Chapter 95

The ding that signaled a new text would have woken Bellamy up that morning if he'd actually been asleep. But since he wasn't, he slowly reached over to the coffee table to pick up his phone and read the message. It was a short one from Octavia that said, Lincoln and I are going out tonight if you guys wanna tag along.

Oh, he was gonna have to make up an excuse to get out of that one. There was no way he and Clarke would be good company for them right now.

Before he could text his sister back, there was a loud knock on the door. He got up off the couch, shook his hair out of his face, and went to answer it, thinking it was just one of their friends or something. But no. There stood his father-in-law with his girlfriend.

"Hey!" Jake exclaimed excitedly.

"Hey." He'd literally just rolled out of bed. Or . . . off the couch, technically. He didn't even have a shirt on.

"You didn't forget we were coming over this weekend, did you?" Jake said.

Oh, he definitely had, so he lied. "No. No, I just didn't think it'd be so early."

"Jake always likes to get an early start on things," Alyssa said.

"Well, my dad used to say we were burning daylight." Jake stepped inside when Bellamy moved aside. "How you doin', son?"

"Good." Was that the first time Jake had ever called him son? Holy crap.

"Yeah? I heard you coached your first game last night."

He nodded. "Yep, Fall Kickoff."

"I bet that was pretty fun."

"Yeah, it was." If there wasn't so much other shit going on in his life, he actually would have been able to feel proud of the guys for the way they'd played. Even though his green team had won, both sides had played decently, kept the score close the whole time.

The stairs creaked as Clarke crept down them. "Dad?" she said. "Why are you here so early?"

"An excellent question," Alyssa quipped, yawning.

"Why not get an early start on things?" Jake said.

"Because I wasn't even up yet. That's why not." Clarke stepped down off the bottom stair and hugged her father.

"Good to see you, sweetheart," he said.

"Yeah, you, too." She hugged her future stepmom and said, "Hey, Alyssa."

"Hey. Cute PJs."

"Oh, thanks." Clarke looked down at her clothes, then over at Bellamy. She was actually wearing an old t-shirt of his and an old pair of his boxers, both of which had shrunk in the wash.

"What's, uh . . ." Jake motioned to the pillows and blankets on the couch and asked, "What's all this?"

"Oh, um . . ." Clarke tried and failed to answer.

A quick lie came to Bellamy, so he jumped in to help her. "You know, sometimes when I start snoring too loud, Clarke throws a pillow at me, tells me to come down here."

"I do the same," Alyssa said.

"I hardly even snore," Jake denied.

"Oh, you do, though."

Bellamy breathed an internal sigh of relief. They seemed to be buying it.

"Can we see Avery?" Jake asked.

"Yeah, she's up in the nursery," Clarke said. "Go ahead."

Eager grandparents that they were, Jake and Alyssa scurried upstairs.

"Oh my god," Clarke whispered, rubbing her temples.

"I forgot they were coming over," he admitted.

She rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Of course you did."

So apparently she'd woken up feeling mad at him. Great. That boded well for the rest of the day. "Are we gonna talk about what's goin' on?" he asked her.

"Oh, now you wanna talk? Now that my dad and Alyssa are here and we don't actually have time to do that?" She was keeping her voice down, but her tone was still angry. "That's convenient," she said. "Look, I gotta go shower and get dressed."

"Clarke . . ." With Avery occupying them, they had at least a couple minutes.

"We'll talk later," she said, heading back upstairs.

Dammit, he thought, wondering how much later that was gonna be. Tonight? Hopefully sooner than then, because he didn't want to go through the entire day acting like things were fine when . . . they weren't.

...

Jake and Alyssa really wanted to see Bellamy's office up at the school. Since it wasn't the cleanest, most organized place in the world, he tried to get them interested in going somewhere else, but Jake insisted. He was interested in Bellamy's job, he said, because it was so different from his own.

Since it was Saturday, the school was deserted. After seeing his office, Jake wanted to go see the trophy case. Bellamy played the part of museum guide with him while Clarke and Avery sat with Alyssa at one of the lunch tables, having girl talk time or whatever.

"So what's this one from?" Jake asked, pointing to a small gold trophy.

"Uh . . . district championship my sophomore year."

