's doing better work than I did today, Bellamy thought morosely, wondering what plays his team was running now. He really had just abandoned them today, hadn't he? But not after chewing them out first. Coach of the motherfucking year he was.
It took Finn about fifteen minutes until there was enough of a lull in customers that he could take a break. He came and sat down next to Bellamy and commented, "You look like hell."
"Yeah, I wonder why." It couldn't possibly have had anything to do with the fact that the guy beside him was being a stubborn son of a bitch, could it?
Finn sighed. "Alright, listen, the way I see it, I'm making things easier on you. You and Clarke wanted to go straight to court. I'm the only one trying to find another way. Are you guys in?"
He didn't want to speak for Clarke, but she'd made it pretty clear last night which way she was leaning. "I guess," he muttered.
"You guess?"
"Yeah, our lawyer's looking through everything you gave us right now," Bellamy informed him, making sure to add, "He's a really good lawyer."
"Well, he's not gonna find anything sketchy," Finn said. "It's all legit."
"Maybe." Until he heard that from Pike, he was still going to be skeptical. "But if we do this, give you time with her . . . don't for one second think you're gonna replace me in her life." If he mistakenly thought that he could even try to do that, then he had another thing coming.
Finn made a face and said, "I don't wanna replace you. I just want my own relationship with her."
You don't deserve it, Bellamy thought. If he'd really wanted that, he would have stepped up to the plate right from the fucking start.
"Come on, Bellamy," Finn said, his tone almost a taunting one, "if you had the chance to get to know your child, someone who's flesh and blood, a part of you, wouldn't you take it?"
Bellamy glared at him, knowing damn well what he was doing. He'd phrased it like that deliberately, trying to use the past, the child that was gone, to make Bellamy relate somehow.
"Thought so," Finn said, sounding satisfied with himself for drawing that comparison.
Bellamy clenched his fist, not saying anything. If it was possible, he felt even angrier now than he had at practice.
...
"He just seems like he's been really on edge," Miller reiterated as he stepped out onto the porch. "I thought you'd wanna know."
"Yeah, for sure." Clarke couldn't say that she was entirely surprised. Even though she'd managed to calm Bellamy down in the shower last night, he'd still seemed stressed when he left for practice that morning. And judging by everything Miller had told her about how it'd gone, the stress had just built up even more once he'd gotten there. He probably should have just taken the day off to try to unwind. Not that unwinding was really possible right now. For either of them.
"I mean, trust me, I get it," Miller said. "Sometimes I wish I could just chew those guys out like that. They don't listen. They can be annoying. But they're kids, you know? He's usually more patient with 'em."
"Yeah. He's just dealing with a lot." She wasn't sure how much Bellamy had clued his best friend in to what was all going on, so she figured she'd just leave it vague for now.
Miller had just started to say something else when Bellamy's car pulled up. He got out, looked at the two of them for a moment, then said to Miller, "Hey. How'd the rest of practice go?"
"Fine," Miller answered. "Blocking got better."
Bellamy nodded, looking down, as if he didn't want to look Miller in the eye. "Well, I'll be back tomorrow," he informed him. "I'll be better."
Miller nodded, too, hesitating for a moment before he offered some advice. "You might wanna apologize to 'em. They're not used to their coach being so . . . demotivating."
But their coach is having a rough time, Clarke thought. Of course, being Bellamy's wife, she was biased, but . . . everyone said things they didn't really mean sometimes. She didn't want him beating himself up over it. There were probably some coaches who yelled at their athletes like that every day.
"See you, Clarke," Miller said, stepping down off the porch.
"Bye." She stood there and watched as Bellamy grabbed Miller's arm and quietly said something to him. Sounded like an apology. Miller told him not to sweat it and went on his way.
When Bellamy came inside, the first thing he said was, "Don't lecture me."
"What? I'm not gonna lecture you." She was willing to be as patient with him as possible, but he didn't need to be getting upset with her, too. "Hey," she said, putting her hand on his arm to stop him from heading up the stairs. "Talk to me."
His eyes bore into hers for a few long seconds, a heated gaze that actually kind of caught her off guard. The kind where his eyes flittered down to her lips. "I don't wanna talk," he growled huskily, right before leaning in for a kiss. He kissed her deeply, his entire mouth latched onto hers, tongue immediately darting out to gain entrance. It was the kind of kiss he gave her when they were about to throw down. Hard. His hands behaved similarly, wasting no time scrunching up her shirt and lifting it over her head.
