Chapter 111

The last time Bellamy had seen his car, the front of it had been a literal wreck. But when he saw it at the repair shop, he was stunned to see it looking back to normal again. It was no wonder it'd taken almost a month to fix it, because it sure as hell hadn't been a small job.

"I don't know how they fixed this," he said to Clarke and Octavia. They'd had to bring Octavia with them so that they had two people who could drive.

"I'm sure it wasn't easy," Octavia said. She drummed her hands on the hood as if to test it to test it out, asking, "Am I driving this one?"

"Sure," Clarke said. Then she suggested to Bellamy, "You should ride with your sister, catch up a little bit."

"Alright," he said. "I call shotgun. 'cause I can only ride shotgun." Kind of a dark joke, he supposed, but humor was helping him through things.

Bellamy felt like the roles were reversed as he rode along with his sister on the way home from the repair shop. He used to have to drive her around when she was younger, and he'd hated it. At the time. Looking back, though, they'd had some good talks in the car. He'd heard all about her crushes and her annoyances with other girls her age, and she'd heard all about how much he didn't care. Except he had cared. And he always would.

It was obvious that she cared, too, about what was going on with him, when she turned down the radio and asked, "So what exactly is gonna happen to you now? I mean, in the legal sense."

"You're gonna have to drive me around for a year," he told her.

"What?"

"No, just kidding." That would have been inconvenient.

"Good, 'cause I was gonna say . . . I love you, Bellamy, but there's a limit."

He chuckled, then abandoned the jokes and admitted, "No, in all seriousness, it really sucks. This is on my record; it's always gonna be on my record. I went to jail. I have a mug shot now." It horrified him to think that there were news articles about his accident up online, and they'd always be there. When Avery was older, if she Googled his name, his mug shot would probably come up.

"Do you have to go court?" Octavia asked.

"Yeah, Monday." He was dreading it, but trying not to think about it too much. "I was supposed to go sooner, but since I went to rehab, they extended the window."

"What's gonna happen?" Octavia sort of wondered out loud. "You're not gonna go back to jail, right?"

"No, I don't think so. Who knows, though? Maybe for twenty-four hours or something. Probably not." It was a fine line he had to walk between preparing himself for the worst and hoping for the best. "But I'm gonna get fined, that's for sure. That'll cost about a thousand dollars."

Octavia's eyes got huge.

"Yeah." It definitely wasn't pocket change. "And they'll tell me I gotta take part in . . . well, it's basically drunk driving school. An alcohol education program."

"Does that cost money, too?"

"Yep." It pretty much all did. "And I'm gonna have to pay higher auto insurance from now on. About the only thing I don't have to do is undergo alcohol evaluation, 'cause I already did that in rehab."

"What about your license?" she inquired.

"Oh, Clarke and I have been lookin' into this." Without her, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to make sense of everything. "So basically I'm gonna get a different kind of license through this thing called the, uh . . . Ignition Interlock Program."

"What's that?"

"It's like the alternative to license suspension," he explained. "You have to have someone come out and install this device in your car. It's like a breath analyzer. You gotta blow into the mouthpiece whenever you wanna start the car. But if you're above a certain limit or you try to start it without blowing into it first, it won't start."

"What's the limit?"

He thought back to the site they'd look at last night and recalled, ".025, I think."

Octavia kept the questions coming when she asked, "And what'd you blow when you crashed?"

He cringed, ashamed of just how far over the legal limit he'd been. ".18."

"Oh my god, Bellamy."

"Yeah, it was bad," he acknowledged. "Anyway, I gotta be in this program for a year 'cause my number was so high. And I can't drive anything that doesn't have this kind of device in it. My license is gonna be an 'ignition-interlock restricted' license, too. I think that's what it's called." He'd never even heard of that type of license until all of this. But then again, it wasn't the type of thing they'd advertise in the driver's ed manual.

"So is someone monitoring all this?

"Yeah, all this data gets recorded, and there's a camera, too." It was weird to think that something in his car was going to be taking pictures of him he drove, but he wouldn't be the only person alive with one of those devices in his car. "Every thirty days, I have to go to this service provider so they can download all the data. And if I fucked up, then they'll see that and extend the time I gotta be in the program."

"You're not gonna fuck up, though," she said confidently.

"No." He was determined not to go through this again, and more importantly, not to put the people he loved through it again. "I don't know, it's gonna cost me, too, just like everything else, but I'm kind of alright with it." In the grand scheme of things, it was a small price to pay. Money was . . . just money. He could've ended up paying a whole lot more. "Seems like a good way to hold myself accountable, too."

"Yeah, for sure," she agreed. "Man, that's a lot to think about, Bellamy."

"Yeah." He'd definitely just added stress to his life. Alcohol, although it had seemed like it was helping at the time, had only ended up making things harder for him. "Don't ever be like me, O," he cautioned. "Driving drunk was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life."

