Chapter 25

Headaches seemed to be the new fun thing Clarke was going to have to learn to deal with. The morning sickness had subsided, but it seemed like she couldn't just wake up feeling completely normal and like herself. It probably hadn't helped that she'd slept like crap.

Bellamy's alarm went off early, but he silenced it right away and moved around the bedroom and bathroom quietly as he got ready. She remained in bed, trying to ignore the needs of her bladder and just go back to sleep. But between having to go to the bathroom and needing some Tylenol to ease her headache—she so wasn't one of those expectant moms who was afraid of popping some pain relief medication here and there—she knew it was unlikely that she'd be able to keep dozing, so she began to stir and opened her eyes.

"What time is it?" she asked Bellamy.

"Early," he replied as he put on his jacket. "Go back to sleep." He bent down, gave her a quick kiss goodbye on her cheek, and then headed out.

Oh, Bellamy . . . She listened as he trotted downstairs, listened to the front door open and close, and then waited to hear his car start up outside. He was really planning on just slipping back into his normal routine, wasn't he? He'd gotten home late last night and hadn't said one word about the banquet or about his speech, and it didn't seem like he at all intended to elaborate on why he felt he didn't deserve such recognition from the school. She hadn't wanted to argue, so she hadn't said anything more about it, but now that she'd had a night to sleep on it—restlessly—she felt like she still had questions, and they weren't going to just fade away.

She never did end up going back to sleep that morning, but the Tylenol helped her headache enough that she felt like she could make it through classes. She got up and took a shower, and that helped her feel a little more refreshed, too, and of course getting some breakfast in her stomach didn't hurt. By the time she left the house, her headache was pretty dull, and her energy levels were . . . passable. She even had time to swing by the auto shop where Raven worked, so she did that before heading to campus.

Raven's mechanical engineering degree made her way too qualified to be a car mechanic, but since her dad owned the business and she needed a gap year to save up money for grad school, it was a natural fit for her to work there this year. Anyone who didn't know her would wonder what a beautiful girl like her was doing poking around under the hoods of cars, but Raven loved this stuff. Any excuse to fix things and work with her hands.

"Dad, I'm gonna need your help with this one," she was saying when Clarke walked in. "I feel like it's gonna blow up in my face."

"I'll be right over," her father, Sinclair, called from underneath a pickup truck.

Raven groaned in frustration and yanked on something underneath the hood of the blue car in front of her, but she stopped when she looked up and saw Clarke approaching. "Ah, my best friend," she said. "Are you here to save the day? I got a car that won't start, a truck that brakes when it's supposed to accelerate, and a minivan that's making a weird clanging noise."

"I think I'd better leave the mechanical stuff to you," Clarke said. "I'm better with medical."

Raven's dad got to his feet and came over to examine the car. "Here, I'll take a look. You go ahead and take a break," he said before adding, "Hi, Clarke."

"Hi." Sinclair's face was smudged with grease, and he had dirt and grime underneath his fingernails. How his daughter managed to do this job and maintain her manicure was a mystery.

"Good luck, Dad," Raven said, wiping her hands off on a towel. "I think it's unfixable." She motioned for Clarke to follow her into the back office and shut the door once they were inside. "So what brings you by?" she asked. "Is it the alluring smell of motor oil or the stench of burning brakes?"

"Well, I had a little time to kill before class today, and I wanted to talk to you," Clarke said. "About Bellamy."

Raven made a face and sat down in her dad's desk chair. "Whoa, I may know brakes, but you know Blakes. I think you're kind of the Bellamy expert around these parts."

Clarke shrugged. "Not really." If she really knew him inside and out, she wouldn't have to wonder about what was upsetting him; she'd just know. "Did you hear about what happened last night?"

"Oh, at the Hall of Fame banquet? Yeah, some people were tweeting about it. I didn't know if they were just exaggerating, though."

"They weren't." Clarke had gotten a few texts from people asking what had happened, but she'd ignored most of them. Most were from people she didn't even talk to all that much anymore, high school acquaintances who still lived for small-town gossip. "He literally walked out after his speech, told everyone he doesn't want his jersey to be retired," she told Raven, wondering if they would feature pictures of his mom in the newspaper, accepting the Hall of Fame plaque on his behalf. Or maybe they'd put in a picture of him giving his speech? Or maybe there just wouldn't be a picture at all. Maybe there wouldn't even be an article, but that seemed unlikely. What other news was there to report in Arkadia?

