Chapter 94

The start of the school year meant the start of two-a-days for the football team. Since Bellamy could no longer ask them to devote five hours of their day at a time, he had to split practices up into mornings and after school. Two and a half hours at each. It was brutal, and he could tell the guys weren't used to that kind of exertion. But that was why they were doing them, to build up more stamina for the season. A season that was rapidly approaching.

Of course, it was a big commitment for him. He basically had to be at the school at 5:00 in the morning, and by the time he got home, it was 6:30. Luckily, since he wasn't a teacher like the volleyball and softball coaches, he could still go home during the day. But not every day. He got called into meetings, ended up having to spend more of his day there than he'd thought.

The end of the first week of two-a-days had him feeling pretty exhausted, but the screwed up thing was that Sunday, the day of fucking rest, still loomed. Another day for Finn to come visit, which meant Bellamy couldn't just veg out and relax. He had to get out of there.

Around noon on Sunday, he called up Murphy and said, "What're you wasting your time with now?"

"Porn," Murphy replied.

"That's valid."

"Sure is," Murphy agreed. "So what's up? We hangin' out again today or what?"

"Yep" He'd already told Clarke last night that he was going to go out again. She hadn't exactly looked thrilled about that, but she'd also said she understood. "Finn's comin' over at 1:00, so . . . you wanna go the bar?"

Murphy didn't agree to that right away the way Bellamy had anticipated. "Uh . . . do you wanna go to the bar?"

"Yeah." Of course he did. Finn Collins. Enough said.

"Where's Miller wanna go?" Murphy inquired.

"He's sick. I told him to rest up for the game we got on Friday. Just you and me."

"How cozy." Murphy chuckled. "Hey, you know what? We should go somewhere else?"

Bellamy made a face. "Where?" It was Arkadia. There was a limited number of fun things they could do.

For some reason, some reason Bellamy couldn't comprehend, Murphy dragged him out to the golf course on the edge of town. They'd had all summer to golf. Hadn't gone once, except in Long Beach. And Murphy had never even mentioned going. Yet there they were. Golfing.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, I suck," Murphy said after her took a truly horrible swing. The ball went a good distance, but it didn't land anywhere close to the green. "Yep, that's in the water."

"You ever golfed here before?" Bellamy asked him, leaning on his club like a cane.

"Nope."

"Then why'd you wanna come?" he couldn't help but ask.

"To see if I suck," Murphy replied, "which apparently I do."

"Alright, let's just pack it in and go to Eligius then," Bellamy suggested. He motioned for his friend to follow him back to the clubhouse.

"Wait, not so fast," Murphy said. "Don't you wanna give it a try?"

"No." He wanted to down a shot.

"Why not?"

"'cause I already know I'm good. I'm good at every sport," he bragged. Although it wasn't really bragging if it was true. More like stating the facts?

"Well, prove it," Murphy challenged him.

Sighing, Bellamy walked up to the tee, put his ball down, and stood to the side of it in what felt like a decent stance. He'd only golfed a couple times in his life, once in Florida, once out in California. But he knew he had this. He lined his club up with the ball, moved it back and forth a couple times to get the feel of it, and then took a mighty swing. His ball soared through the air, a pretty beautiful shot if he said so himself. It landed on the green and gently rolled towards the hole, probably just an easy putt or two away from making it in.

"Damn," Murphy said, sounding like he was in awe. "How the hell are you so athletic?"

"I don't know." He'd always just enjoyed his physicality, never questioned it. "Can we go now?"

"Well, don't you wanna play it out?" Murphy said. "I'll get better, I promise."

Even if he did, it still wasn't going to be much of a game. And it was hot out, so what was the point of walking miles around a golf course? "I don't really like golf," he said, figuring he'd just leave his ball out there on the course. "Let's go."

"I . . . can't," Murphy said slowly.

"Why not?" Bellamy didn't understand. It wasn't like Murphy had to work tomorrow or anything. At least not in the way most people did.

"Because I gave drinking up for lent," Murphy blurted.

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did, just recently."

"Lent was months ago."

"Was it?"

"Yeah." Lent? What the hell kind of flimsy excuse was that?

"Fine, I guess I just really don't feel like going there today," Murphy said with a shrug.

