Chapter 38

Ironically—or was it coincidentally? Clarke always got the two words confused—the starting pose for the beginner level of prenatal yoga was called a child's pose. But unfortunately, it didn't involve curling up on one's side in a fetal position. No, instead, they had to get down on their mats, knees gently parted to help make room for the wide range of bellies on display, and bend forward with their arms extended. They had to put their heads on their mats, too, and that simple move alone made Clarke feel uncomfortable. It was like a sex position without the fun.

He instructor, a woman named Luna with wildly curly hair and a hippie chick vibe, spoke in calming, soothing tones as she demonstrated each move in front of the class. "Take a few more deep breaths," she said. "In . . . and out through your nose. Let your body relax."

Clarke turned her head to the side and whispered to Raven, "I don't feel fucking relaxed right now."

Her friend, of course, looked athletic and elegant in this child's pose. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because . . ." She was self-conscious about her body. Even though she was surrounded by about a dozen other pregnant women, some of them were still so tiny. Their butts were still small, and their breasts were still perky, and unlike her, they probably hadn't gone up a shoe size. Some of them were even wearing sports bras, and Clarke didn't see any stretch marks. Not fair.

"Rise up into a cow pose," Luna instructed.

"A cow?" Clarke followed along, shifting to all fours. "That's fitting. I feel like my boobs are udders."

"You look fine," Raven assured her.

"No, I don't. You do."

"Well, I'm not even pregnant."

A couple of the women in front of them cast curious glances over their shoulders.

"I mean . . . I'm totally pregnant," Raven fibbed, trying unsuccessfully to pooch out her belly. "Here for prenatal yoga. Yay."

The women turned back around as Luna's instruction continued. "Inhale. And when you exhale, round your spine. Go from a cow pose to a cat back."

Clarke tried to imitate Luna's movements, with varying levels of success. "What's with all the animal names?" she wondered.

"Well, think about it: We already have doggy style," Raven pointed out, smirking.

"True." When she thought about doggy style, she couldn't keep a giddy smile from spreading onto her face. Bellamy was so good at doggy style. And missionary. And letting her be on top. Every position, really. Half man, half amazing.

"Make your way into downward facing dog," Luna said as she straightened her legs out, raising her backside into the air and making what was basically an upside down V with her body. "Splay your fingers out, get a nice firm stance."

"Are you kidding?" Clarke whined. "I can't even do this when I'm not pregnant." She struggled to get into the position, feeling a strain in the back of her legs. Wasn't this supposed to feel good?

They stayed in that pose for about a minute—which was a minute too long—before Luna said, "Bring your feet up to your hands, stay bent, and stretch your right arm into the air."

Clarke walked her feet forward, envious of how easy some of these other women made this look. "Whose idea was it to do this again?" she asked Raven.

"Yours."

"Oh, right." She'd bought some special yoga pants and everything.

"You're doing fine," Raven assured her. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Now switch to left," Luna said, stretching her left arm into the air.

Feeling like the girl who was a couple beats behind, Clarke switched and said to Raven, "If this was cheerleading, I'd be kicked off the squad."

Raven laughed quietly. "If this was cheerleading, you wouldn't fit into your uniform."

Well, she couldn't blame that one just on the pregnancy.

"Slowly roll up, scanning down your body," Luna instructed, sounding more and more like Clarke's meditation app by the minute. "Feel your breathing in your chest, your belly, your legs, your toes."

Clarke breathed a rather loud sigh of relief, happy to be standing up straight again. This she could do. Although her feet did kind of hurt.

"And now," Luna said, "with your feet about hip distance apart, stand tall, put your hands on your belly, and just close your eyes."

Clarke cupped her stomach, one hand on the bottom and one on the top, and let her eyelids flutter shut. The baby wasn't kicking, but it was still surreal, even after all these months, to know that she was in there.

"Breathe in and out through your nose," Luna's soothing voice said. "Breathe for your baby."

Just standing there like that, hands on her stomach, breathing deeply and thinking about her daughter . . . now that was relaxing. And Clarke totally zoned out for a moment. Everything else just started to fade away, and she felt like it was just her and her baby. And that felt good.