"That's weird," Raven said.

"Yeah, he's been weird about it all week." Clarke cleared enough space on Sinclair's desk to sit down on the edge of it.

"What's going on?" Raven asked.

"I don't know. I can't get him to tell me."

"Oh, so you want advice."

"Yeah." Clarke just figured that Raven, having been in a successful relationship for two years now, would know how to approach the situation. "What would you do if Murphy wasn't telling you something?"

Raven didn't even hesitate. "Well, I'd probably just withhold sex until he spilled his guts."

That was it? That was the advice? No, there had to be a better way. "Okay, but how about something that doesn't involve . . . threatening."

"I don't know. Just keep talking to him. Let him know you're there to listen," Raven suggested. "When he's ready, I'm sure he'll tell you."

Would he, though? He'd had days to open up about whatever issues this whole Hall of Fame thing had brought to the surface for him, and so far . . . nothing.

"And if that doesn't work," Raven added, "the sex thing."

Clarke rolled her eyes, laughing a little. Withholding sex was a last resort, not at all something she wanted to do. She was definitely not—probably not—gonna have to resort to that.

Since Raven had work to do and Clarke had classes to attend, she didn't stay long. Finding parking in the commuter lots on campus was a real pain in the ass these days, so she had to allow herself plenty of time to find a spot and walk to class. She was on her way to Jaha's class when she once again came to her senses and remembered that she didn't have that class today. So she had to turn around and head back in the other direction to get to a different bio class. Fucking pregnancy brain. She felt like an idiot.

"Hey, Clarke!"

She whirled around when she heard a familiar voice. Octavia was running to catch up with her. "Do my eyes deceive me? Are you actually on your way to class?" she teased the younger girl.

"Yes. But only because there's a quiz today," Octavia said. "I don't know why I even bother showing up. I'm probably gonna fail; I didn't study for it."

Her laissez-faire attitude towards her academics was something Clarke almost envied. She would have been beside herself if she had a quiz coming up that she was unprepared for.

"I'm glad I ran into you, though," Octavia said. "I meant to give you something last night, but I forgot." She reached into her backpack and took out a crumpled up pamphlet of some kind, handing it over.

"What's this?" Clarke took a look at the front and got the basics. "Pregnancy classes? At the rec center?"

"Yeah. I know it's here on campus, but it's more of a community place. So they actually offer a lot."

Huh, Clarke thought. Who knew? She usually only went to the rec center to watch Harper dance, or when Raven dragged her to the gym. But even then, she stuck to a bike or an elliptical, and that was it.

As Clarke skimmed the inside of the pamphlet, Octavia pointed out a couple of classes. "Lincoln said lots of women around town take this water aerobics one," she said. There was a picture of a woman floating on her back with her big pregnant belly sticking up above the water. "And prenatal yoga's pretty popular, too. And look, a Lamaze class. He said he knows the instructor, Luna. She's really good."

"Thanks," Clarke said, slipping the pamphlet into her own backpack. "I might try some of these." If nothing else, she was going to have to get signed up for a Lamaze class. Her mom had recommended one at the hospital, but maybe if she did it at the rec center, it'd be a younger crowd.

"Consider it my payment," Octavia said.

"Payment?" Clarke echoed in confusion. "What did you owe me for?"

"The sex advice."

"Oh." Yes, she had given Octavia that advice. "So that happened."

"Yep. And it hurt a little, like you said it would, but ever since then, it's been getting better and better." Octavia wriggled her eyebrows excitedly, then quickly added, "Don't tell Bellamy."

"Oh, trust me, I wasn't going to."

"Any sex talk stays between you and me."

"Got it." It was still kind of nuts to her that this girl who she'd once known as a pesky, somewhat annoying seventh grader was now, like, a full-blown woman. Deflowered and everything. "Actually," she said, eyeing Octavia as an idea occurred to her, "I could use one more tiny little favor. Since you did owe me."

"What?"