"Not gonna disagree with you there," she said. "Well, on the bright side, though, things seem like they're going okay with you and Clarke."

"Yeah, so far." He was definitely going to let her take the lead in terms of any type of intimacy between them, but for now, just having her friendship and support was enough.

"You should've seen her while you were gone, Bellamy," Octavia said. "She was . . . really strong."

He thought about the pressure she must have felt speaking up on his behalf at that school board meeting, and the rudeness she'd endured at that first game he'd asked her to attend. Not to mention the day to day strength it must have taken to be a single parent to Avery. Because as much as he hated to admit it, that was the position she'd been in. The position he'd put her in.

"You're really lucky to have her," Octavia said.

"I know." Now he just had to be the kind of man, the kind of husband, that she felt lucky to have in return.

...

It'd been a while since Clarke had found the time and the desire to draw. Just being at home with Bellamy that night, though, watching him play with Avery, she felt inspired. She sat down on the couch, attempting to draw the scene in front of her: Bellamy making her stuffed animals dance around in front of her to the beat of the lighthearted pop music that was playing.

"Look at you," he said. "You're such a big girl sittin' up like that. Yeah, you don't need my help, do you? You got it."

Avery started to flap her arms excitedly as she watched her toys dance, and it seemed like she tried mimicking by twisting a little bit from side to side.

"What're you doin'? Are you trying to dance, too?" Bellamy said. "It's okay, I can't dance, either."

"She must like this song," Clarke said. Of course she did. Who didn't like the Backstreet Boys? "I Want It That Way" was a classic.

"I'll dance with her," Bellamy said, putting the toys down. He picked Avery up, rose to his feet, and started to sway around with her. "You like dancing with Daddy?"

She let out a little squeal and reached up to touch his beard, as if she was trying to tell him that dancing with him was her new favorite thing in the world.

...

Feet hurting, Clarke loitered around by the food table, wishing she'd worn different shoes to prom. The problem was that she'd waited to get her dress at last minute, so she hadn't had time to get it altered, and it was a bit too long. So she had to wear the highest heels in her closet to compensate. Not only was it difficult to dance in them, but it was difficult to even walk or stand in them. She couldn't wait to get home and take them off. In fact, she couldn't wait to get home in general so she could go to sleep. Her junior prom had been a bust. Nothing memorable about it. Last year, she'd gotten a princess tiara and had an amazing night with her boyfriend. This year, she hadn't even been nominated for the vote, and she was spending more time interacting with the ever-dwindling cheese cubes on the food table than she was with any other people.

"Hey, Clarke," Josephine greeted fake cheerfully as she strolled past, arm in arm with Dax. "No date tonight? That sucks."

It took Clarke a minute to generate a comeback, and when she did, she wasn't even sure it was a good one. "Yeah, well, I'd rather have no date than a bad one!" she called after her . . . nemesis? Was that too strong of a word? Too overdramatic? She really couldn't stand that girl.

In contrast to Clarke was Raven, who seemed to be having the time of her life at her senior prom. Which was well-deserved. She'd been voted queen this year, and Zeke had come home for the weekend and was looking very dapper in his tux. Clarke hadn't spent a whole lot of time with either of them that night, though, because they were constantly out in the middle of the dance floor, while she was happy to blend into the shadows. Hell, she'd only decided to come to this dance because her mom hadn't stopped nagging her about it. Of course, her mom had also practically begged her to go with Wels, but she'd turned him down and decided it was best to go solo. Even though she and Wells were friends and had really reconnected this year, there still wasn't a romantic connection, and she didn't want to give him false hope.

It seemed like the DJ only knew of two artists, Katy Perry and Taylor Swift, because every fast song was one of Katy's obnoxious hits, and every slower song was Taylor, one of her older, country ballads. Clarke definitely wasn't impressed by the music, and she couldn't imagine many other people were, either, but they seemed determined to make the most of it and just kept on dancing. At one point, Raven and Zeke left the dance floor and came over to her. Raven had danced so hard that the crown on her head was crooked, and her perfectly-straightened hair had started to curl up around her neck due to how much she was sweating. "Hey, come dance with us," she suggested to Clarke excitedly.

"Oh, I don't wanna be a third wheel," Clarke said, popping another cheese cube into her mouth to try to look busy. She'd already ridden to the dance with them and everything, and that had been awkward enough. "You guys just do your thing."

"Part of my thing is hanging out with my best friend tonight," Raven said, grabbing her arm. "Come on." She tugged gently, but Clarke didn't budge.

"She's the queen. You better listen to her," Zeke said.