After the session was done, Clarke wasn't quite sure what to think. There had been moments that had been very peaceful, where she'd really felt like she was both exercising and calming her mind. But then there had been other moments, too, where she'd just felt incapable and anxious. "Well, that was . . . an experience," she said, rolling up her mat.

"It wasn't so bad," Raven said, rolling up hers as well. "We should come again."

"Maybe." She wasn't about to rule it out completely, but there was always that water aerobics stuff, too.

"Do you think I convinced people I'm pregnant?" Raven asked.

Clarke took one look at her best friend's perfectly flat, toned stomach and said, "No."

Raven pouted. "I'll wear a loose t-shirt next time."

As they headed outside the rec center, Clarke envisioned what Raven and Harper would look like someday when they were pregnant. They would be the women with the perfectly round bellies, wouldn't they? They wouldn't even look pregnant until about five months in. They both had ridiculously fast metabolisms and could eat loads of fast food without even gaining a pound.

"So what else is on the mommy-to-be agenda these days?" Raven asked her as they strolled towards the parking lot.

"So much." Just thinking about it made her head spin. "I have to do a gestational diabetes test. And we have to baby-proof everything, start thinking about a birth plan, actually get the nursery ready to go. But Bellamy's kind of in charge of that."

"What about a photo shoot?" Raven asked.

"A what now?" Of all the things on her list, that hadn't been one of them.

"A maternity photo shoot," Raven clarified. "You have to have one."

"Oh, god," Clarke groaned, "I didn't even think about that." Just another thing to schedule and find time for.

"That's fun, though," Raven said. "That's nothing to stress about. And if you want, Murphy could probably help you out with it."

"Murphy?" she echoed, confused as she tried to follow Raven's train of thought. "You want me to let him photograph me?"

"Yeah. He's actually really good," Raven assured her. "And he's got a good camera."

If it was the same camera he used for his videos, then yeah, it was really high-quality. But Murphy was . . . sort of a loveable weirdo, and she couldn't really picture him directing her into all sorts of beautiful shots. "I don't know . . ."

"We can talk about it tonight," Raven said.

"Tonight? What's tonight?"

"Dropship." They stopped at the crosswalk, and Raven stepped in front of her. "The grand reopening of our current only club in town. We're going, remember?"

Clarke shrugged. "Not really." She remembered the club closing down a couple months ago due to a massive cockroach infestation, but she didn't remember hearing that it was ready to re-open again.

"You, me, Murphy, and Bellamy. It's a double-date," Raven said. "We planned it last week."

"We did?" No recollection.

"Yes. Did your pregnancy brain make you forget again?"

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I don't care what people say about it, Raven. It's real. Pregnancy brain is real." She was forgetting all sorts of things lately. Like just this morning, she'd almost left the house without shoes on. "Although you won't have to worry about it," she said. "Your brain's already enormous."

Raven laughed and put her hand on Clarke's shoulder as the crosswalk symbol came on. "Come on," she said as they stepped down off the sidewalk and onto the street. "Let's go home and find you something sexy to wear tonight."

...

Clarke looked . . . sexy. Bellamy was surprised to see what she was wearing to Dropship, but not at all disappointed: A tight gold-dress that really emphasized her bump and some knee-high boots that must have been killing her swollen feet. When she put on his jacket instead of her own . . . Damn.

"Oh, I remember when this place used to seem so cool and off limits," he said as they shuffled forward in the line outside the club. "Bree and I tried to sneak in one time."

"How'd that work out for you?" she asked.

"It didn't. We didn't even make it through the door."

She laughed and then recalled, "Finn and I used to come here a lot. It was, like, our go-to date spot."

One mention of that guy made Bellamy bristle. "You think he'll be here tonight?"

"Who knows?" she said, very little trace of caring in her voice.

Yeah, it doesn't matter, Bellamy reminded himself. Clarke was there with him.