"Could you talk to your brother about what all went down last night?" Clarke implored. Maybe he'd open up to a family member.

"Oh, no way," Octavia said, holding her hands up in resistance. "That's your job."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah. If there is such a thing as a Bellamy whisperer, you're it."

Clarke made a face. "What?"

"You know, like a horse whisperer," Octavia compared. "They communicate with horses. They establish a trusting relationship and . . . get them ready to ride and-"

"Wait, are we seriously talking about me riding Bellamy?"

"No, because that would be gross." Octavia shuddered exaggeratedly. "I'm just saying, if he'd open up to anyone, it'd be you."

Clarke shook her head skeptically. "I don't know. He didn't talk about it when he got home last night. And he left early this morning." To be honest, he was kind of surprised that Octavia was just as clueless about what was going on with him as she was. "You really have no idea what last night was all about, do you?"

"No," Octavia admitted.

"Does your mom?"

"I don't know. I asked her about it after we got home, but she didn't really say anything."

I guess I could ask her then, Clarke pondered. But that felt kind of shady, like she was going behind Bellamy's back. And she doubted Aurora would tell her anything anyway.

"Look, I'd love to stay and chat," Octavia said, already backing away, "but I gotta go fail my quiz."

"Oh, okay." Clarke didn't want to cause her to run late. "Good luck."

"Yeah, you, too."

At first, Clarke thought Octavia was wishing her luck on a quiz—she didn't need luck. She knew the material. But then she realized that she was wishing her luck with Bellamy. And yeah, she'd probably need some luck on her side for that.

...

Bellamy didn't expect Clarke to still be awake when he got home. She fell asleep pretty early these days. But the lights were still on when he walked in the door, and Clarke was up and about in the kitchen. He assumed she was eating until he noticed an apple in her hand. And she wasn't chomping away on it. Rather, she was holding it up to her stomach.

"What're you doing?" he asked her.

"The baby's the size of an apple now," she informed him. "I have an apple in here, Bellamy."

He chuckled, getting a kick out of these fruit comparisons. It was a kind of cool way of tracking the baby's growth, though. "That's crazy," he said, moving towards her. How the hell did the female body manage to do what it did? An apple alone would be hard enough to push out, but an entire baby . . .

She handed him the apple and asked, "Did you enjoy your guys night with . . . who'd you go out with again?"

"Roan, from work. And Miller." He took a bite of the apple, but for some reason, that brought tears to her eyes. "Sorry," he said, setting it aside. Clarke's emotions were very . . . accessible lately. The other night, she'd started crying because there wasn't enough orange juice left to fill a whole glass.

"Don't eat my apple baby," she said, seizing it back from him.

"My bad." At least he'd just taken one bite out of it. Most of it was still there. "What've you been up to?" he asked her.

"Homework." She made a face. "And then I got distracted."

"With the apple?"

"Yes." She set it down on the counter, and despite her attachment to it right now, he wondered if he'd wake up in the morning to find that she'd eaten the rest of it.

"I could distract you some more," he offered, slipping his arms around her waist. He bent down and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, letting his face linger there a moment so he could inhale the scent of her hair, her skin. God, she smelled so good.

"Before you do that . . ." she said, pushing back on his chest just slightly. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I got a call from the hospital today."

Hearing that word immediately made him . . . alarmed.

"No, it's good news," she assured him quickly. "The results of my genetic testing came back. They said everything looked good. Normal."

"Oh, that's great." He should have known nothing was wrong. She would have called him right away if something was.

"Yeah. I was trying not to worry about it, but . . . you know."

"It's hard not to," he agreed. He didn't even understand how the testing worked or know what abnormalities they were testing for, but if it all came back looking normal, that sounded good to him. "See, you got a perfect little apple in there," he said, cupping his hand on her stomach. "Let's go take a picture. I think I was supposed to do that yesterday."

They went upstairs, and Clarke put on the same outfit she'd worn in the last photos, leggings and a sports bra. She posed in front of her closet, just like last time, and Bellamy made sure to have her facing the same direction with her hands in the same place. He snapped one picture on his phone that ended up being blurry, so he told her to hold that pose as he took another.

"Does it look any bigger than last week?" she asked.