"Huh. We weren't even living in Arkadia yet." Jake looked into the next case and asked, "What about this one?"

"That's the state runner-up one." It was the biggest trophy in the case, but . . . not the best.

"Wow."

"I hate it," he muttered.

"Why? It's a huge accomplishment."

"No, it was a huge letdown." He shrugged. "Oh, well." He'd make up for that incomplete pass he'd thrown if he could someday coach a team to a championship.

"Where's your Hall of Fame plaque?" Jake inquired.

"Oh, it's over by the activities entrance." He had no desire to look at that thing. Still didn't feel like he deserved it.

"Well, I'll have to take a look at it on the way out," Jake said. "You know, Hall of Fame . . . that's impressive."

Bellamy took the compliment, but as Jake went over to Clarke and Alyssa, he stayed there, looking at all those trophies, plaques, and other awards, many of which he'd played a big part in getting. Was any of this stuff really all that impressive, though? He didn't feel like it mattered.

...

The Sunday party at Brady's frat house was for a different reason than the Saturday night one had been. The Saturday one had been to celebrate their final game of the season, which they'd won. And Bellamy had even gotten to throw a touchdown during the fourth quarter. The Sunday night one was to celebrate the fact that they'd been selected to play in the Peach Bowl. To be honest, the two parties kind of just blended together. Some people didn't even go home.

Bellamy went ahead and got drunk, because there really wasn't any risk of getting busted. At this point, it was pretty obvious that the cops gave fraternity row a wide berth. Especially when they knew the football team had things to celebrate.

Still feeling a bit light-headed from the keg-stand he'd just completed, Bellamy almost didn't hear a girl talking to him, trying to get his attention. She said his name a few times, then got louder to ask, "Hey, Bellamy, you wanna fuck?"

He took one look at her and decided, "Sure." He'd seen her around at a couple parties. Didn't remember her name, but he'd call her . . . Stacey. She looked like a Stacey.

He reached for his zipper, but she laughed and leaned against him. "Not right here."

"No?" He grinned at her. "Where then?"

"We could go upstairs," she suggested.

"Alright." Hell, he'd gone up those same stairs with a girl last night, and that'd been a fun time. He saw an opportunity to make it even more fun when he spotted a girl behind her who had a nice little body. He wasn't even sure if Stacey and she knew each other, but he motioned to that girl and asked, "Does your friend wanna come, too?"

"I don't know, let me see." She reached back and grabbed that girl's arm. "Hey, Courtney. You wanna go upstairs with me and him?"

Courtney's eyes roamed over him, and her response was a swift one. "Sure."

Bellamy had to play it cool, but the thought of having a threesome definitely had him excited. He'd fooled around with more than one girl at once before, but in high school, that'd been limited to making out and hand-jobs. This was gonna be more than that. "Alright, let's go," he said, grabbing Stacey's hand, motioning for both girls to follow him upstairs.

Once they found a room, they cut straight to the chase. Clothes came off, and the girls both got down on their knees and started blowing him. It sort of seemed like they'd done this before, because they had a system. One girl sucked on his balls while the other bobbed her head up and down on his cock. Then they alternated. He stood there with his arms behind his head, watching them, feeling like . . . the man, honestly. He had two hot girls giving him head, which was fucking awesome.

He ended up cumming all over their faces, but he definitely wasn't willing to end things there. He sat back against the headboard and watched them make out and go down on each other, stroking his cock all the while, getting it hard again. The girls were either into each other or just doing a hell of a good job putting on a show for him, because it didn't take his dick long to be ready again. When it was, he grabbed Courtney's hand and pulled her over to sit down on it. She rode it until she came, then let Stacey do the same.

As much as he liked watching the girls on top, he also wanted to just fuck the hell out of them, and that was easiest to do behind them. So he got them both to get on all fours on the side of the bed, and he alternated between the two of them, fingering one while he fucked the other.

"Oh, shit," Stacey swore as his cock rammed into her. "You're fucking me so good."

Of course he was. Sex was so easy. It was so easy. "Grab her tits," he said, not really caring who followed the instruction. It ended up being Stacey, who reached over to grab Courtney's boob. He laughed huskily and groaned, "Yeah," as she helped him get her off. This was great. Everything about this was great.