When they got into the club, they didn't spot their friends right away. It was pretty crowded, almost like everyone of legal age (or at least with a very convincing fake ID) had shown up for the re-opening. It wasn't exactly a large space, either, but when Bellamy spotted Raven and Murphy, he was glad to see they'd snagged a table. "There they are," he said, pointing them out. He took Clarke's hand and led her through the throngs of people towards their friends.

"Hey, what took you guys so long?" Raven asked.

Bellamy held out Clarke's chair for her and unabashedly replied, "We were having sex."

Murphy nodded, then looked to Raven and said, "You gotta respect a good quickie, babe."

"It's fine," she said, then told Bellamy, "We ordered a drink for you." Smiling at Clarke, she added, "And a nice soda for you."

"Oh, goodie," Clarke deadpanned.

Bellamy suspected it would end up being one of those nights where he drank for Clarke, so . . . she was probably gonna have to drive them home.

"So I hear you two are in need of a photographer," Murphy blurted, setting his elbows on the table.

"We are?" Bellamy asked.

"Yeah. For a maternity shoot."

"Oh." He looked at Clarke and asked, "We're doin' that?"

"Well, yeah," she said. "Don't you want to?"

"Yeah, sure." He was down for any pregnancy and baby customs, whether they'd existed for centuries or were more new-fashioned things like the gender reveal party had been. "How much does it cost, though?"

"He'll do it for free," Raven answered for her boyfriend.

"I will?" Murphy made a face, and when Raven elbowed his arm, he changed his tune to an affirmative, "I will."

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the guy skeptically and asked, "Since when are you a photographer?"

"I dabble," Murphy said with a shrug. "Here, if I must convince you . . ." He whipped his phone out of his pocket, navigated to a webpage, and handed it over to Bellamy. "Samples of my work."

Clarke took the phone out of his hands before he even got a very good look at it. But it looked like Murphy had an Instagram just for his photography. There were family photos, maternity photos, and even a couple wedding photos. "Oh my god, Murphy," Clarke gasped, "these are really good."

"Why do you sound so surprised?" he said.

"Because it's surprising. I mean . . . you have talent."

Murphy snorted. "That's surprising?"

Bellamy chuckled.

"Wow," Clarke said, continuing to swipe through the pictures. When she'd seen enough, she glanced up at Bellamy and declared, "Looks good to me."

"Yeah, let's plan on it," Bellamy agreed. "When, though?"

"Not yet," she said. "I gotta get more pregnant first." She slid Murphy's phone back across the table to him and said, "That should be fun."

"Yeah," Raven agreed. "See, I told you he could help you out."

"Wonders never cease," Clarke joked.

"Ha, ha," Murphy laughed sarcastically. "But this does bring me to my next topic. Now that I'm helping you, how would you two like to help me?"

"Sex advice?" Bellamy guessed. People asked him for sex advice all the time.

"No." Murphy made a face. "I already know enough about that."

"Well . . ." Raven trailed off.

Ignoring her, he said, "Alright, how would you two like to be the subject of a documentary?"

Neither one of them said anything in response, and Bellamy was pretty sure they both looked completely puzzled. But finally, Clarke spat, "A docu-whatery?"

"Oh, it's not just any documentary," Murphy said. "It's mine. I'm making a film."

"For . . . your YouTube channel?" Bellamy guessed. He still didn't get how Murphy could make a career out of that.

"Yeah. I wanna do something different, branch out from the usual rants and vlogs," Murphy explained. "And Shane Dawson's out there making a killing of it with his documentaries."

"Who's Shane Dawson?" Clarke asked. "I have no idea who you're talking about."

Murphy rubbed his forehead and groaned. "Oh, Clarke, you already sound like such a mom already. Shane Dawson. One of the biggest creators on the platform. He was my idol before he got caught up in scandals."

The name didn't appear to be ringing a bell for Clarke, and it didn't for Bellamy, either.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter," Murphy dismissed. "Anyway, my point is, I've got this idea for a film, and I think it'd be a big hit. And I want you two to be the stars of it."

"Why?" Clarke asked.

