Chapter 113

Clarke tried to act like it wasn't a big deal for Bellamy to be back behind the wheel for the first time since his accident, but it was a big deal, and they both knew it.

"Alright, let's go," she said, climbing into the passenger's seat after she'd secured Avery's car seat in the back.

He took hold of his brand new ignition-interlock device and held it up to his mouth like he was speaking into a microphone or something. "Avery, are you ready?" he asked. "Over and out."

"It does kind of look like a walkie-talkie," she said, glad that he was trying to make something fun out of it.

"At least it's not too noticeable," he said, though he still looked at it kind of . . . dejectedly. Like he was embarrassed to have it.

"Start it up," she encouraged him. The guy who had come to install the device had shown him how to do it, so hopefully it all worked the way it was supposed to.

Bellamy stuck his key into the ignition and turned it to the on position, and the device in his hand started to beep. As he'd been instructed, he blew and hummed into it for several seconds. It wasn't just a one puff kind of thing. When the device stopped beeping, he looked down at the screen, waiting for it to do its analysis. When the screen displayed the word pass, he put the receiver in its inconspicuous next to the radio. It kind of looked like a police radio.

When he tried starting up the car, he was able to do it without problem.

"It works," she said, wondering if it would retest him on their way to the carnival. The installation technician had told them that it would ask for a retest at random intervals, and that he was required to find a place to pull off the road or park when he did that.

Bellamy kind of just stared at the wheel, his hands hovering above it like he didn't want grab hold of it. She could only imagine what was going on in his mind, the flashbacks he may have been having. A car crash, whether it was influenced by alcohol or not, was a traumatic thing to live through.

She didn't push him to start that car until he was ready, instead choosing to just sit there and wait for him. Once he got past whatever was going on in his head, he pulled the gearshift downward, grabbed hold of the steering wheel with both hands, and began to drive. He gripped the wheel tightly, kept his eyes glued to the road, and looked a lot less relaxed than he usually did when he drove.

"You don't really have to go two miles per hour," she told him. Technically, he was over that by about eight miles, but it was definitely a snail's pace.

"I know," he said, "but I'm going to." His speed didn't increase in the slightest, so she just settled into her seat, figuring she might as well get comfy. Bellamy was driving like a grandma.

By the time they got to Kane's carnival, everything was well underway. All the rides were operating, and people were playing the midway games and stuffing their faces with food. Of course, having Avery with them meant that Bellamy and Clarke were pretty much relegated to the kiddie rides section, and even some of those looked like they'd be too much for her. Everything they took her on had to be very tame, so the carousel seemed like a good place to start. They perched her on top of the prettiest horse, wrapping the safety strap around her waist, just in case, although they were both standing next to her, helping hold her up.

"Look at her," Clarke said as the ride slowly circled around. "She's like, 'What's going on here?'"

Bellamy chuckled. "Yeah, last time you rode on a carousel, you were in your mom's belly."

That was crazy to think about. She remembered that just like it was yesterday, but a lot had changed in a year. Bellamy hadn't even been her boyfriend back then, and now he was her husband.

There weren't many rides that someone as tiny as Avery could enjoy, but next to the carousel was a similar contraption, except instead of riding on horses, they rode in brightly colored cars. Clarke wanted to try to get some pictures, so she opted not to ride that one. Bellamy tried to squeeze into the little car with Avery, but it was a tight fit. He got a little bit stuck and had to be helped out, and Clarke could not contain her laughter. She made sure to get some good pictures of that, too.

When they strolled past the kissing booth, Bellamy pointed to it and said, "Remember when I kissed you there?"

"On the cheek," she recalled.

"Well, we weren't together."

"We're together now," she pointed out.

He smiled, bent down, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. She sort of wished he'd let it linger a little longer, but . . . PDA and all that. Plus, he was carrying Avery.

"Should we get some cotton candy, see if she wants any?" he asked as they approached a food cart.

"No, her first solid food's gonna be something healthy," she said, "like avocado or something."

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I tried," he mumbled quietly to Avery. He still sauntered up to the cart, though, looking at the food items and prices, and asked Clarke, "You want anything?"

"Maybe we could split a funnel cake," she suggested.

"Oh, so we don't have to eat healthy, but our baby has to?"

"Exactly." She smirked as Bellamy began to place their order. He definitely would definitely end up getting more than what she'd asked for. It was a hot day out, and they needed some water or lemonade, too.

As she stood slightly behind him, listening to him switch his drink order about half a dozen times, she started looking around, wondering where her mom and Kane were at. She didn't locate them, but she did find someone else she knew. Someone she didn't want to see.

"Bellamy." She tugged on the back of his shirt to try to get his attention.

"You want your own funnel cake, don't you?" he said.