Bellamy felt all kinds of confused, because he couldn't for the life of him think of any reason why Murphy would want to avoid that bar. He was on a mission to get there, though, so he decided, "Fine, I'll go by myself then." Turning, he started to walk away. He'd only taken a few steps when . . .

"Wait."

He stopped and turned around. Murphy looked reluctant as hell to follow him, but he did.

...

Since she'd been lying on the couch, Clarke didn't see the headlights pull up outside her house. Her first indication that Bellamy was home was when she heard him. Singing. Loudly.

"Strangers! Waiting!" he was shouting. "Up and down the boulevard! Shadows searching in the niiiiight!"

She sat up, making a face. Really? Really?

"What comes next?" she heard him ask when he got closer to the door. She shot to her feet and opened it. There was her husband, practically being carried by Murphy. "Hey, Clarke, sing it with me," he said.

"He tried his hand at a little karaoke tonight," Murphy informed her.

"Don't stop! Believing!" he sang as he stumbled inside the house. He somehow landed on his side on the couch and just sort of . . . laid there.

"Told you he was too drunk to drive," Murphy said.

"You didn't tell me he was completely wasted." Murphy had texted her a couple times that afternoon and evening, but it wasn't until his last text that she'd discovered where they'd gone. "Why did you take him there again?"

"I didn't. I took him golfing. But he didn't wanna play," Murphy said.

She grunted and shook her head, kind of fed up with both of them in that moment. "You're enabling him," she accused.

"Look, it was either I go with him or have him go on his own. Figured I could at least be his designated driver," Murphy said. "I'm sorry."

When he put it like that, she couldn't be quite as pissed at him as she was at Bellamy "Thanks for bringing him home," she said, practically closing the door in his face. She really was relieved that Murphy had taken care of Bellamy, but still . . . couldn't he have done something more to convince him not to go get drunk?

She walked over to the couch, where her husband was already sleeping. That hadn't taken long. "Oh, Bellamy . . ." she said disappointedly, draping a blanket over him. Was this what every Sunday was going to be like? They still had ten of them to go, and she didn't know if she had enough patience left.

...

Now that Avery was becoming a little more mobile, Clarke wanted to take her out more. Not just onto the beach, either, but to places like the park, where she could interact with different things and, someday, different kids. She didn't want to go alone, though, and her friends were all busy, so she asked Bellamy's mom to go with her. Not that Aurora was her last choice. Far from it. In fact, she seemed like the perfect person to spend some time with given how her son had practically passed out on the couch last night.

"Thanks for coming to hang out with us on your day off," Clarke said, perched on the edge of the sandbox, watching as her mother-in-law played with Avery.

"Oh, it's my pleasure," Aurora said. "I love spending time with her. And you, of course."

Clarke smiled, thankful that Avery had such good grandparents. Although Aurora still looked way too young to be a grandma. "Are you going to the game Friday?" she asked her.

"I'm scheduled to work that night." Aurora frowned. "But I'm trying to switch shifts with someone. Who are they playing?"

"Well, I guess it's more of a scrimmage, actually. It's Fall Kickoff," Clarke responded.

"Oh, that's always fun."

"Yeah, it should be." It wasn't Friday she was worried about. It was Sunday.

"You think he's excited about it?" Aurora asked.

"Who? Bellamy? Yeah. Probably. I'm sure he's nervous, too. It's technically his coaching debut."

"True. And there's a lot of pressure on him."

Speaking of pressure . . . Clarke thought, sensing the slightest of segues. "He's, um . . . he's been really stressed lately," she said. "Not so much about the coaching, but . . . everything else. Has he mentioned anything about that to you?"

"Oh, I haven't talked to him in a few days," Aurora said. "Why? What's going on?"

I'm not sure, Clarke thought. She just really . . . wasn't sure. "Well, you know, we're trying out this whole arrangement with Finn," she said.

"I did hear about that."

"Yeah. It's not permanent or anything, but . . . Bellamy's just kind of been struggling with it, you know?" She wasn't sure how much she wanted to reveal, because she definitely didn't want to alarm his mom.

"I'm sure," Aurora said. "He's very protective of the people he loves. And he loves you and Avery more than anything."