"A little bit. See?" He showed her last week's photo, then swiped over to this week's. Just the slightest bit bigger.

"Oh, I'm just blowing up like a tick," she lamented.

"No, you look good." He understood that no girls liked gaining weight, but during pregnancy, it was a good thing.

"One of my apps says eyebrow hairs are starting to appear now," she said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

He sat beside her and asked, "What about eyelashes?"

"I don't know. Its eyes are kind of fused shut, I think. But apparently now it can sense light. And supposedly it's a good idea to start talking to it. Helps develop language skills or something like that."

"Oh, no, do you think it hears my bad language?" Sometimes when they were going at it, he just let loose.

"Possibly."

"I gotta clean up my act then." He was going to have to watch the swearing after the kid was born, too, have to censor himself. "So have you talked to it at all?" he asked her.

"A little bit," she replied. "It's kind of hard, though, when I still don't even know if it's a boy or a girl."

"Well, you can still talk to it."

She looked down at her stomach, then up at him. "I don't even know what to say."

"Talk about me," he suggested. "Talk about what you like about me."

She glanced at his crotch and said, "That's an inappropriate conversation."

He laughed. Felt good to laugh after the week he'd had.

"Maybe you should say something," she said, lying down and pulling him with her.

"Me?"

"Yeah. It's in my belly. We're already getting to know each other pretty well."

He put his arm around her as she snuggled in close to his side. "What should I talk about?" he asked.

"Anything."

"Anything?" Well, that left the door wide open. "Alright, let's start with Kim Kardashian."

"What?" she shrieked. "You like Kim Kardashian?"

"I love Kim Kardashian." It didn't matter that she didn't really have any talent. She was hot as fuck.

"Maybe something with a little more substance," she said, drumming her fingers against his chest. "In fact, maybe . . ." She hesitated, and her voice was quieter, her tone more serious when she started in again. "Maybe you could talk to the baby about what happened at the banquet last night. Since you don't wanna talk to me."

The banquet, he registered. She was still wondering about that. Her mind wasn't completely focused on that little apple in her belly. She still had questions, ones he didn't want to answer. "W-what?" he sputtered.

"It's just an idea," she said softly.

She wanted him to talk to the baby about . . . all of that? Did she have any idea how impossible that would be for him? "No, I can't do that," he said, quickly untangling himself from her. He sat up and sprung out of bed.

"Bellamy . . ." She sat up slower, looking a bit . . . startled.

"You're using the baby to try to get me to talk?" he said, a little louder than he'd intended to. "That's fucked up, Clarke."

"No, I wasn't trying to . . ." She looked at him pleadingly as she tried to explain. "I just think you'll feel better once you get some things off your chest. That's all."

"I can't . . . I can't do this," he decided, storming out of the room.

"Bellamy, wait!"

He didn't wait. He just ran down the stairs.

...

Clarke thought about giving Bellamy space but decided against it. It hadn't worked so far, so why would it work now? No, she felt like she needed to go find him, so after about five minutes curled up in her bed, pondering where he was going, she got up, got dressed, and went out to the car. She tried calling him first, but he didn't pick up, so she just drove. First she drove past his house, because that seemed like the most logical place for him to be. But his car wasn't in the driveway, so she didn't bother to stop. No need to alarm his mom. She'd find him, calm him down, and hopefully they could talk. They really needed to.

Although she wasn't sure why, something told her to go up to the high school. She just had a feeling he'd be there, even if no one else was. Especially if no one else was.

When she got to the parking lot, she discovered that her hunch was correct. Bellamy's car was one of only two parked there, and she pulled up right next to it. When she got out, she shivered and pulled the sleeves her of her jacket down over her wrists. It wasn't a super cold night, but it wasn't exactly a warm one, either. More than anything, she would have loved to have still been curled up in bed with him, with or without clothing on. It didn't matter. But they had to deal with this first. Whateverthis was.

Looking down the hill, she saw a lone figure sitting out on the football field, right on the faded fifty yard line, and she knew without even looking closely that it was him. He might have seen her drive up, or maybe he was too lost in thought to pay any attention.

She shut her eyes for a moment, remembering all the times she'd watched him play, how happy it'd made him. Most of the time.