"Because we're hot and interesting, obviously," Bellamy jumped in to answer. People used to tell him he should go to Hollywood if the football career didn't work out. Either that or become a male escort.

"He's not wrong," Murphy said. "Ever since he came to town, all my viewers have been noticing him. Every comment section on every vlog is just filled with people asking when they're gonna see more of 'the hot guy' in my videos."

"The hot guy?" Bellamy echoed, grinning. "That's what they call me?" He liked that.

"Well, what do they call me?" Clarke asked.

"The pregnant chick," Murphy responded.

"Oh, lovely."

"They're interested in the two of you. They wanna see more," Murphy told them. "And personally, I find it fascinating. Small-town high school lovers, separated for five years before fate brings them back together. But, fate works in mysterious ways. Because the pregnant chick is . . . well, pregnant, and the hot guy decides to step in and help raise a child fathered by another man."

Holy shit, Bellamy thought. It did sound kind of like a soap opera. Or a chick flick.

Clarke still seemed skeptical about Murphy's sales pitch. "Why do people wanna see more about that?"

"Because, it's a love story," Murphy said. "But not the typical kind."

A love story, Bellamy thought. Yeah, it sure as hell was. It was their love story, and it was unique.

"Well, I hate to tell you, but you're probably barking up the wrong tree," Clarke said. Motioning to Bellamy, she added, "This one here doesn't even have any social media."

"Actually . . ." Despite his aversion to a great deal of things online, Bellamy didn't hate the sound of this. "I think it'd be kind of cool."

Clarke shot him a look of disbelief. "To broadcast our lives to his two-hundred thousand followers?"

"Uh, it's two-hundred and fifteen thousand now," Murphy informed her, "F.Y.I."

Sure, it was a lot of people, but everyone posted about their lives online these days. And now that he didn't have a football career to think about, he wasn't so opposed to putting himself out there. It was just that, back in high school, his coaches had drilled it into him how one wrong tweet or one wrong picture could come back to haunt him, so he'd steered clear. But he wasn't some hot-shot football star anymore; he was a construction worker.

"Think about it," he urged his reluctant girlfriend. "It'd be something for us to look back on, something to show Avery someday. It's like . . . a digital scrapbook."

She still seemed surprised that he was even considering it, but she didn't outright say no to the idea. In fact, he saw the wheels of her mind, working, weighing out the pros and cons, thinking through her own opinion on the matter.

"Just think about it," Murphy said. "That's all I ask."

It was good that Clarke wasn't just automatically agreeing to the idea. It reminded him that he should think about it some more, too. Because if they agreed to it and put their lives out there for Murphy's two-hundred and fifteen thousand subscribers to watch, there would inevitably be some criticism. Some negative comments. There always were. But he really did like the thought of having some way to better document the rest of Clarke's pregnancy, because as of right now, they were just randomly recording videos on their phones. And that didn't seem like enough for something that was so life-changing and important.

They didn't talk about it the rest of the night. They all danced a little, ate some food, had some drinks, and since Bellamy was drinking for two, he ended up getting a little caught up with PDA. Hell if he cared, though. No, he'd make out with Clarke in public all he wanted to. So while they waited at the bar for the next round of shots, he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

Of course, Murphy was always filming something, always vlogging, and even though they hadn't technically agreed to his film idea yet, he still aimed his phone in their direction multiple times that night. In the midst of their make-out, he came right up to them and shouted, "It's the lovers!" which was almost enough to kill the mood. But not completely. Clarke shoved his phone out of her face, acting as though she were annoyed, but really, she wasn't. He could tell by the smile on her face that she didn't mind if two-hundred and fifteen-thousand people got a glimpse of how in love they were.

...

Although reconnecting with Clarke had been the most obvious upside of his decision to move back to Arkadia, Bellamy was really enjoying getting to hang out with his old friends, too. And Jasper was one of them. Bellamy had always gotten this little brother vibe from that kid, which probably explained why he'd been so determined to rescue him from the hell that high school could be for someone who wasn't suave or athletic.