"Bellamy, wait," she said, putting her hands on his chest to push him back a bit. "Slow down." She wasn't opposed to going fast sometimes, but . . . she wasn't even ready.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"No, it's okay. Just . . ." As much as she loved having sex with him, she would have loved it if he'd decided to talk to her. She felt like that would have made both of them feel better. But he pulled her in close, rubbed his denim-covered groin against hers, making it quite obvious what he wanted. And she would've been lying if she'd said she didn't want it, too. Even with everything going on, sex felt . . . simple. Like it would be enough to just block everything else out for a little while. And wasn't that what they both needed?
He lifted her up, using that change in height to press a hot, hungry kiss to her cleavage as he carried her over to the couch. He stepped out of his shoes on the way, then laid her down and sat back on his knees. While she repositioned herself with her head on the pillow, he peeled off his shirt, his eyes remaining locked with hers all the while. He was definitely in the zone. Whatever he was about to give her was sure as hell going to be . . . intense.
Her chest heaved with desire as he undressed her from her shorts and underwear. The couch made things kind of clumsy, but he was still able to do it quickly, and the second her pussy was exposed, he shoved two fingers up inside it, wriggling them every which direction to get her juices flowing. She still wasn't able to get as naturally wet as she'd been before having the baby, and without any lube downstairs, she needed him to get her going.
"Oh!" she moaned loudly, reveling in the sheer width of his fingers when he added another one. Bellamy and his huge hands. They really did work wonders. And more importantly, they prepared her for that other huge thing he had.
With half his hand up inside her, he grinned, using his free hand to grope himself through his jeans. Clarke closed her eyes just for a second, and in that second, she heard his zipper slide down, so she had to open them again. He shoved his jeans down just far enough to let his cock out of his underwear. It was hard and already dripping pre-cum.
"You want more?" he asked with a mischievous smirk on his face.
She tried to nod, but she didn't know that 'more' was going to be a fourth finger until she felt it squeeze inside. "Oh my god," she yelped, instinctively tightening. Usually he stopped at two or three. She'd taken four before, but only on rare occasions.
"You good?" he asked.
She was glad he wasn't so caught up in this that he forgot to check in with her. "Yeah," she said, forcing herself to relax a bit. Sure, it was . . . a lot. But it was all Bellamy. It was so tight that his fingers could barely move, but the friction alone sent shock waves up her spine. Plus, watching him stroke his own cock was a thing of beauty.
"How much can you take?" he asked, trying to press his fingers in deeper. She felt knuckles, but it was definitely a strain. Honestly, she didn't think she could possibly take anything more, but Bellamy tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in on her pussy as he poked his thumb against it.
She felt her eyes widen at the mere thought of having his whole fucking hand inside her. They'd never tried fisting before, and she'd never had any real desire to. It looked painful. "I can't," she told him, when she felt just the tip of his thumb trying to find a way in.
He stopped right away, withdrawing his whole hand.
"I'm sorry," she apologized.
"It's okay." He lay down on top of her, holding his dick with one hand as he positioned it at her entrance. And since the massive fingering he'd just given her had stretched her open pretty wide, he slid in easily and began thrusting right away.
"Oh, fuck," she swore, wrapping both her arms and legs around him. Every move he made was so powerful, she felt like the whole couch was moving. He went fast and deep right from the start, so deep that his balls smacked against her ass. It definitely wasn't romantic, but it was doing the trick, making her mind shut off. All she could think about was the feel of him inside her, how each thrust made her core just . . . rattle.
Bellamy was beyond saying words, instead communicating his pleasure with grunts and groans. The only time he stopped moving was when he sat up to shove his pants down a little more. The loss of his cock filled her with an immediate ache, though, and she arched her hips up off the couch in a fruitless attempt to try to get it back. With a smug look on his face, he hooked both his arms underneath her knees and pulled her towards him, right back onto his cock. He held her there and jackhammered his hips into her. She wanted to cum so badly that she reached down to rub her clit, and just seconds later, she was a goner. He straight-up growled and thrust into her so far that she swore there was no space left between their groins. Slamming into her a few more times, he followed her over that orgasmic edge and then collapsed on her when it was over. He stayed inside her, though, his dick still pulsing, sending little zaps through her body.
"Do you feel better?" she asked him.
His face hovered mere inches away from hers, and he nodded dazedly. "Yeah."
She did, too. Of course, she wasn't sure how long that feeling would last, for either of them, so it was probably best to enjoy it while they could.
...
Bellamy insisted on accompanying Clarke over to Finn's house the next day, but he promised—absolutely promised—that this time he would stay in the car. Avery was in the backseat, so he wasn't gonna just leave her in there.