...

Clarke opened her eyes, pretty sure that she'd subconsciously just been praying. Was that stupid? Didn't God have more important things to worry about than which school won the championship football game?

It was like déjà vu from last week. Time was running out, and they needed a touchdown to win. But this felt even more dire. They had only a few seconds left, time for only one more play. There was a lull in the action as both teams used up their remaining timeouts to discuss what had to happen. Clarke wasn't a football expert by any means, but even she knew what had to happen. Bellamy had to score a touchdown. Miller had hurt his ankle in the third quarter, so he was out, and there was no way they were going to trust his backup with the ball. Not when they were only at mid-field, not when it all came down to this. That meant Bellamy was either going to have to pass it or run it himself. Whatever play they decided on, they needed some last-minute heroics from him. Again.

"Come on, Bellamy," she whispered as the players from both teams all headed back out onto the field. The guys on the sidelines all knelt down, arms interlocked, whispering prayers of their own. That meant Clarke had a great view of the action down there with the other cheerleaders.

Everything felt so . . . different tonight. The stadium was huge. They'd gone to Annapolis for this, and they were playing in the same stadium that hosted the Military Bowl. There were probably a lot of other stadiums that were way bigger than this, but compared to what Arkadia had, it was gigantic. And the whole town seemed to have shown up. Same with the visitors. Together, they filled almost every seat. With the game coming down to the wire like this, no one was leaving early. No one had even considered it.

Clarke stood hand-in-hand with the other cheerleaders, more nervous than she'd ever been for a football game. Nervous for Bellamy. He looked completely calm as he took his place behind his teammates, crouched down, and started shouting out commands Clarke didn't understand.

"Oh my god, I can hardly watch," Raven said, squeezing one eye shut, keeping the other open. Her boyfriend was out there, too, and just like Bellamy, this meant a lot to him.

"You've got this." Clarke wasn't sure whether she said the words or thought them. Didn't matter. Bellamy couldn't hear her anyway. Probably couldn't hear anything in this stadium. It'd been louder than any game Clarke had ever cheered at before. But the moment that ball got snapped back to Bellamy, everything and every single person in that stadium just fell silent.

Bellamy had the ball. He didn't run, just kept his feet moving while he searched for someone to pass it to. But a defender from the other team got too close to him, almost tackled him, and he had to spin and run backwards. Wrong direction, Clarke thought, but Bellamy didn't give up on the play. He scrambled, managed to keep his footing, kept the ball in his hand, and kept his eyes focused downfield. Then, he must have seen something, because he launched it through the air. Clarke held her breath, feeling like it was going in slow motion. And there, right in the end zone, poised to catch it, was Zeke. They were gonna win.

Raven squeezed her hand in anticipation, and both of them stood up on tiptoe, ready to jump up and down with excitement when . . .

A guy from the other team dove in front of Zeke, snatched that ball right out of the air, and rolled onto the ground with it.

Half the crowd screamed in defeat, the other half in delight.

Zeke doubled over. The guys on the sideline lowered their heads.

And Bellamy just fell to his knees.

"Interception!" the announcer shouted. "The Razorbacks win the championship."

Some of the other cheerleaders started crying, including Raven, whose whole body just slouched and crumpled over. A couple of the girls started complaining that it wasn't fair, but . . . the refs didn't throw any flags on the play. It was done. They'd lost. The other team's fans were already celebrating, and their players were running out onto the field.

Clarke didn't cry, but she heard plenty of kids behind her, kids who had probably sat at that pep rally yesterday, doing enough of that for everyone. Some of the angry fathers were shouting profanities, and she knew that, if she looked up into the stands, Bellamy's mom would be there somewhere, probably devastated for him.

Clarke could barely keep sight of him as the field filled up with Razorback players and fans. But she was pretty sure he hadn't moved, that he was still sitting there just beyond that fifty yard line on his knees, staring at the end zone, replaying that interception over and over in his mind.

...

Bellamy must have known that it was just her approaching, because he didn't even glance back as she came up behind him. She stepped out onto that black track for the first time in years, allowing herself a second to remember what it had been like to watch the game from down there. After Bellamy had graduated and she'd quit cheer, she hadn't gone to many football games.