"No, Bellamy, look." She tugged harder and tried to subtly point out Finn, who was heading their way. As he got closer, she noticed he had a can of beer in his hand. Lovely.

"Never mind," he told the vendor, forgetting about the food. They stepped aside, and he muttered, "Here we go," nervously. She knew he wasn't intimidated by Finn, but he was worried about seeing him again, worried about whether or not he'd be able to control his emotions.

"Hey, Bellamy," Finn said. "I heard you were back." He took a drink, almost as if to taunt him. "How's your hand?"

"How's your face?" Bellamy retorted.

Finn shrugged. "Doesn't hurt anymore. Bruises went away. What about you, though? You all healed up now? Got your problems taken care of?"

"Shut up, Finn," Clarke snapped.

"I'm just asking," he claimed, feigning innocence. "This is the guy who wants to raise my daughter, after all. I feel like I'm entitled to know."

"Actually, you just act entitled, period," she corrected. It was actually kind of nice not having to be cordial with him anymore and instead getting to tell him what she really thought of him.

"Well, you'll probably hear from my lawyer soon," he said.

"Bring it on." She hoped it was an empty threat, but even if it wasn't, she refused to show any kind of fear.

"Yeah, I will," he said, rolling his eyes at them before turning around and heading back the way he'd come.

Bellamy let out a heavy sigh once he was gone.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. Looking down at her, he grinned and remarked, "Damn, so badass."

She smiled sheepishly up at him and said, "Trying to be."

"You are," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder so they could re-approach the food cart. "'Bring it on.' I'd be scared if I were him."

Hopefully he is, she thought. Because if Finn really did take this whole battle between them to the next level, then she was the one who was scared. With it being so early on in Bellamy's sobriety, there really was no telling what a judge would decide.

...

Ten, five, or even one year ago, Bellamy never would have pictured himself writing. Anything. Let alone writing in a journal. But something about it was soothing, and the words on the page were coming as naturally to him as his wedding vows did. He just wrote down the thoughts that came into his head, however happy or sad or confused as fuck they were. And it always made him feel better. That night, his writing was a mix of the good parts of his day and the one not so good part. He hadn't let it ruin his day or anything, but running into Finn at that carnival . . . it just reminded him of the obstacles that were still in front of them. As if his own battle with alcoholism wasn't obstacle enough.

Journaling wasn't the only thing he found soothing that night. Clarke was singing while she was in the shower, and since he was sitting up in bed, he could hear her well. Not every word or anything, but it sounded a little slower, kind of romantic. She probably didn't even realize it, but her voice was now his music therapy.

...

California, or at least the part of California Bellamy was in, was full of musicians. Some of them were in the studio, but a lot of them were street performers, opening up guitar cases out on street corners and sidewalks to try to make a living that way. If he'd been making more money, Bellamy would have liked to give them a couple bucks, because a lot of them were really good. But life out on the west coast was so much more expensive than he'd ever imagined. Which was why he worked almost every day. At the Blazing Donkey. Not exactly five-star fine dining, but the food was actually pretty good, and they'd been the only place willing to hire someone with no real work experience.

Outside the restaurant that day was a girl with long blonde hair strumming away on her guitar, singing a song he didn't know at all. He liked her voice, though. She was a good singer, and when he just glanced at her, she sort of reminded him of . . .

It didn't matter who she reminded him of. He dropped a couple quarters into her guitar case and headed inside the Blazing Donkey to make some money of his own.

It was busy that day, being a weekend and all, but Bellamy didn't mind. Being on his feet for hours on end wasn't a problem for him, and now that he'd been doing this a few months, he knew he could handle even the biggest group of customers. His most lucrative customers, though, were and always had been the young women. Whenever any of them walked in the door, he always did his best to lead them towards his section, because he knew he could work them for tips. And tips were paying his bills.

"Bellamy!" one of the cooks yelled out at him. "Enchilada's ready."

He swiped up the plate, wincing because of how hot it was, and wove his way back through the restaurant to set it down in front of the pretty brunette who had ordered it. "Here you go. Be careful, it's hot," he cautioned. He told her friend, "Yours should only be a couple more minutes."

"Ooh, this looks so good," the brunette girl said. "But so unhealthy. I probably shouldn't eat this."

"You ordered it," her friend reminded her. "Might as well."

"I know, but it's not gonna help me lose weight." She pouted.

"You don't need to lose weight," Bellamy told her.

"You don't think so?"

"Trust me, I'm a man. I'm an expert on beautiful females, and you are beautiful." He was definitely laying it on thick, but she wasn't a bad-looking girl at all. And she didn't need to lose weight. Curves were sexy.

"Well, thank you," she said, blushing profusely. "I've always been a little self-conscious about my body."