Now that Jasper was no longer a virgin, he seemed determined to talk Bellamy's ear off about sex. He had a list—a physical list—of questions, and as they strolled across campus, headed to the student union for a quick bite to eat, he asked every single one of them.

"So it's—it's perfectly normal not to . . . get her there every single time," he said. Even though it was a statement . . . it was still a question.

"Oh, yeah," Bellamy assured him. "I mean, it's not realistic."

"So when you're with Clarke, she doesn't . . ." Jasper trailed off momentarily, almost as if he wasn't sure whether or not to even further the question. "I mean, not every single time?"

"Well . . . most of the time," he said, bragging a bit. "I'm incredibly skilled, you know."

"Oh, I know," Jasper said. "That's why you're my messiah when it comes to this stuff."

Bellamy shook his head, chuckling. "What's your next question?"

"Oh, okay, uh . . ." First, Jasper crossed off the question about orgasms. "Sixty-nine. Should I be on top, or should she?"

Oh, sixty-nine, Bellamy thought wistfully. He and Clarke couldn't do that very well anymore because of how she was growing. "If it's her first time doing it, I'd say her," he told Jasper. "That way she can control the depth and all that. But if she feels self-conscious, she might want you to be on top. You should just ask her."

"Ask her," Jasper repeated as he wrote those words down. "Um, alright, the g-spot. What is it, and how do I find it?"

"That's an involved question," Bellamy warned him. There were some guys who went through their whole lives convinced that thing was a myth. "You know what, just get online, look some shit up. It's all there."

Jasper started to lag behind him as he wrote something more—probably a reminder to himself to look that up on the Internet—on his paper. "I just can't believe I'm actually having sex now," he said, scurrying to catch up. "Can you?"

"No."

"I mean, I'm not a virgin anymore. I'm an actual man," Jasper raved. "I'm doing man things."

"You're still a spaz, you know that?" Bellamy informed him. That was one of the coolest things about Jasper, though. He knew he wasn't cool, so he didn't try to act cool. He was just himself.

Like a dog distracted by a squirrel, Jasper started to wander as they approached the union and he spotted a table set out by the steps. "Hey, what's this?" he said, veering towards the display. Bellamy followed him over, taking a look at what had grabbed his attention. Jewelry. Lots and lots of jewelry, the hand-made kind. It was mostly necklaces and bracelets, and Jasper looked awestruck by them. "I should get one of these for Maya," he said.

"What's the occasion?" Bellamy wondered.

"Nothing. I just wanna remind her how much I care about her."

"Pretty sure she knows." Bellamy wasn't about to discourage his friend from getting a gift for his girlfriend, though. Girls liked spontaneous gifts. And if Maya liked it enough, Jasper might get to try his first sixty-nine.

"Which one would look best with a girl who has dark hair and a fair skin tone?" Jasper asked one of the vendors.

Bellamy didn't exactly have much money on hand, but he wished he did, because he would have loved to pick something up for Clarke. Even though he was sure she knew how much he cared about her, too. Since this stuff was hand-made, though, it was kind of expensive. The people selling it had to make a profit somehow.

He ran his fingers past a long line of necklaces, imagining what each one would look like on her.

...

Basketball at Arkadia was a joke, and Bellamy was pretty sure nobody gave a damn about going to watch the boys and girls basketball teams go compete for the conference title over the weekend. They weren't going to win, and everyone knew it, even the players. But there was a pep rally for the event anyway, which Bellamy actually felt kind of peppy for. Mostly because he got to see Clarke in her little skirt.

As he shuffled into the gym, he caught her eye right away. She was standing to the left of Raven in the first line of cheerleaders, and when she saw him, she clutched at something around her neck: the necklace he'd given her for Christmas. She was wearing it. He'd seen her wearing it a lot, even though he wasn't supposed to be looking at her much.

He climbed midway up the bleachers and took a seat next to Zeke and some of the other football guys like Roger and Dax, most of whom were doing wrestling as their winter sport instead of basketball. But Bellamy couldn't risk an injury out on the mat, so he hadn't wrestled since his freshman year. Chicks used to love seeing him in a singlet.