"I had a feeling I'd find you out here," she said, sitting down beside him. The grass was actually kind of comfy, but it probably hurt like hell when you got tackled on it.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I shouldn't have stormed out."

This marked two nights in a row now that he'd sort of just taken off without her. To be honest, she hoped he didn't make a habit out of it. "Bellamy, I wasn't trying to use the baby to manipulate you into talking," she told him. "I'm so sorry if it came across that way. I just . . . I hate seeing you bottle this up, whatever it is. I wish you would tell me what's been upsetting you." She cast a quick glance at him, but his lips remained shut, his jaw tight, like he wasn't going to say anything. "But if you don't want to, you don't have to," she added quietly, because she didn't want to force him into talking. That needed to be his decision, not hers.

"It's not that I don't want to," he said. "It's just that . . ." Trailing off, he sighed heavily, looking down at the grass. "I'm scared of what you'll think of me."

She frowned, feeling more and more confused by the minute. "I love you," she reminded him. "Whatever you're dealing with, I'm gonna keep loving you."

"I don't know about that," he mumbled, plucking a piece of grass, tearing it in half, and then tossing it aside. "I messed up, Clarke," he said. "Back when I was in college . . . I messed up pretty bad."

College. Well, at least that gave her an idea of where they were on his timeline then. Something must have happened the year that he'd left Arkadia, something that ate away at him still. "You don't really talk about college a lot," she noted.

"Well, there's a reason for that." He tore out another piece of grass, then looked over at her and shakily announced, "I'm gonna tell you, okay? But not the baby. Just you."

She held his gaze in hers and nodded. "Okay."

"I don't want it to know . . ." He hung his head, shaking it shamefully.

"It's not listening," she assured him. The baby was doing some pretty amazing things for just fifteen weeks, but it couldn't understand words yet, so he could speak openly. If he wanted to.

It still took him a minute or so to actually start in, but she just sat with him and waited. Coming out here, just taking a moment alone out on this field . . . it seemed like it'd clarified something for him, and now he was ready to tell her. But it still didn't seem like an easy thing for him to do.

"So you know I got a scholarship to UCF," he said.

"Yeah," she recalled. "You were really excited about it."

"I was," he agreed. "When I got there, I realized I had a lot of work to do. You get down to Florida, and football's like a religion to people down there."

"I'll bet." All those southern states like Texas and Georgia and Alabama . . . they always had big-time football teams.

"So I worked my ass off in training camp, got the backup spot," Bellamy went on. "And the guy they had playing quarterback . . . he was good. He was used to being the starter. I mean, of course I wanted his spot, but I was fine playin' backup to him. I got in a few games, once we had a big enough lead. Threw a few passes. Ran for a touchdown."

"I remember that." As much as she'd tried to avoid the sports coverage that year, people had posted videos of that touchdown, and it'd been impossible to avoid around Arkadia. "Everyone here was talking about it." At the time, it'd seemed like Bellamy was on his way to the big-time down there in Orlando. Everyone had pretty much assumed that he'd start getting into more games and that that video would be the first of many highlights. But instead, it'd been the last one.

"I knew I'd probably have to wait until my junior year to be the starter, unless Brady—that's what we called him, 'cause he had an arm like Tom Brady—unless he entered the draft. But he didn't," Bellamy said. "And that was fine. I didn't mind waiting, because college football was a lot harder, and I wanted to get better. I didn't have a problem with that. And I was getting better, and maybe I could've gotten into more games sophomore year. Maybe I could've started a few. I don't . . . I don't know. But I was on my way."

"So why did you end up dropping out then?" she questioned, the same question she'd heard a lot of people ask him since he'd been home. "Did you get tired of waiting?"

"No. Actually, I, uh . . . I kinda liked college," he said, smiling fondly for just a second. That smile fell, however, when he added, "At first."

Her mind raced with possibilities, trying to predict what he was going to say before he said it. Maybe he'd flunked out? She could see why he might be embarrassed to admit that. But did that really warrant storming out of the house? She didn't think so.

"I did pretty well for the first couple months," he said. "But eventually, I was pretty much just doin' the same thing I did in high school," he said. "My grades were better but . . . they started falling, and I was partying all the time, hookin' up with girls."