"Mmm!" Courtney moaned loudly, her whole body tensing up. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, and he felt it twitch as she came.

Sliding out of Stacey, he grabbed Courtney's hips and held her steady as he slammed back into her. "Stay up," he told her when she started to lie down. He was close, too and he wanted to just pound her. The thing about a threesome, though, was that he couldn't just forget about the other girl, so he shoved two fingers into Stacey and pumped them in and out at the same pace of his thrusts.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum," Stacey gasped, her face contorting with pleasure. "Ah! Oh, fuck!" She reached down and pushed his fingers out of her, rubbing her clit furiously before she squirted. Most of it ended up on the bed, but some of it sprayed out onto her thighs. "Oh my god," she said breathily, falling forward. "That went everywhere."

Able to focus all of his attention on the girls whose pussy he was buried in, Bellamy thrust rapidly, desperate to get off again. He wasn't wearing a condom, though, which was probably dumb, so he knew the least he could do was pull out. "Come here," he said, repositioning Courtney so that her mouth was down by his cock again. She opened right up, so he held her head in place with one hand and furiously jacked off his cock with the other. "Uh . . ." he growled, shooting his load into her mouth. He had a lot to give her, so a pool of white formed in the back of her throat. She held it there and didn't swallow. "Give it to your friend," he told her, wanting this to be as pornographic as possible, so why not witness a cum-swap?

Her mouth still open, she carefully laid down. Stacey rolled over onto her back, allowing Courtney to bend down and pass the cum to her. She swallowed it and moaned, "Mmm. Yummy."

Damn, I'm the man, he thought. His first true threesome, and he felt like he'd handled it like a pro. Some guys felt pressure and couldn't get the job done, but not him. All three of them had cum twice.

"That was so good," Courtney said, stretching out on the bed. She rubbed her feet against his groin and teased, "Where'd you even come from? You're a freshman. You're not supposed to be so good."

"Had a lot a practice," he bragged. When it came to sex, he really felt like his skills were unmatched.

Stacey, who was definitely still recovering from her squirt, giggled in agreement. Courtney sat up, reaching out to fondle his now limp dick, and asked, "Do you love college? Is it, like, the best time of your life?"

He made sure he kept the cocky grin on his face, even as that question sparked a flood of memories. Memories of the actual best time of his life, of being in bed with one certain girl.

No. Couldn't think about that.

"Turn over," he said, avoiding the question. "I wanna fuck your ass."

Biting her bottom lip, Courtney looked over at Stacey and asked, "Should I let him?"

"Yeah," Stacey said, as if it were a no-brainer.

"Okay." That was all the convincing it took for Courtney to flip back over and wriggle her butt.

"Fuck mine, too," Stacey said, reaching around to spread her cheeks open.

"Just give me a minute." He started stroking his cock again, as excited as he was exhausted. He'd give it to them, though, in time. He knew how to make them feel good. It was just so simple.

...

The longer Bellamy looked at those trophies, the less impressive he felt like they were. Sure, he'd gotten a huge round of applause last night, and according to Clarke, everyone had been complimenting his coaching debut. But that didn't make him an impressive person. It was still possible he was just a loser.

"Alright, well, I think we're gonna go see a few old friends of mine for a while," Jake announced when Bellamy sauntered over to the lunch table. "But are we all still going out for dinner tonight?"

Clarke exchanged a quick look with Bellamy and said, "Yeah, sure. You guys pick the place."

"Not seafood, right?" Alyssa asked Bellamy.

"Preferably not."

She nodded. "Got it."

"Sounds good," Jake said. "We'll see you two later."

"Bye," Alyssa said, waving to them as they headed out.

"Bye," Clarke said, waving back. She kept a smile on her face until they rounded the corner and were out of sight. Then she just looked down at Avery, who was starting to get a little fussy. Bellamy sat down next to her, waiting for her to say something. But when she did, it was only, "You look tired."

"Well, yeah, I slept on a couch," he reminded her.

"Because you deserved it."

He sighed, not able to argue that. She was right. He had. Last night had just been another fuck-up in what was becoming an increasingly long list of fuck-ups. Probably at the top of that list, though, was still the night he'd been half drunk and told her he wanted to have another baby. They'd sort of talked about it and everything, but . . . it still kind of felt like an elephant in the room sometimes.