"Our girls look good," Zeke commented, grinning when the band started to play and the cheerleaders began to dance.

Oh, fuck, Bellamy thought, so turned on by the sight of Clarke shaking her hips. It was just a simple dance, but she looked so good doing it. He just wanted to drag her into the locker room, hike that skirt up and . . .

"So what's the deal with you and Clarke?" Dax asked from behind him, interrupting his perverted thoughts. "You done with her now or what?"

Bellamy shot an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "No."

"Well, when are you gonna be?"

He hated the way Dax made it sound, like he was just going to throw Clarke away like garbage someday. And Dax was just a junior, so he'd still be around next year, probably looking to score with lots of girls who were younger than him. "You honestly think you stand a chance with her?" Bellamy snarled at him.

His teammate shrugged. "Why not?"

Bellamy nodded towards his crotch and said, "Well, because of your 'little pony' there, for starters."

Beside Dax, Roger laughed. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah, what do girls call that again?" Bellamy continued on, not letting up. "Justin? Because it's just in and nothing else?" He wasn't actually exaggerating. Sharing a locker room meant all the guys on the football team knew what each other was packing, and Dax wasn't packing much.

"I'm bettin' she'll hook up with lots of guys when you're gone," Dax predicted. "You kinda made her into a slut."

Bellamy just glared at him for a moment, then looked back out onto the gym floor at Clarke, his girlfriend, who was most definitely not a slut. She was sleeping with him and only him, after all, and even if she wasn't, that didn't give Dax the fucking right to call her that. It didn't sit well with Bellamy, but he couldn't very well take a swing at the guy at a pep rally. Or . . . at all. UCF wouldn't have liked that.

"Call her that again and I'll throw you down these bleachers," Bellamy warned him. And like usual, that shut Dax up. Roger, too. They both thought they were cool until he laid down the law with them. For at least a couple more months, he was still the one in charge at that school, at least when it came to social stuff. He just hoped it wouldn't be too hard for Clarke once he was gone.

...

Although he was more so just absentmindedly browsing the jewelry than truly looking at it, that didn't stop the second vendor from trying to make a sale to Bellamy. She asked, "What about you? A pretty necklace for a pretty girl?"

They were just too expensive, and he didn't have money to throw around. But it was tempting. "My pretty girl's already got a necklace," he said. "Sorry."

"Maybe a ring then," the vendor suggested, gesturing grandly to a ring holder that was, for some reason, in the shape of a cactus. Despite the ugly holder, the rings themselves were pretty nice, though. Probably not real diamonds or anything, but they looked real.

Maybe a ring, he pondered, zoning in on those. They weren't engagement rings by any means, and when he did get Clarke a ring someday, it was going to be a more expensive one. One with a real diamond. From a real store. Not a vendor on a college campus.

Still, though . . . he could always get her a promise ring in the time being. Just to promise her that they were headed in that direction someday. Although she had to know that, right? She had to know.

"Alright, I got it," Jasper announced, holding up a sack after he'd made his transaction. "Let's go get lunch." He grabbed Bellamy's arm and practically dragged him away from the display table, because Bellamy was still looking at rings, and his feet just didn't move.

...

When he got home early in the evening, Bellamy found Clarke asleep. Not in bed, though. At the kitchen table. She was hunched over the kitchen table with books sprawled out all around her. And papers and notebooks. He recognized this Clarke. It was the same girl who'd helped him study for finals back in the day. She still had the whole dedicated student thing going on, even though she'd decided against med school.

He made sure to stay quiet as he made his way towards her. At first, his intention was to wake her up, because she just didn't look comfortable, and her back was going to be killing her if she stayed like that much longer. But when he caught sight of her sketchbook lying in the midst of all those notes on the table, he held off. One of her drawing pencils was still in her hand, and the sketch she'd been in the middle of looked unfinished. He picked up her book, though, and took a good look at the picture. It was of a little girl walking down the sidewalk, holding someone else's hand. Her mom's hand, by the looks of it. And he didn't know whether that little girl was supposed to be her or supposed to be Avery, but there was definitely a Griffin look to the facial features. So either she'd been thinking about her daughter or about her mother. He couldn't quite tell.