"Your body?" He squatted down so that he was at eye level with her and pulled out one of his go-to lines: "Listen, I'm a part-time model. I know Victoria's Secret models. You're prettier than all of them."

She looked at her friend in disbelief and said, "Oh my god. That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. Wow."

"I mean it," he said, flashing her flirtatious grin that always brought in the bigger bucks. "Enjoy your meal. And I'll be back with yours soon." As he walked away, he could hear the two girls giggling and whispering to each other, talking about how hot he was and how they couldn't believe a part-time model was being so flirty with . . . Vivian. He did manage to catch her name, so she avoided being just another Stacey.

"Part-time model?" his fellow waiter, Tyson, said as Bellamy crossed paths with him. "Victoria's Secret?"

"What? It's better than saying I'm a full-time waiter."

Tyson shook his head, chuckling. "Man, I can't ever tell if you're lookin' to get laid or just lookin' for tips."

Bellamy shrugged. "Usually both." Working and making money was something he had to do to get by out here on his own, but hooking up with all the hot girls this state had to offer . . . that was something he did for fun.

At the end of his shift, he went into the breakroom and counted up his tips. There weren't just George Washingtons in there; there were Abe Lincolns, too, and . . . who was on the ten dollar bill? He was in there a few times.

When Tyson came back into the breakroom, Bellamy held up the receipt from Vivian's meal. She'd paid by card and left him an expectedly large tip, but the most interesting thing was something she'd jotted down at the bottom of the receipt: her phone number. "Both," he declared smugly. The first thing he was going to do when he got out of there was text her. Because sometimes people, especially girls, didn't answer the phone when they didn't recognize the number. But she'd read his text, and probably show her friend, get all giddy, and he'd meet up with her somewhere. Simple as that.

Despite claiming to have some insecurities about her body, Vivian was wearing a short skirt and latex tube top when they met up at a club not far from the Blazing Donkey. He paid for a few of her drinks but made sure she didn't overdo it, because he didn't want to risk . . . anything. The girls he slept with consented. Explicitly. And usually he was plenty blunt when he asked them. In Vivian's case, he was up against the wall making out with her when he asked, "You wanna go back to my place and fuck?" and she was all sorts of eager when she responded with, "Hell yes."

Around midnight, they tumbled into his crappy one-bedroom apartment, already ripping each other's clothes off, when he remembered his spiel. It was always the same spiel, but it was straightforward and simple, and he'd never had any problems with it before. "Hold up," he said, tearing his mouth away from hers, "I just gotta tell you, if we do this, it's just for fun, okay? Nothing serious, no strings attached." That was the disclaimer. Now the ball was in her court.

"Fine by me," she said, her interest not dulled in the slightest. She yanked his shirt down off his shoulders, and he shrugged it off and onto the floor.

Since the sex had been pretty fast and furious, they both fell asleep in his bed. She was the kind of girl who liked to sprawl out and take up a lot of space, so he was already trying to shift into a more comfortable position when he heard his phone vibrating. Vivian was out of it, so he reached over her sort of haphazardly to check who was calling.

His mom? While he was lying in bed naked with a girl he barely even knew? Wonderful.

"Hey, Mom," he said, managing to climb over Vivian so he could stand up and stretch out a bit.

"Hi." She sounded a lot more awake than he was.

"Isn't it, like, 5:00 a.m. for you?" he asked her.

"Yep. And I'm up getting ready for work. Figured you might still be awake."

He glanced at his bed, which Vivian had extended herself over even more now that he'd left it. "Actually, for once I wasn't," he said. "I had a busy night."

Thankfully, his mom knew better than to ask what he'd been doing. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I should let you go back to bed then."

"No, it's fine. I don't have to go into work today. What's up?"

"Well . . ." He heard the microwave beeping as she paused. "I was just doing some thinking last night about how nice it would be to see you again. It's been a while."

Yeah, it had been. Since Christmas. He'd just gotten so caught up in his new life that he hadn't even had time to think about going home. And he still didn't want to, either. Too many people to face there.

"Octavia's on summer break, and I know she misses you," his mom went on, trying her hardest to persuade him. "Plus, she dropped some hints last night about how fun it would be to go to California."

"Yeah, I'm not exactly in Beverly Hills out here, though," he reminded her. "You might wanna tell her that."

"We'd still love to come see you," his mom said. "And I think I could scrape together the money for plane tickets. Or, if you'd rather come home for a few days, I could pay for your flight. Roundtrip."