"I think I'm gonna feed her," Clarke decided when Avery's whines began to escalate. She lifted up her shirt and popped a boob out of her bra, getting Avery situated easily. "You can go get some work done in your office, if you want," she told him. "This could take a while."

"I'll wait." The only work he needed to do was to watch film, and he could do that after they got home. He felt like there was more important stuff for him to be focusing on than that block Smith should have made or that pass Brayden should have caught.

An awkward silence fell over the two of them, and he hated it. Hated it so much. He hadn't lain down there on the couch all night just to have their day be such a suckfest. "We gotta fix this, Clarke, whatever it is," he told her. "We've never been like this with each other before."

"Well, you've never been such a jerk to me before," she muttered stubbornly.

Jerk was . . . pretty tame, actually. She could have called him a lot worse. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't have gotten mad about Finn sitting with you."

She finally looked up from Avery to him, but her expression was still an upset one. "Are you just saying that? Or do you actually believe it?"

"No, I know I snapped at you last night. And I shouldn't have."

That acknowledgement seemed to soften her up a bit. Her expression changed, and she said, "I'm sorry you had to see that, especially right in the middle of your game. I probably should've just told him to sit somewhere else. It's just . . ." She trailed off and let out such a heavy sigh, he felt like he could see the weight of the world on her shoulders. Or the weight of their world, at least. "I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of this whole screwed up situation, trying to balance how you're feeling with how he's feeling," she admitted, "and meanwhile, no one even cares about how I'm feeling."

Shit, had he really made her feel like that? That'd never been his intention. "I care," he assured. "I know I haven't shown it, but . . . I care, Clarke. I love you." He felt like, right now especially, he couldn't say that enough, so he said it again. "I love you, and I want you to be happy."

"I am happy. Usually," she said. "I'm happy being your wife and her mother. I just . . ." She paused, and tears shot to her eyes. "God, I don't wanna say this," she whispered, trying to blink them away.

"Just say it." This was their time to talk. He didn't want her holding anything back.

She swallowed hard, still trying not to cry, and her voice shook when she said, "Two months ago, we stood out on a beach and made vows to each other. And in your vows, you told me to tell you if you ever stop being the best husband in the world. And lately . . ." She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head and sadly. "You haven't been a very good husband."

Hearing that . . . it was a knife in the heart. More than one. It made him feel like a . . . failure, honestly. A completely failure. He knew she hadn't said that to hurt his feelings, though. She was just being honest with him about how she felt. "Clarke . . ." He wanted to reach up and wipe those tears away, but what if she didn't even want him to touch her right now? "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said tearfully. "Be Bellamy."

"I will be. I am." He was still the man who had stood on that beach with her and promised to be the best husband in the world. He still had that capability in him, somewhere. That kind of thing didn't just go away when things got hard. He just had to find it again. "Look, just tell me what I gotta do to make things better, and I'll do it," he said. Maybe he could take her out on a romantic date or get his mom to babysit so they could spend the night alone together. They could do another road trip down to Wilmington if that would help things. Even if that meant Miller had to coach the first real game of the season alone, he'd do it.

"You know what you can do?" Clarke said after giving it a little thought.

"What?"

The look in her eyes was one of complete seriousness when she said, "Stop drinking so much."

Of all the things he'd been expecting to hear, that hadn't been one of them.

"In fact, this dinner we're having tonight . . . don't order alcohol," she begged. "Please."

He felt like he'd just been run over by a truck. Drinking? She was worried about him drinking? "Okay. I won't," he agreed. "Are you worried that I-"

"No," she cut in quickly. But then she changed her mind. "Yes. I don't know, maybe. It just seems like you've been going to the bar a lot lately, and . . . I mean, last weekend, Murphy had to drive you home. Do you even remember any of that?"

He remembered having to lay on the charm with the younger waitress to get her to serve him, because Diyoza had once again cut him off. "Faintly," he replied.

"See? That makes me worried."