"Mmm," she moaned sleepily as she began to stir.

"Clarke . . ." He set her book back down on the table and bent down to scoop her into his arms. "Come on, Princess," he said. "Let me get you upstairs."

She leaned against him, clearly just exhausted as he helped her to her feet. And why wouldn't she be? She'd been tossing and turning a lot last night. It'd kept him up, too, but he was fine. He didn't have an entire other person inside, depending on him for . . . everything, basically.

That night, after she'd woken up just long enough to eat a quick dinner, they both lay in bed, both in need of going to bed early. But Bellamy still felt like he couldn't sleep, even though she was relatively still as she lay all nestled up on her special pillow. He turned off the TV and made it completely dark in the room, but still, sleep didn't come. He kept thinking about her drawing, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that she'd drawn herself. Because she'd been adamant about not drawing Avery yet, not until she was born and could actually see what she looked like.

Clarke hadn't talked about it very much these past few days and in fact even seemed determined not to dwell on it, but the whole disagreement between her and her mom was weighing heavily on her. He was pretty sure he'd caught her crying about it in the bathroom the other morning, but she'd just quickly wiped her eyes and blamed the tears on her hormones.

I made it worse, he thought guiltily as he lay there in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't—couldn't—regret standing up for Clarke when he felt like her mom had been laying into her too hard. But maybe they would have kept talking if he hadn't interrupted. Maybe they would have figured things out if he hadn't intervened.

The problem was, now he felt like he had to intervene again. Because neither one of them was making any effort to reach out to each other. And the longer they went without talking, the longer Clarke was going to be upset about it. Even if she went about her day-to-day routines and even went out with him and her friends and had a good time, there was still this rift between her and her mother. And he didn't want it to be there.

He ended up slipping out of bed quickly and quietly, figuring he could leave, drive over to Abby's, and talk to her without Clarke ever even knowing. That way, when Abby extended an olive branch, Clarke would think it was all her mother's doing, wouldn't even have to know he'd been the one to encourage it.

When he got to that huge house, he jumped out of the car, ran to the door, and rang the doorbell pretty incessantly. It was Kane who eventually came down and let him in. "Bellamy, what're you doing here?" he said tiredly. "It's 2:00 a.m."

"I know," he said. "I need to talk to Abby."

"She's asleep."

"Abby!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. That'd wake her up.

"I'll go get her," Kane said, rubbing his eyes as he staggered through the entryway into the living room. Bellamy followed behind him, waiting downstairs while Kane staggered up to the second floor. He heard the bedroom door open and close, followed by the muffled sounds of conversation. Kane was probably having to convince the woman to come down and talk to him. Not that Bellamy could really blame her. 2:00 a.m. and everything. Plus, their last conversation hadn't exactly been friendly.

When Abby did come downstairs, she had a floor-length robe tied around her waist. Looked like real silk. His mom had imitation silk robes. "What's going on, Bellamy?" she asked him. "It's late."

"I need to talk to you."

"Oh, so you can come to my house, but I can't come to yours?"

Yeah, maybe it was hypocritical, but right now, that didn't really matter. "Look, whatever this issue is between us, wherever it started . . . we need to clear it up," he told her. "Because it's no good for Clarke." That was his priority. He could suck it up and act nice with Abby Griffin, maybe even apologize to her if that was what it took. As long as it made things easier for his girlfriend. "Now I'm not an idiot, contrary to what you might believe," he went on. "I know you think I got into her head about med school, soured her opinion on it. But I didn't. She made that decision all on her own. And you're her mother, so you should respect it."

"I'm trying to," Abby insisted, "but I think she's making a mistake."

"Then think that if you want. It doesn't mean you gotta say it."

"Well, if I don't, then who's going to?" she snapped at him. "You?"

"No."

She grunted. "Of course not."

"Because I think she's doing the right thing," he said. "She knows what's best for her; she knows what she wants."