And they loved him, too. But Clarke didn't love the way he'd been acting lately. "He can't even be there when Finn shows up," she said. "It's too hard on him."

"Well, maybe that's for the best."

"Maybe." If he had to leave, then he had to leave. She could deal with that. But it was his destination that was an ever-increasing concern. "I don't know, I'm kinda worried about him, though."

"Why's that?"

"Because . . . it feels like he won't talk to me," she admitted. "I mean, not really. We have brief snippets of conversation here and there, but I feel like it never goes deep enough." It was starting to affect their sex life, too. Physically, everything still felt great, of course, but any time she was with him, she wondered if he was using sex to distract her from the issues that had begun to develop. "I'm sure things will get better after he adopts Avery," she said. "That's just gonna be weighing on his mind until it happens."

Aurora nodded in agreement. "Yeah," she said. "Is he . . ." She trailed off suddenly, but it seemed like there was something right on the tip of her tongue that she really wanted to ask. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Clarke prompted.

Her mother-in-law waited a few seconds, then quietly asked, "Is he drinking?"

Clarke stiffened.

"Because when he found out about . . . well, you know." Aurora looked down at Avery for a moment, who was blissfully unaware of what this very serious conversation was all about. "When he found out about that and he came and stayed with me for a couple weeks, he definitely started drinking a little more," Aurora said. "Nothing out of control, but just something to monitor."

Was it . . . was it a pattern then? Is that what was happening here? During two highly emotional times in his life, Bellamy had started drinking more. More than usual. Maybe more than he should have. "Yeah, he's been . . . he's been going to the bar," she said, "with his friends." At least he wasn't drinking alone, though. Wasn't that usually a bigger concern?

"Well, just keep a close eye on him," Aurora said.

"Yeah." She thought she'd been doing that, but maybe it needed to be closer.

"It's probably nothing."

Smiling shakily, Clarke whispered, "I hope so." If it did end up going on for ten more weeks, though, how could that be nothing?

...

Friday night, Rocket spirit seemed to be in the air. The bleachers were crowded for the football scrimmage, and Clarke heard a couple people talking about how excited they were for the "new era" of Rocket football. It seemed that the old coach had definitely overstayed his welcome.

Clarke had ordered herself and Avery matching green jerseys, hoping they could wear them at every game. Hers said "Coach's Wife" on the back, and Avery's said, "Coach's Kid." Bellamy had been so surprised when he'd seen them. It'd been nice to see such a big, genuine smile on his face again.

About five minutes prior to the start of the game, Clarke headed down on the track to talk to her husband. "Two more reps," she heard him tell his players. "Then do some lunges."

"I'd rather see you do some lunges," she said as she came up behind him, "but oh, well."

He grinned and said, "Oh, you can see me do a lot more than that later tonight. If we win. Which we will. 'cause we're playing ourselves."

"Which group's yours?" she asked.

"Green," he said. "Miller's coaching the white team. They're the away team on the scoreboard. We're home."

"Well, I'll cheer for your team," she said.

"Yeah, you'd better." He glanced back over his shoulder to check on his guys, and since they were all still warming up the way they needed to, he returned his attention to her and asked, "Where's Avery?"

"Up there with Octavia," she said, pointing them out on the bleachers. "She's all set to cheer her daddy on."

"What about you?" he asked.

"I told you, I'll cheer."

"Yeah, but I think you should put on your old uniform." He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

She rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed when, in reality, she loved that he seemed to be feeling good enough to flirt with her and tease her. "You know it doesn't fit."

"Then maybe we should order a new one."

She'd never really given much consideration to any costumes in the bedroom, but if it kept him in a lighthearted mood like this, then maybe she would. "Alright, time to stop flirting with me," she told him. "Get your head in the game. Have fun."

"I will." He gave her a quick kiss—very PG, nothing any conservative parents could throw a fit about—and then turned back to the field. She ran her lips over each other, because she thought for a second that she tasted alcohol after that kiss. But then again, she was probably just being paranoid, imagining things.

With a minute left to go, she went up to the bleachers and sat down next to Octavia, who had Avery on her lap. "Okay, this feels so weird to be back here," Octavia said.

"Why? You didn't graduate that long ago."