Groaning reluctantly, Clarke finally gave in and followed Raven out onto the dance floor, aching feet and all. At least she had rhythm, so she didn't have to worry about looking like a fool out there. She shimmied and shook, swung her hips and her head from side to side. For the remainder of that annoying Katy Perry song, she forgot about the fact that she was technically there alone and managed to have a decent time. But as soon as that song ended, it was back to good old Taylor, and people immediately shifted into a slow dance embrace with their dates.

"And that's my cue to leave," Clarke decided.

"Come back out for the next song," Raven told her as she draped her arms around her boyfriend's shoulders.

Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. It just depended on how depressed the lyrics of this particular song made her feel.

As she was hobbling off the dance floor, trying not to break her ankles, she was intercepted by Wells, who had also ended up going stag that night. Unlike her, though, he still seemed to be having a good time. "Wanna dance?" he asked her.

"Uh . . ." She knew it could just be a platonic thing. Wells had been dancing with a lot of girls that night, including many of the girls who definitely weren't part of the popular circle. Because he was a good guy like that and wanted everyone to feel included. "Sure," she said, kicking off her shoes first. She threw them over into a pile of discarded footwear, hoping she could find them again once the night was over. Then she put her hands on his shoulders, and he put his hands on her waist, and together, they began to sway.

The dance was, at least technically speaking, a good one. Wells didn't pull her too close, he wasn't too handsy, and he didn't step on her feet. There was no pressure or expectation that this would lead to something more tonight. It was just . . . friendly.

During the last chorus of the song, Wells broke through the silence that surrounded them and said something she didn't expect: "I'm sorry I'm not him."

She looked up at him, taken aback.

"I know that's who you'd rather be dancing with right now," he acknowledged.

God, she felt bad. Because he really was a nice guy, and this really was a nice slow dance. But this was just how it seemed to happen for her nowadays: Even when she tried to be present with a guy, she just . . . wasn't. "I can't get over him, Wells," she confessed. "I keep trying, but it's not working."

"Of course not," he said. "You loved him."

She tried not to use that word, but it wasn't something she could deny. "Don't tell anybody," she said.

"I think everybody already knows."

She shook her head sadly. "Not Bellamy. I didn't tell him. And now it's too late."

"No, it's not," Wells said. "Call him. Text him. Go visit him."

"No, trust me, too much has happened. It's too late." She sighed, completely resigned to the sad reality. "Besides, if he still wanted to be with me, he would've reached out by now."

"I just . . . I hate to see you like this," Wells said sympathetically.

"Like what?" She'd bought a dress and come to prom, hadn't she? It wasn't like she'd done what she really wanted to do and just stayed home.

"Lonely," he replied.

She didn't want him feeling sorry for her; she didn't want anyone feeling sorry for her. "I'm not lonely right now," she said, pushing out a smile. "I'm dancing with you."

"Yeah, but . . ." He gazed down at her skeptically. "You're still not happy."

Since her smile wasn't a genuine one, it fell easily. She looked downward, continuing to dance with him, just waiting for the song to end.

...

Clarke wondered if Bellamy had any idea how utterly adorable he looked dancing around with Avery. So many other people in that town pictured him as this strong, tough, athletic guy, which, of course, he still was. But they had no idea how soft and sweet he could be. When the average person thought of him, they thought of the quarterback, or the coach. They didn't know what he was like as a dad.

"Hey, Bellamy?" she said.

"Huh?"

Even though it was probably obvious, she felt the need to let him know, "I'm happy you're home."

"Me, too," he said, setting Avery back down on the floor when the song changed. "Alright, sweetie, let's see what moves you learned," he said. "You just got taught by the master, you know? The dancing king."

Clarke had to laugh a little and roll her eyes at that title he'd just given himself. Setting her sketchbook aside, she got up and headed into the kitchen to get herself a glass of water.

"Can you do a little shake?" Bellamy asked, his attention unwavering. "Can you wiggle your arms?"

Clarke filled up her glass and took a swig, feeling like she wanted to sit back down and finish her sketch before she started getting ready for bed.

"Clarke, look," Bellamy said suddenly.

She swung her had back in their direction and saw that Avery was on her forearms and knees again, looking like she wanted to crawl.

"Is she . . ." Bellamy seemed to be holding his breath as he watched her push herself up from her forearms to her hands and start moving towards him. "Look, she's crawling." A huge smile swept over his face, and he scooted back a bit, coaxing her forward. "Yeah, that's it. Come to me."

Oh, god, Clarke thought, setting her glass down on the counter. Oh, god.

"Look at you go!" he exclaimed as she continued to close the gap between them. "You're motorin'. Clarke, grab my phone. I wanna record this."

I already did, she thought, watching them sadly. He thought this was a first, a milestone, but it wasn't. It'd happened before.

"Look at you," he said, scooping her up in his arms when she was close enough. "You're really something, you know, that?" He gave her a loving kiss on the cheek, so caught up in the moment he'd just witnessed that it took him a few more seconds to notice that she wasn't celebrating the milestone the same way he was. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

She started to cry.