She winced, even though they'd both agreed at the time that they should move on to other people. Still . . . she hadn't done that so easily.

"And I was playing the game I loved," he said, sounding a bit wistful, as if he missed it. "The only difference was I wasn't the top dog on the team anymore. People didn't listen to me."

That was hard for her to fathom, because she was so used to Bellamy being . . . well, Bellamy. The quarterback. The homecoming king. The guy who everyone gravitated towards. Sure, he'd just been a freshman at UCF, but she'd always kind of assumed that it'd be the same way for him there. But apparently not.

"So we end up gettin' to this bowl game, a pretty good one," Bellamy continued. "And leading up to it, everyone feels like we're gonna win, so all anyone wants to do is party. Fine by me, right? But one night, I was . . ." He stopped short of finishing his sentence and swallowed hard. "I was at this party at Brady's frat house. He lived there with a few other guys on the team. They always had parties, but . . . this one got pretty wild." His eyes glossed over for a second, and she wondered if, in his head, he was right back there, reliving this wild party all over again.

Maybe he drank too much, she pondered. Couldn't athletes lose scholarships if they got caught drinking?

"And at one point," he said, "I saw Brady and another teammate and these two other guys . . . I saw them heading upstairs with this girl. She couldn't even walk. She was so drunk." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, grimacing.

Oh, no, Clarke thought, her stomach twisting. Oh, no.

"They said they were just gonna put her in Brady's bed so she could sleep. But they were all drunk, too." Bellamy's hands clenched into fists, and he shook his head angrily. "I should've stopped 'em."

Clarke was sort of afraid to ask, but she had to. "What happened?"

"What do you think?" he spat. "I knew they were up to something, but I just . . . I didn't say anything. I let them take her upstairs, because I didn't wanna believe . . ." When he hung his head again, he let out a few tears. "I mean, these guys were my friends," he said. "So I thought maybe they were telling the truth. Maybe they really would just bring her up there so she could rest. But deep down . . . I still knew."

Even without knowing what that girl or what those guys looked like, Clarke could still picture it in her head. And it was awful. Someone had tried to slip something in her drink at a party once, and it'd terrified her. She'd pretty much stayed away from the frat party scene ever since.

"I tried to just forget about it, but I couldn't stop wondering if they were gonna . . . you know," he mumbled. "I don't know why, but I let, like, ten minutes pass before I even went upstairs. Why the hell would I wait so long?"

She knew he was blaming himself, but she felt bad for him, too. Being in a serious situation like that where you didn't know what to do . . . it was horrible.

"And when I walked into Brady's room, it was too late," he said. "They were all over her. She wasn't even conscious." He wiped the tears from his eyes, hiding his face from her. "I got them off of her, but they'd already . . ." He couldn't say the words, but his shuddering exhale said it all. "There were four of 'em. And I think they were all gonna . . ."

It was a sickening thought, made all the worse by how common of an occurrence it was these days. Clarke was really thankful she'd never had to deal with any serious harassment, let alone assault. Not every girl was that lucky.

"I didn't know what to do," Bellamy said. "I got her out of there, but she ended up just coming to again and then running off, and I never saw her after that. But I never forgot what she looks like. And I can't forget what I let happen to her."

"Bellamy," she said, angling herself towards him, "you tried to stop it."

"Not soon enough. And all I could think about was, what if that was you or Octavia? I wouldn't have hesitated then."

No, she thought, you wouldn't have.

"I should've stopped 'em sooner," he said. "It's partly my fault."

"No," she said. "I can see why you would think that, but . . ."

"No, I don't think it; I know it," he growled. "And it doesn't matter if I didn't know who she was. She was probably somebody's sister, or friend." He looked over at her, his eyes fixating on her stomach as he whispered, "Somebody's daughter. And I didn't do anything."

Well, she'd been right when she'd noted that look of regret in his eyes last night then. But it wasn't regret over a picked off pass or a loss in the big-time game. It was something bigger, more important. "So that's why you quit the team?" she concluded.

He nodded sullenly. "The next day, I worked up the guts to tell my coach about it. But he didn't do anything."

"What?" That was ridiculous.