"No, babe, you don't need to—you don't need to worry about any of that," he assured her. "I'm not . . . I'm fine. I'm not getting addicted to alcohol. In fact, the only thing I'm addicted to . . . is you." He waited for her to laugh, but she didn't. "That was supposed to be a joke, by the way."

"It was kinda cringey," she informed him.

He managed to laugh a little. He didn't want to make light of what they were discussing, though, because it was definitely important. It wasn't an issue the way she thought it might be, but he understood that he needed to prove to her that he still had it under control. "I mean it, though. I love you so much. And I don't want you to worry about me," he said. "So if you don't want me to drink, I won't drink."

"I don't mean you have to stop completely," she said. "Just, you know, limit yourself."

"No, I don't need to drink at all," he decided. "I'll get a nice cold glass of water tonight. How's that sound?" He put his hand on her back, glad that she didn't flinch away from his touch.

"Sounds good," she said.

Done deal then. Jake and Alyssa could have a drink or two tonight, if they wanted to, but he wasn't going to. Simple as that. "Hey," he said, moving his hand up to rub the back of her neck. "I feel better now. Do you?"

She thought for a moment, the said, "Yeah. I do. I really needed to get all that out there."

As much as it had kind of blown him away to hear all that, it was good that he had. Now he knew what he needed to work on. "I'm gonna be a good husband again," he told her. "I promise."

...

The conversation flowed at dinner that night. Bellamy was talkative. Clarke's dad was talkative. Alyssa was talkative. Clarke actually felt like she herself was the least talkative, but that was because she kind of just wanted to watch Bellamy, see how he was doing now that she'd had her moment of blunt honesty with him. He followed through with his promise and ordered ice water. That was good to see.

"So anyway, we're watching this pointless vampire movie, right?" her dad was saying. "And this one here, she says to me . . ."

"How do you even make holy water?" Alyssa filled in.

"And I say . . . you boil the hell out of it." He laughed at his own joke, while beside him, his girlfriend smiled and face-palmed. "That's funny, right?"

"Oh, Jake . . ." Alyssa said.

"Yeah, I think that one would get classified as a Dad joke," Bellamy told him.

"Well, nothing wrong with that. Dad jokes are funny. And you'd better start stocking up on them. People are gonna expect those from you someday."

"Oh, I already got some," Bellamy proclaimed. "You wanna hear 'em?"

"Oh . . . sure," Alyssa replied, "why not?"

"Okay, this one's dumb." Bellamy cleared his throat, then asked, "If you see a robbery at an Apple store, does that make you an iWitness?"

"Oh, I like that one!" Alyssa exclaimed. "See, that's creative."

"And mine wasn't?" Clarke's dad huffed, pretending to be offended. "Okay, give us another."

"Uh . . . alright, this probably isn't politically correct," Bellamy warned, "but what's the least spoken language in the world?" He waited for them to come up with the answer, and when they didn't, he said, "Sign language."

"Oh, god," Alyssa said while Clarke's father chuckled.

"What's that one you told me that one time?" Clarke piped up.

"What one?" Bellamy asked.

"That other not politically correct one." That probably didn't do much to narrow it down. There were a lot of non-PC dad jokes out there.

"Oh! Yeah." Bellamy laughed before even telling the joke, then launched into it. "To the man in the wheelchair who stole my camouflage jacket . . . you can hide, but you can't run."

That one got a loud laugh out of both Jake and Alyssa, and Clarke couldn't help but laugh, too, even though Bellamy had told it to her multiple times.

"It's so stupid," he admitted, shaking his head.

"What kind of dads would we be if we didn't tell dad jokes, though?" Clarke's father said.

"Exactly."

When the waitress approached the table, Clarke worried she was going to tell them to quiet down, but instead, all she asked to Bellamy was, "Would you like some more water, sir?"

"Sure," he said, handing her his glass. "Thanks." He cast Clarke a glance while she filled it up to the brim for him. Another really nice sight to see.

When her dad and Alyssa started talking about a joke they'd heard recently, trying to remind each other exactly how it went, Clarke reached over to give Bellamy's hand a subtle squeeze. "I'm proud of you," she told him quietly.

He just smiled at her, and that smile seemed so real and so genuine that it just put her at ease for the first time in weeks. He was doing what she'd asked him to do; he was being Bellamy. It felt good to have her husband back.