Abby crossed her arms over her chest and locked eyes with him. "What she wants and what she should want aren't necessarily the same thing."

Well, that was one hell of a loaded statement, wasn't it? He understood the subtext immediately, and to be honest . . . it sucked. "We're not talkin' about med school anymore, are we?" he said. No, they weren't, because Clarke wanted him. She'd always wanted him, but Abby had always thought that was a mistake. "Look, just tell me," he practically begged her. "Tell me what I did to make you hate me so much. Because I know I'm not the best guy who ever lived, but I'm not the worst." The best guys in the world wouldn't have just stood back and let all that shit at UCF happen. The best guys would have done something right in that moment to stop it. The best guys had better jobs than he did and actual educations that had led them to those jobs. But that didn't mean he was a total loser or a lost cause. He was always trying to be better. "I'm doing everything I can to be a good boyfriend and to be a good father," he told her. "What else do I have to do?"

"Bellamy . . ." For a second, it looked like there were tears in her eyes. But she blinked, and then they were gone. "It's complicated."

"So explain it to me."

"I can't. But when you're a parent, you'll understand."

"No, I won't," he argued. "If there's somebody out there, and he treats my daughter right and makes her happy, then I'll be happy for her. Simple as that." There was nothing complicated about it. She was just making an excuse, because she didn't want to admit that she was still holding a grudge against him from all those years ago. But he wasn't some sex-obsessed high school senior anymore; he was a man who was in love with her daughter. Why couldn't she just accept that?

"I just . . . I don't want her to get hurt," Abby said, her voice a bit shaky.

"I would never hurt her," he said. "Come on, you know that. You may not like me, but you know that."

Throwing her hands in the air, flapping them against her sides, she said, "What do you want me to do?"

"Just try," he pleaded with her. "Try to change your opinion of me, please." The likelihood of that happening at this point, though, was small, and he knew it. So he tacked on, "But if that's not possible, then fine. I can deal with it. But don't take it out on Clarke. She's pregnant, and she needs you now more than ever." He waited for a response, but when he got none, he just shook his head, disappointed that this probably hadn't done any good. Abby would lie awake the rest of the night, thinking about things, and so would he.

As he turned to leave, she said, "Bellamy." And slowly, he turned back around, bracing himself for some kind of parting shot. But it never came. Instead, she said, "I'm sorry."

He really had no idea what she was apologizing for. She'd spewed so much crap about him that it was hard telling. But it didn't really matter, because hearing those words from Abby was a major step for him. She'd never even come close to saying it before.

"Don't apologize to me," he told her. "Apologize to Clarke."

Abby inhaled shakily, lowered her head, and gulped. She looked . . . pretty upset. A different kind of upset than she'd been the night he'd brought her daughter home drunk. These feelings, whatever she was feeling, ran deeper.

He didn't want to be gone for too long, so he didn't stay. He headed home mere minutes after showing up, and when he walked in the front door, he'd only just gotten his coat and shoes off when he heard Clarke's voice calling to him from upstairs.

"Bellamy?"

Dammit, she wasn't supposed to wake up without him there.

But suddenly, her voice got louder. "Bellamy!"

She sounded scared, so he took the stairs two at a time and was back up in the bedroom in a matter of seconds. She was halfway sitting up in the bed, looking all around the room for him. "Baby, what's wrong?" he said, rushing to her side. "What's wrong?"

She took one look at him, reached out to touch his face, and flung her arms around him.

"I'm sorry," he said, hugging her. "Sorry, I just . . . I went out to run an errand. I should've told you I was going." He hadn't meant to alarm her, but he could see why it had. Slowly pulling back a bit, he kept his arms around her and asked, "Are you okay?"

Somehow, even though he couldn't see them in the darkness, he knew she had a few tears falling. She must have woken up from a bad dream or something. "Please don't leave me," she whimpered, hugging him again. And it was a tight hug, too, the kind where she balled the whole back of his shirt up in her hands.

"I'm right here," he breathed into her ear, scooping more of her into his arms, practically into his lap. And just to reassure her, he said it again. "I'm right here." He wasn't going anywhere.