He felt like his blood was boiling as he just sat there and watched Clarke talk to Finn at his front door. They'd gone over what she was going to say several times that morning, so she was ready. He'd been hoping this wouldn't take too long, because there wasn't much to discuss. The contract was set and signed, and this was gonna happen. Whether he wanted it to or not. Unfortunately, he'd been sitting out there for five minutes, waiting impatiently for Clarke to come back to the car. It didn't look like she and Finn were arguing, though, so maybe they were just making sure they were on the same page or something.
Avery cooed from her rear-facing car seat, so he reached back and put his hand in front of her, waiting for her to grab at it. She was doing that a lot lately, and her grip was getting stronger.
When Clarke finally came back to the car, she breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"All set?" he asked.
"Yeah." She looked like a thousand pounds of pressure had just been lifted from her shoulders. "He said Sunday works best for him. That'd work for us, too, right?"
"I guess so." Whatever day of the week his stupid visits fell on, it'd be his least favorite day of the week. No doubt about that.
"Let's just not think about it for the rest of the day," she suggested.
He'd try his best, but truthfully, the only time he'd stopped thinking about it had been last night on the couch with her.
...
Standing in front of his team, Bellamy went ahead and laid out his apology for acting like a jackass. It didn't need to be too drawn-out and flowery. Just straight to the point.
"I need to apologize to all of you, especially you, Smith, for losing my temper yesterday," he said. "I know coaches do that all the time, but you guys know that's not the kind of coach I am, and it's not the coach I wanna be. It's my job to teach you, not to tear you down. So I'm sorry."
None of his players said anything. He didn't expect them to.
"Let's get back to work," he said, handing the reins over to Miller for conditioning. He made his way over to Clarke, who had planted herself on the bleachers with Avery. Usually, she didn't come to practice, but they'd decided to spend the day together. "How was that?" he asked her.
"Good. Sincere, short but sweet," she said. "Don't worry, I'm sure you're not the first coach to yell at your team."
"Yeah, but some of these kids already get yelled at by their parents all the time. They don't need to hear it from me." He wasn't going to let himself off the hook, especially not when a lot of these guys used to watch him play and look up to him.
"I wish I got to watch you practice instead of them," she said, smiling at him.
"Is that what you used to do?" he teased.
"Yeah, Raven and I used to hide underneath the bleachers."
"Really?"
She laughed. "No."
"Oh." He wouldn't have put it past her high school self to be that thirsty.
Avery made a noise, almost like she was trying to say something, and Clarke said, "Aww. You got yourself a cheerleader."
"More than one." He liked having both of them at practice, even if some of his players were probably secretly hoping they'd get to watch his wife breastfeed. "You think she'll be a cheerleader someday?"
Clarke shrugged. "Maybe."
"You think she'll date a football player?"
"Hmm. Would you let her?"
He liked to think he wouldn't become one of those parents who tried to control his daughter's love life—like Abby had—but he'd grown up in the jock world, so he definitely had some concerns.
...
"We gon' party tonight! We gon' party tonight, boys!" Winston chanted as he danced around on the sideline, pumping the team up.
"Nice drive, Blake," Coach Desai said.
"Thanks." Bellamy didn't focus too long on the compliment, because he was too busy watching the punt. It was a good one, all the way down to the five yard line. Yeah, their lead in this game wasn't going anywhere. One quarter left, and if they kept playing the way they were, it was as good as won. Hell, maybe Coach Lightbourne would even put him in again. Brady had a sore ankle, so they were trying to rest him for next week, when they were set to face a tougher team. Bellamy didn't care who the hell they were facing. He just wanted to play.
"Yo," Winston said, clapping him excitedly on the back. "Yo. You ready to get laid tonight? 'cause it's gonna happen. You just got your first TD, bro! You scored. Now you're gonna score some more. Welcome to the big leagues, man."
The big leagues? It was one touchdown in a blowout game. It'd get him some attention from some girls, sure, but nothing like he'd gotten in high school. And he wasn't really sure he wanted their attention anyway.
After the game, he went to the party at Winston and Brady's fraternity. It was pretty wild, like their parties always were, but they never had to worry about the cops coming to break them up. Athlete privilege and all that. It was a real thing.
Normally at these parties, he had a few drinks, talked to a few people, and then cut out early to go home and look at pictures of Clarke on his phone. But he didn't wanna do that tonight, not after Thanksgiving and his failed attempt at visiting her. Obviously she wasn't sitting around looking at pictures of him. Besides, this had been a big game for him. He felt like he deserved to celebrate.
He met a girl from Miami with bleach blonde hair and a tan that looked more fake than real. Her boobs looked fake, too, but still good. She was pretty, but not the natural kind of pretty. She'd paid money for her beauty.
"That was a really amazing play you ran today," she told him as he handed her another drink.