"But I didn't go to Fall Kickoff even when I was in high school," Octavia said. "It's so boring."

Since it wasn't a real game, the stakes were indeed pretty low, but . . . it was small town Arkadia. Honestly, did anyone really have anything better to do? "Well, it's nice of you to come support your brother," she said. "You, too, Lincoln."

Lincoln peered around his girlfriend and asked, "I have a brother out there?"

"Practically a brother-in-law," Octavia said, almost like she was hinting at something. "Oh my god, the one nice thing about being here is I get to show off how hot my boyfriend is."

"And I get to show off how cute my baby is," Clarke added.

"I know. Someone asked if she was mine, and I just said yes."

Clarke shot Octavia a look.

"Kidding," Octavia said. "But I am making sure everyone knows she was partially named after me. I'm a very proud aunt, you know."

"I know." Clarke held out her finger for Avery, who instinctively grabbed onto it. Her hands were so small and soft, but strong. Stronger every day.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the announcer started in, "and welcome to the annual Fall Kickoff game for your Arkadia Rockets!"

People cheered. Mostly adults. The students were all just kind of loitering about down by the track.

"For tonight's starting lineup . . ." the announcer said.

Clarke didn't know the kids or their families, so she just sat there and watched Bellamy. He looked so . . . adult. So mature. So very different than the guy who'd come home singing last Sunday night. He looked good, too, in the green polo he'd worn with his nice jeans. She'd never seen Bellamy wear a polo before, but it was a coaching look. Still . . . she couldn't help but remember what he'd looked like in a green jersey.

...

Clarke lightly rubbed the side of her pencil against the paper, trying to add some shading to the figure she'd just sketched. No matter how many times she drew him, she felt like she could never get his skin tone just right.

With it being basketball season now, the outdoor bleachers had become one of her favorite places to sit and sketch. It was quiet out there, peaceful. Plus, for two years, she'd spent a lot of time out there, watched a lot of games. Normally, no one bothered her at all when she was doing the loner thing out there, but . . .

"Isn't it kind of cold to be drawing out here?"

She looked up when she heard Raven's voice. "You gotta go wherever you find your inspiration," she said.

Raven shivered exaggeratedly, pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt down, and sat beside her. "What're you drawing?"

Clarke flipped the page quickly. "Nothing."

"Is it Bellamy?"

Was it that obvious?

"Oh, come on, just let me see," Raven urged.

Relenting, Clarke flipped back to her drawing and let her friend take a look.

"That's him," Raven declared.

"No, it's not. His name is . . . Vincent." She cringed inwardly.

"Vincent?"

"Yes, and he's a character in a comic I'm gonna . . ." It was pointless to try to deny the obvious, so she trailed off and mumbled, "It's Bellamy." She must have looked so pathetic.

"You should just call him," Raven urged.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Because she'd put her hundred and twentieth tally mark in her locker today. That was why not.

"You still like him," Raven said. "Maybe even more than like."

"I like Wells," Clarke pointed out. "Doesn't mean I wanna date him."

"But you're not drawing Wells, are you?"

Clarke shut her whole sketchbook, starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know I'm being annoying," Raven acknowledged. "But you're my best friend, and I just wanna see you happy."

"I am happy," she said weakly.

"It doesn't seem like it."

She huffed, rising to her feet. "Why? Because I'm not a cheerleader anymore? Sorry if I don't wanna waste all my time waving pom poms around." She regretted those words the moment they left her mouth.

"Okay, then," Raven said. "Thanks for insulting the group I'm literally the leader of. Nice talk, Clarke."

"Raven, I'm sorry." She hadn't meant to be mean.

"No, you know what? Just go back to drawing," Raven said as she stood up. "I'm gonna go 'waste my time' at practice." She stormed off the bleachers, leaving Clarke alone again, and even though she'd been fine sitting out there drawing by herself . . . now she just felt lonely.

...

Clarke couldn't help but watch the cheerleaders as the players were introduced. Oh, if Raven was there, she would have shit a gold brick seeing how downhill they had gone. They weren't even standing in formation. They were all sort of just talking to each other, not one of them cheering when the guys were announced.

"The Rockets are coached by Arkadia high school alum Bellamy Blake," the announcer said once the players had all been introduced. There was no mistaking the fact that he got the loudest, longest applause out of everyone.