"Clarke?" Quickly, he set Avery back down and got up, rushing to her side. "Hey, what's-"

"That wasn't the first time she crawled," she blurted, wishing it had been. He'd just gotten home a little too late.

The pure joy in his eyes turned to pure devastation. "It wasn't?"

"No." It made her feel awful to have to crush this moment for him, but she wasn't going to keep it a secret. Secrets never worked out well between them. "She did it while you were gone," she told him. "I didn't wanna tell you."

Leaning back against the kitchen counter, he took that in, then simply said, "Oh." It was just one word, but in it, she heard a lot of disappointment.

"I filmed it, if you wanna see." She whipped out her cell phone and quickly located the video she'd taken.

"Sure," he said, taking the phone when she handed it to him. He watched with regret in his eyes, and she wondered if it'd been a good idea to show him. What if it just made him feel worse? What if knowing that he'd missed this made him want to drink again?

When the video was done, he handed his phone back to her, mumbling, "Knew I'd miss something."

"I'm so sorry." She could only imagine . . .

"No, it's . . . it's nothing to apologize for," he assured her right away. "I did it to myself."

He really had. And that had to be hard to deal with. But Clarke knew she couldn't blame herself, and she most certainly couldn't blame Avery for simply developing. Bellamy had missed out on that moment because of the choices he'd made. She was happy to hear him acknowledge it, but she didn't want him to beat himself up over it.

As if he could sense what she was thinking, he said, "Don't worry, Clarke, this doesn't make me sad. I mean, it does, but . . . it doesn't depress me. It motivates me. I don't wanna miss any other moments. I'm not going to."

God, she hoped not. He deserved to be there when she said her first word, when she took her first steps. And there were some future milestones that she was going to flat-out need him there for. Like when she eventually started sleeping in a big girl bed and inevitably cried all through the night. Or her first day of preschool. Her first date.

"Hey, come here," he said, wrapping his arms around her, bringing her in close for a hug. Unlike her, he wasn't crying, even though the disappointment he felt in missing such a moment had to hit him harder than it was hitting her. Still, though, he didn't fall apart, didn't retreat inside himself to a place she just couldn't reach. In fact, for the first time in a long time, strange as it was to say, she felt like he was the one comforting her.

...

Bellamy insisted on tucking Avery in that night. Aerosmith's "I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" kept playing on repeat in his head, so he spent a little longer in that nursery than necessary, just watching her fall asleep, watching her even after she was already sleeping.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered. "Don't go crawling outta the crib now." He placed a kiss on his fingertips, then pressed his fingertips against her head. He hoped she could feel how much he loved her. Even though she was little and couldn't yet understand all the words he said to her, he hoped she could just sense it.

When he walked into his bedroom, he saw that the other person he loved more than anything in the world was already in bed, lying on her side, eyes already closed. Clarke had on a sports bra, and she'd kicked the blankets low enough to reveal a pair of pajama shorts. That dip in her waist led to the perfect curve of her hips, and he found it hard to look away from her body. To him, she was the most beautiful thing in the world. But he couldn't say that right now without worrying that he was taking things too fast or being too forward, so he hoped she could just sense things, too.

Kneeling down next to the bed, he grabbed the sheets and covered her up again, prepared to do that about five more times that night. There was a piece of hair that had fallen in front of her face, over her eyes, so he tried to brush it back without her noticing, but she started to stir.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to wake up." She seemed to be a lighter sleeper these days, almost as if she was ready to wake up in just a split second and be there for him if that was what he needed. Just like the other night. She'd really gotten him through that panic attack. Just holding her had calmed him down so much.

"Mmm," she moaned sleepily. "I'm cold."

"Is that an invitation for me to warm you up?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Maybe."

That was all the invitation he needed then. Right now, it didn't matter if they weren't making out or having sex. It was all about just feeling close to her, and he did feel close to her when he climbed onto his side of the bed opened up his arms, and she settled in beside him.

Her legs entangled with his, and her hand came to rest over his heart. That all would have been enough, and he wasn't expecting anything more. Even when she sat back up a bit and looked down at him with that steadfast compassion in her eyes, he didn't expect anything. And that was why it was so surprising when he felt her lips on his. Just for a soft, close-mouthed kiss, almost . . . almost a chaste one? It was the familiar kind of kiss couples who had been married for years gave each other at night, the kind of kiss that was simple, but also meaningful. She didn't make a big deal out of it, and she didn't let her lips linger against his too long. But she had to know just how significant it was.

"Goodnight," she said, lying back down to cuddle with him.

He felt a bit too stunned to respond, but he did manage to get out a "Goodnight," of his own before proceeding to just lie there with her, smiling to himself as he took it all in. That little kiss was their first kiss in almost a month now. And it felt so damn good.