"It happens all the time," he said. "Coaches protect their athletes, even when they shouldn't."

She thought back to all the parking lot parties they'd gone to, where they hadn't even been that subtle about the fact that they were drinking. They'd gotten away with it so easily for that same reason: Nobody wanted to harm the team, so nobody gave the athletes any consequences. But underage drinking was one thing. Gang-raping some innocent girl was something else entirely.

"So I told some other guys on the team, but . . . they just all turned on me," he said. "They thought I was making shit up 'cause I wanted to be the starter. I didn't even care about any of that anymore. But what could I do? I didn't even know that girl's name. I'm not even sure if she remembers what happened to her or . . . I don't know. I don't know what happened to her. But she never came forward. Maybe they paid her off or something. I really wouldn't doubt it."

It sounded awful no matter what. If the girl remembered it or somebody told her about it, then it was trauma that she'd carry with her, and if they'd paid her off, it was trauma that she had to be silent about. She'd never really considered that so much could go on behind the scenes, and Bellamy probably hadn't, either, until he'd actually been a student athlete and had gotten caught up in it.

"It was toxic, Clarke. The whole team, the whole program . . ." He made a face of disgust. "I couldn't stay there after that, knowing they got away with it. I couldn't play with those guys. So I quit the team, decided I was done with football, 'cause . . . it just kind of felt like it was ruined for me. And now years later, I'm back here at a school that thinks I'm so great they wanna retire my jersey. If they only knew . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head as though he were disappointed in himself.

It certainly made a lot more sense now, his reluctance to accept any kind of special honors or recognition. Football was sort of tainted for him now, sadly. One year on a toxic college team overshadowed four years on a prolific high school one.

"Bellamy, you're not a bad person," she assured him, hating to see him beat himself up over this, even though she understood where he was coming from. Some decisions were . . . haunting. They stuck with a person.

"I'm not as great as they think I am," he said.

"You made a mistake. You didn't wanna believe that your friends were capable of something so heinous, but they were. But that doesn't mean you're not a good guy." She ran hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. "You're the best guy I've ever known," she told him. "That's why I'm in love with you."

"Even now?" he said. "Even knowing all this?" His eyes glimmered with un-shed tears.

She nodded, glad that he'd finally opened up to her. It didn't make her think less of him.

"You can't tell anyone," he said. "Not Raven, not even Octavia. My mom . . . I've told her some stuff over the years, but nothing this detailed."

Clarke looked down at her lap.

"What?" he said.

She sniffed back tears and lifted her face to meet his eyes again. "I just feel really bad for that girl, whoever she is," she said. "And I feel bad for you."

"No, don't," he said.

"I do, though, because . . . football was your dream, and it just got destroyed." He'd probably still be playing if it wasn't for those coaches and those teammates he'd had. He probably would have finished college, graduated with a degree. Maybe he even would have gone pro, made a career out of football. Anything was possible.

"It just wasn't what I was meant for," he said, but rather than sounding sad about that, he sounded . . . accepting. "Maybe I was meant to come back here and be with you."

Maybe, she thought. There had been a time where she would have felt like she was holding him back, but he'd given up the game by choice. He'd chosen to come back here. He'd chosen to be with her again. Maybe it was all happening the way it was supposed to.

"I really wanna be a good guy, Clarke." The words spilled out of his mouth in a rush. "I wanna be a good boyfriend and . . ." His eyes fluttered back down to her stomach. "I just wanna be good for both of you," he said. "I'm really trying."

He didn't even have to try, though. That was what he didn't seem to understand. He'd always been good to her. Their relationship, although it'd begun on a whim, had meant so much to her back in high school, and it meant even more to her now. "I don't know what we'd do without you," she told him, getting teary-eyed as she imagined doctor's appointments and ultrasounds without his hand to hold. Who would take pictures of her growing belly if he wasn't around? Who would listen to all her complaints about how she couldn't get comfortable during the night? Who would get up to go get her a snack when she had a craving she couldn't explain? Bellamy was being such a good boyfriend.

She leaned over and kissed him, hoping he'd give himself some credit for all the good things he was doing. Maybe all the honors the school had planned for him had been too much, but hopefully some love and appreciation from her wasn't.