"Woo!" Octavia screeched, causing Lincoln to plug his ears.

"Assisted by Nathan Miller," the announcer finished up. "Both of these coaches were part of the most successful football team in Arkadia high school history, achieving runner-up at the state competition seven years ago. Let's give them a big hand."

God, had it really been that long? Nobody seemed to have forgotten about that achievement, though, even if guys like Bellamy looked back on it as more of a failure, because they once again roared with applause for them. Clarke looked down at Avery, getting a kick out of how she looked like she was trying to clap, too. She couldn't quite figure it out yet, but she would. Smart little cookie she was.

As the game got underway, Clarke tried to pay attention, but her stomach rumbled with hunger. She'd been so busy getting Avery dressed and done up for the game that she'd neglected to grab anything to eat before heading out. Bellamy would get to take part in the team dinner the parents were hosting afterward, but for her, dinner was going to have to be concession stand food. Avery started to whine, and Clarke knew that meant she was hungry, too, so she took her into the bathroom to feed her. Not that she was embarrassed to feed in public or anything, but . . . there were a lot of little kids running up and down those bleachers, and they didn't need to see her doing that.

Avery must not have gotten a good latch or something, because it took longer to get her fed than normal. By the time Clarke got out of the bathroom, they were already almost done with the second quarter. She wanted to watch some more, because knowing Bellamy, he'd want to talk to her about some of the plays they'd run tonight, and it'd help to have at least some vague idea of what he was talking about. She stopped at the concession stand first, though, surprised to see her one and only music student at work behind the counter.

"Hi, Madi," she greeted.

"Hey," Madi said casually.

"What group's doing concessions here?"

"Junior high student council," Madi replied.

"Oh, really? I was on stu-co in high school."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know that link on the website where you can anonymously report sexual harassment? That was my doing," she proudly proclaimed.

"Cool," Madi said. "I haven't ever used it."

"Well, I hope you don't ever have to." Madi would probably be starting high school in a year or two, wouldn't she? Hopefully she didn't have and Daxes to deal with.

"You want some food?" Madi asked.

"Oh, yeah." God, she was probably holding up the line. "Um . . . nachos? And maybe Skittles." Those were for Octavia. She'd been dropping hints since the game started about wanting candy. "And a water."

"Can you carry all that?" Madi asked skeptically.

"Trust me," she said confidently, "Moms can carry everything."

Even though she'd talked a big game, Clarke found herself struggling once she had everything in hand. The problem was that carrying Avery took her entire left arm out of the equation, so she had to hold the nachos in the palm of her hand, tuck the bottled water under her arm, and bite the bag of Skittles between her teeth.

"Oh, shoot," she said when she felt the water bottle starting to slip. She kept her teeth pressed together on the bag and said, "Okay. This isn't working."

"Need some help?"

She practically bumped into . . . Finn? He reached out and took Avery from her. Not the food, of course, but the baby.

"Thanks," she mumbled, able to hold everything else easily now. "What're you doing here?" Finn hadn't attended Arkadia high school, so had he just . . . shown up hoping to see her and Avery or something?

"One of my old foster brothers is on the team," he answered.

"Oh." As far as reasons for attending Fall Kickoff went, that was . . . actually pretty wholesome.

"I've got her now," Finn said, motioning to Avery. "I'll follow you back to your seat."

Groaning inwardly, she headed back towards the bleachers, hoping people wouldn't see them walking together and start to gossip about anything.

"Is it alright if I sit with you guys?" he asked. "I know this cuts into my time with her, but I don't think I'll be able to do three hours this Sunday anyway. I gotta work."

Oh, people would definitely talk if he saw her sitting with them. Wouldn't they? Or maybe it didn't matter because they didn't know who he was. Or did they? "That's fine . . . I guess," she said unsurely. Whatever. If this cut Sunday's three hours down to two, then she was fine with it.

When they got to her seat, Octavia looked up at her and eagerly asked, "Did you get my Skittles?"

Clarke handed her the bag.

"Thank you." Octavia tore it open, popped a handful into her mouth at once, and asked, "Who's this?" as they sat down next to her sat down.

"Octavia . . . this is Finn," Clarke introduced them.