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling like he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he declined the offer, then he hurt her feelings and let Octavia down. He risked making them feel like they weren't important to him or that time with them didn't matter, neither of which was true. But he couldn't go back to Arkadia. Not yet. Maybe not ever. That left him with only one option. "You know what? There's actually some pretty cool stuff out here, so yeah, why don't you guys fly out?" he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah." It would be good to see them both again. If they asked him about why he'd left UCF, he was still going to dodge those questions like he was in the Matrix, and hopefully they'd just want him to show them around and go to some fun places with him. Lighthearted stuff.

"Okay. We'll plan on it," his mom said. "I'll start looking into flights for . . . maybe next week?"

Next week was really soon. He'd have to load up on tips this week and request a few days off so he could log some quality time with them. "Sounds good," he said.

"Alright. Get some sleep."

He ended the call and set his phone down on the counter just as Vivian finally began to stir. She rolled over on her side, the sheet doing little to cover her exposed body, and said, "Hey, you. You up for round two?"

Even though the sex with her had been a little more average than he'd hoped, he grinned and made his way back to the bed. If she was offering to go again, then he was down for it. Why not, right? He was all about having a good time out in California, not taking things so seriously. And things with her definitely weren't serious.

...

Bellamy had just shut his journal and set it aside on the nightstand when Clarke out of the bathroom. She had on one of his t-shirts to sleep in—it was more of a dress on her—and was towel-drying her hair. "Sorry if my singing was distracting," she said.

"No, I love it." He scooted over to the side of the bed, ready to get up and peel back the covers, but when she came to stand in front of him, he couldn't help but . . . get a good look at her legs. And wonder if she was wearing any underwear underneath that shirt.

She smiled down at him, and said, "I'm glad you're still doing that."

For a second, he thought she meant fantasizing about her. But when he realized she was talking about his journaling, he said, "Yeah, I get my feelings out there, and it's handwriting practice. Two birds with one stone."

She dropped her towel down on the floor and said, "My mom has worse handwriting."

"Well, she's a doctor. They're supposed to write like crap." He looked down at his hand, muttering, "Maybe if I didn't have such big fingers . . ."

"You do have really big fingers," she agreed. Right after she said that, though, she got really red, and neither one of them said anything. But . . . yeah. She knew all about the size of his fingers. Quickly, she changed the subject. "Um, is Avery all tucked in?"

"Yeah, she's out like a light," he said. Reaching up, he took both of her hands in his and asked, "What were you singing?"

"Oh, this really old song by Shania Twain."

"Who?"

"A country singer. You probably don't know her."

"No." That was one genre that was a total mystery to him.

"My mom used to play her music a lot," she said. "It's actually really good. Some of the only country music I can stand."

"What's the song called?"

She smiled softly and murmured, "'You're Still the One.'"

Well, that seemed like a fitting title for everything that was going on in their relationship, didn't it? He didn't want to just Google the lyrics, though, so he asked, "Can you sing it for me?"

"I don't know how to play it," she said.

"Just sing it then." Whether she was accompanied by a piano or a guitar or just singing acapella, she had a beautiful voice no matter what.

"Okay," she said before exaggeratedly clearing her throat. But when she started singing, there was nothing exaggerated about it. She was quiet, but he was determined to hear every word.

"Looks like we made it
Look how far we've come, my baby
We mighta took the long way
We knew we'd get there someday."

She began to move closer to him, standing in between his legs as their fingers linked together. Whenever her eyes weren't closed, she was looking at him, smiling. Happy.

"They said, 'I bet they'll never make it'
But just look at us holding on
We're still together, still going strong."

When she let go of one of his hands to stroke his hair, he smoothed his hand down her side to rest on her hip. No matter how close she got to just sitting on his lap, he still kept listening.

"You're still the one I run to
The one that I belong to
You're still the one I want for life
You're still the one that I love
The only one I dream of
You're still the one I kiss goodnight."

She stopped after that last line and bent her head a bit to kiss him. After all, goodnight kisses were kind of their new norm these days. But this one didn't stop there, and it didn't even stop at two. It multiplied quickly, to the point where she was climbing up onto his lap, straddling him. She held onto his shoulders, and he wrapped his arms around her waist so he could rub her back. The kissing was already a full-on make-out by the time he started scrunching the shirt she was wearing up. He did let one hand venture downward to give her ass a good squeeze, but that was where he stopped himself and pulled back a bit. Not an easy thing to do.

"We should . . . slow down," he said, trying to be rational. Trying.

"Right," she said, leaning back slightly. "No need to rush."

"Yeah." He'd only been back for a week and a half now. He felt like he still needed to prove himself to her before he even deserved to have sex with her again. At least the physical attraction was still there, though. God, his whole body was on fire.

"Can we keep kissing, though?" she asked sweetly.

He decided to answer her by capturing her lips in his again, tangling his hand in her hair, and lying back, pulling her down on top of him. It wasn't sex, but it was really good progress.