Chapter 44
Bellamy was in a good mood. A really good mood, actually. Good sex was enough to put a smile on a guy's face for an entire day, but good anal sex meant he had a bounce in his step.
"What's going on with you?" Murphy asked as he finished setting up his camera.
"Nothing." Bellamy grabbed two beers out of the fridge, and as he opened them, he noticed Murphy eyeing him suspiciously. "I'm happy," he said.
"Why?" Murphy questioned.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well, you just look really happy."
Bellamy went over to the couch, handed Murphy one of the beers, and sat down with the other in his hand. "Last night was Valentine's Day," he said, raising his bottle to mock toast the holiday.
"Yeah, it was," Murphy agreed, doing the same before he took a giant swig. Slowly, though, he lowered the bottle from his mouth, and a realization seemed to dawn on him. "Oh. What'd you get? Something good, right?"
Something really good, Bellamy thought. But he didn't say anything, even though he was pretty sure that camera wasn't filming yet.
"New Year's resolution?" Murphy guessed.
"Ah, a gentleman doesn't spill his secrets," Bellamy said, even though it was probably really fucking obvious.
"Since when are you a gentleman?" Murphy joked.
He shrugged. "I've been known to have my moments."
...
Bellamy rang the doorbell and waited. And his heart pounded as he waited. There weren't many people who intimidated him, but Abby Griffin did. And here he was, standing outside her house, prepared to plead with her if that was what it took. (That was probably what it would take.)
He knew both Abby and Clarke were home. Clarke's bedroom light was on, and Abby's car was parked outside the double garage in the driveway. But that front door didn't open, so he rang the doorbell again, and again, he waited. This time, he heard the locks unlatch, and slowly, Abby pulled open the door.
"Bellamy," she said sternly. "What're you doing here?"
That was a good question. He hadn't woken up intending to do this, but . . . he just felt like he had to try. "There was a dance at school tonight. For Valentine's Day," he explained. "The sweetheart dance. But I was there without my sweetheart, so it was kinda lame." He'd put on a suit and gone, only because Miller had promised to spike the punch. But seeing Raven and Zeke all over each other only amplified Clarke's absence, and he'd only been able to stick it out for two of the three hours.
"She's grounded," Abby reminded him. "She's not going to that dance."
"Yeah, I know." He looked past her, trying to see if anyone else was home. If Jake had been there, this might have been a little easier. Jake was kind of pushover when his wife made a decision, but still, Bellamy didn't sense the same kind of animosity from him as he did from her. "Can I talk to you?" he asked.
"Now's not really-"
"Please." He couldn't go back to that dance or even go home without at least making his case to her. Even if she still wouldn't budge, at least he'd know he tried. And hey, if she got pissed at him and killed him, at least he'd die in formalwear.
Reluctantly, Abby opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow him entrance to her home. They went into the living room, and she glanced upstairs, as if checking to make sure Clarke wasn't eavesdropping. "Look, Bellamy," she said, her voice low, "I know you think I have it out for you, but . . . I'm just trying to look out for my daughter and do what's best for her."
"I get that," he said, nodding. "I do. When it comes to my little sister, if some guy started sleeping with her and taking her out to parties and skipping school with her, I'd be pissed, too. I wouldn't want her seeing him. And I'd probably do everything in my power to stop it."
Abby folded her arms and said, "So you understand where I'm coming from."
"Yeah." As much as he could understand, he did understand. "And I'm sorry," he apologized. He was well aware that he wasn't what mothers thought of when they thought up their ideal boyfriends for their daughters. "But I need you to try to understand where I'm coming from, too," he told her. "I think the world of your daughter. I think she's amazing. I've been having the best year of my life because of her." In that moment, he actually hoped that Clarke was eavesdropping, because it was a lot easier to just have her overhear those things than it would be to say it straight to her. "I don't wanna get her in trouble or cause problems for the two of you," he assured Abby. "I just wanna spend some time with her. While I can." The closer it got to summertime, the louder his internal countdown became. Just a few more months now. That was all they had, and then he had to leave.
"The problem isn't that you're spending time together," Abby clarified. "It's how you're spending that time. And I'm not just talking about sex, Bellamy. I know I can't stop her from doing that, as much as I would like to. But when she goes out with you and comes home drunk, or when she cuts class just to be with you, don't you see why, as a mother, I find that alarming?"
To him, it was more amusing than anything else. But to her, he could understand why she wouldn't see it the same way. "She's never gotten drunk unless I'm there with her," he reassured her. "She doesn't get behind the wheel when she's like that."
"That doesn't make it okay," Abby argued. "Now listen, I know you're used to a more laissez-faire style of parenting . . ".
Oh, this woman probably hated his mom's guts and judged her more hands-off approach to parenting pretty hard. But there was something to be said for it, too. "My mom trusts me," he said. "She trusts me to make my own decisions. But if I need her, she's there for me. It's not like she doesn't care what I do. She just lets me be more independent."
"But you're eighteen. Clarke's not," Abby pointed out. "And it's different with girls, Bellamy. If you ever have a daughter someday, trust me, you'll understand. It's just different."
Yeah, it probably was. Girls got pregnant sometimes, just like his mom had. "What do I have to do, Mrs. Griffin?" he asked, practically begging now. "What do I have to do to be able to see your daughter again? Please, just . . . just give me another chance."