"Finn," she echoed. She might not have known the face, but she knew the name.

"Yep. Finn, this is Octavia, my sister-in-law, and her boyfriend, Lincoln."

"Nice to meet you guys," Finn said.

Octavia cringed and fake-laughed—girl didn't even try to sugarcoat how she felt about him—then leaned over to Clarke and whispered, "Why is he sitting with us?"

"Just ignore him," Clarke told her.

"Kinda hard to do when he's holding my niece."

Yeah, tell me about it, Clarke thought. Even though she'd become slightly more accustomed to Finn holding Avery, it still wasn't a sight she liked to see.

...

"Alright, good job, good job," Bellamy pumped up his team as they trotted towards the sideline. "Keep this momentum, pick up the pace. I want you guys to go no huddle now, alright? You gotta wear 'em down. He put his hand into the center of their circle, and the guys followed suit. "Green on three. One, two, three!" he chanted.

"Green!" they all shouted, breaking up the circle.

As he was heading back to the edge of the field, Bellamy made the mistake of looking up into the bleachers. Just once to see if he could spot his family. And he did. He saw Octavia and Clarke and Avery . . . and Avery was on Finn's lap. Finn was there. Sitting next to Clarke. Holding Avery.

He didn't know what they were talking about, but Finn was saying something. He was smiling. And Clarke seemed to be listening. She didn't even know that he was looking up at her. She didn't look down at him. Avery was distracted, too, grabbing at Finn's hand.

If the referee hadn't blown the whistle to resume play, Bellamy was pretty sure he wouldn't have looked back at the field. But he still had a game to coach.

When they got home that night, Clarke seemed to be in good spirits. She said she'd had a good time and kept raving about how cute Avery had looked in her jersey. Coach's Kid, right? Except anyone who had seen Finn holding her might have thought she was his kid. And she wasn't. She wasn't.

"You did a really good job tonight," Clarke complimented him as she pulled back the covers on their bed. "I know I've told you, like, a thousand times, but everyone around me was saying how the team already looks so much better than they did last year. People were really impressed."

"That's good." He took the pillowcase off his pillow, only halfway listening.

"Thought you might be happier to hear that," she said.

He shrugged. "It's a scrimmage. Real games are gonna be harder."

She sat down on the side of the bed, taking out her earrings, and asked, "So is next week a home or away game?"

"Away," he answered.

"So are you riding on the bus with the players?"

"Yep." He had to. It was required.

"I'll see if Octavia wants to carpool then."

"Yeah, sure." He couldn't bite his tongue, couldn't keep himself from saying it: "Hey, and while you're at it, bring Finn."

She gave him a curious look. "What?"

"I saw him sitting with you guys tonight," he told her, feeling like he'd already held it in too long. "What's that about?"

"I was giving him some of his three hours early because he has to work on Sunday," she explained.

"Oh, that's nice of you. I didn't realize we were being nice to him now."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause being confrontational worked so well when you tried it," she growled sarcastically, standing back up again. "God, Bellamy, here I am trying to compliment you on the job you did tonight, and you just lash out at me."

"I'm not lashing out," he denied. "It just kinda sucked to look up there and see this whole big happy family without me even in it."

She looked at him incredulously, mouth opening. "What are you even talking about? I was miserable sitting next to him."

"Looked like."

She grunted and yelled, "God, what is wrong with you?" then grabbed a blanket and a pillow and stormed past him and out the bedroom door.

Shit, he thought. If there had been a right way to go about that . . . he definitely hadn't gone about it the right way. She seemed really pissed, but he didn't want her to go to bed feeling that way, so he followed her downstairs. There, she was making up the couch, as if she were planning on sleeping there instead.

"Clarke . . . come on, come back upstairs," he said.

She just shot him a glare.

"I'm sorry, okay? You know things have just been hard on me."

"They've been hard on me, too," she said, rearranging all the pillows.

"I know."

"Do you?" She shook her head, then put the bed pillow on top of the others.

"Just come back upstairs," he urged her. "Come on, you don't have to sleep down here tonight."

"Oh, this isn't for me," she told him. "It's for you." She moved past him and headed upstairs without another word. He stood there feeling miserable and listened to the bedroom door shut.