"It was alright." He'd run some flashier, more miraculous ones as a Rocket.
"Don't be so modest," she said. "You're so good. So fast. One minute, you were on the fifty, and the next you were in the end zone. The coach should put you in more. You should be our starter."
He had to admit, it was nice having his ego stroked like that. He didn't want to get his hopes up, though. The chances that he'd see any action in the next game were slim to none. But . . . he felt like he was on the right track to see a different kind of action tonight.
"I'm just a freshman," he reminded her. "I gotta work my way up."
"I bet you work hard," she said, grinning at him flirtatiously. "And for what it's worth, you don't play like a freshman."
Don't fuck like a freshman, either, he thought, looking her up and down. Screw pretty. She was smoking hot. There were plenty of guys at that party who would've killed to fuck her. But so far, she was only showing interest in him.
"Find me later," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before she walked away, drink in hand, to rejoin her friends. She exaggerated the movement of her hips as she went, and he tilted his head to get a better look at her ass. Not bad. It was probably fake, just like her tits, but at least it looked real.
One of his teammates, a wide receiver named Gabriel, sauntered up to him and asked, "You know her?"
He shrugged. "Guess I do now. Her name's Stephanie. I think."
"She's into you," Gabriel said.
"Yeah." He probably wasn't as into her as she was to him, but once they started . . . it was sex. He'd enjoy it no matter what. This wouldn't be like it'd been with Gina. Stephanie wasn't a friend; she could just be . . . a one-night stand. No strings attached. He used to do no strings attached stuff all the time. No problem.
"You gonna go for it?" Gabriel asked.
His dick was saying yes, but the rest of him wasn't so sure. "I don't know."
Gabriel filled up another glass from the keg, took a big swig, and asked, "You got a girl back home, right? I think Brady mentioned that."
"Yeah. Well, no, I had a girl back home," he quickly corrected. "Sort of. Not really. I don't anymore." If she'd been his girl, she would've been there to hang out with him over break, the way they'd said they would.
"I broke up with my girlfriend last year," Gabriel said. "She goes to school out on the west coast. Just couldn't make it work."
Having gotten to know his teammates decently well, Bellamy knew Gabriel was one of the only guys who actually cared about having a serious relationship, and probably one of the only guys who'd ever had one. "Did you love her?" Bellamy questioned.
Gabriel answered without hesitation. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. Keep tellin' myself I'll find someone else, though. Maybe that girl over there." He motioned to a brunette who was giving one of them the eye. "Who knows?"
"Go find out," Bellamy urged him. And as Gabriel headed in that direction, he realized that he needed to take his own advice and go do the same thing. Although, the 'someone else' he was looking for wasn't going to be a relationship. Just someone who was willing to throw down. Because at this point, he was willing, too.
Even though he probably should have played it cooler with his bleach blonde fangirl and waited a little longer before approaching her again, he found her in the next room and interrupted her conversation with her friends when he said, "Hey, Stephanie?"
She turned around, laughed a little, and informed him, "It's Sarah."
"Right." Damn, forgetting a girl's name was often a one-way ticket to Rosy Palm Land, so he tried to joke his way out of it. "Guess I've had one too many drinks."
Thankfully, she was still smitten. Laughed again and everything.
"I was just wondering," he said, leaning in closer to her, "you wanna go someplace?"
Her eyes traveled straight down to his crotch, and she grinned. "Your place or mine?"
It didn't really matter, did it? None of this mattered.
...
"No, no football players," Bellamy decided as the ones behind him attempted to do push-ups in unison. "They've only got one thing on their minds."
"Speaking from experience?" she teased.
"Yeah, of course. In fact, I might not let her date anybody." He was probably gonna be a paranoid as fuck dad, because he knew firsthand what hormonal boys were thinking. He empathized with Abby a lot more than he used to. "But who knows," he said, "maybe she won't even be a cheerleader."
Clarke shrugged. "I guess we'll see."
"Yeah." He smiled at his little girl, and she smiled right back at him. "But if she is, we'll go to all her cheer competitions."
"Oh, definitely."
He pictured the two of them sitting up in the stands, watching her perform, and a disturbing thought occurred to him: What if it wasn't just the two of them? He went ahead and voiced that concern when he asked, "You think Finn would wanna tag along?"
She gave him a sympathetic look. "Bellamy . . ."
"Sorry. I just can't stop thinking about all the things we might end up sharing with him."
She shook her head and said, "No, it's not gonna happen. He'll probably have another family by then. And we'll have ours. You and me and Avery. And probably a couple more kids."
That got a smile out of him, but more than that . . . it got him thinking. A couple more kids? He liked the sound of that.