Abby sighed heavily and shook her head.
"I got my grades up," he told her, hoping that she might find that at least the slightest bit impressive. "Nothing lower than a C right now. I'm really trying here."
"That's good," she said, nodding. "That's good that you got your grades up."
But it wasn't enough. He had to negotiate. "If we go anywhere, we won't drink. Either one of us," he promised. "And if you say curfew's at 11:00, I'll have her home by 10:45."
For a moment, Abby didn't say anything, just looked at him critically before mumbling, "Curfew would be at 10:00."
"That's fine." He could handle that.
She still didn't look completely swayed as she met his eyes, once again shaking her head doubtfully. "You're asking me to put an awful lot of trust in you, Bellamy," she said. "And I don't know if I can do that."
Fair enough. He wasn't Wells Jaha, and he didn't know how to get on a parent's good side. But it wasn't really about that, was it? Not really. "Then trust Clarke," he said. He wasn't asking her to not have any rules. He just wanted rules that were easier for him and Clarke to follow. Rules that would make it easier on everyone, including Abby.
Although he'd always known he could talk to people and he'd always had a knack for persuasion, Bellamy was even surprised by himself when he got permission to head up to Clarke's room that night. It still took some coaxing, but once he promised he'd leave the door open, he got the a-okay. When he knocked on her door, though, she yelled back, "Mom, I told you, I wanna be alone!"
"You sure about that?" he said, walking in.
Clarke was on her bed, drawing while listening to some somber music. She shot off the bed when she saw him and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. "Bellamy!" she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. It felt like they hadn't seen each other in days. And really, with his in-school suspension and then hers, they hadn't. She smelled so good.
Pulling back, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, but her voice was a frenetic whisper when she asked, "What're you doing here? My mom's gonna catch you."
"Actually, she let me in," he informed her. "She knows I'm up here."
Clarke's expression morphed into one of total confusion. "What?"
"I talked to her," he explained.
"When?"
"Just now. She looked like she'd been crying."
Clarke grunted and moved towards her speaker, turning down the volume of her music just slightly. "Probably has been," she said. "We've been arguing non-stop for days."
That was what he'd been afraid of. "Well, I think she's finally tired of it," he said.
"What do you mean?"
He just smiled.
Her whole face lit up with excitement as she realized what he was getting at. "You got her to change her mind about us?"
It wasn't as huge of an accomplishment as it sounded. "I think it was gonna happen whether I talked to her or not," he admitted. "She doesn't wanna lose you."
Clarke's mouth dropped open, and she sat down on the side of her bed, as if to keep from falling over. "I'm speechless," she said.
"Well, it comes with stipulations, of course. We can't drink whenever we go out. Not one drop for either one of us. And I have to have you home by 9:45. No skipping school, obviously." Abby had promised to write all her rules out for him, so he'd have a nice, long list to look forward to in the coming days. "And I'm pretty sure if we break any one of these rules, she's gonna axe murder me, so . . ." He trailed off, joking. Sort of.
"So we'll follow them," Clarke said.
"Yeah." He could compromise with the woman, if that was what it took. Small price to pay for the chance to be with Clarke again. "She even begrudgingly agreed to let you go to this sweetheart dance tonight," he told her, "if you wanna."
Clarke smiled, but when she looked over her shoulder and glimpsed the time on her bedside clock, her shoulders slumped. "By the time I get dressed and we actually get there . . . it'll practically be over," she said. "You shouldn't have left, though. You're probably gonna be crowned king."
He shrugged. "It wasn't any fun without you there. Besides, I stuffed the ballot box for Jasper." That kid would love getting king. Bellamy had experienced that many times before, but for Jasper, it might only come around this once.
The current song ended, and a new one began to play. Still slow, still soft, probably a hell of a lot better than whatever music the DJ was playing up in the school gymnasium tonight. They would've been surrounded by so many other people there, but here, it was just the two of them. And there was something kind of nice about that. Sure, he'd forced himself into a suit, and Clarke would have undoubtedly looked stunning in whatever dress she'd chosen; but she looked beautiful even now just in leggings and a t-shirt. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, strands poking out the sides, and she had very little makeup on. She didn't even need any.
"You wanna dance?" he asked, holding out his hand for her. They could do their own thing tonight, celebrate Valentine's Day their own way. Just them. No one else.
She looked a little surprised that he'd offered, probably because the only dancing he'd ever done with her had been to hip hop music at parties. And that was a very different type of dancing. But she didn't hesitate for long. She put the palm of her hand in his, and he pulled her to his feet and into an embrace. Her t-shirt was fitted enough that he could feel the curve of her waist. His hands fit there perfectly. And she put her arms up over his shoulders as they began swaying from side to side, not exactly in time with the music. Not that it mattered.
At first she looked at his chest, then down at her feet, anywhere but at him, it seemed. Sort of like all the couples in middle school had done. But when she lifted her eyes and met his, he saw something there he'd never seen from any girl before. He didn't have a word for it, but it was . . . intense. Just this look of utter longing. And Bellamy felt that same longing. He felt it all over. He felt so much of it that he couldn't say anything, and he couldn't look away. It was like he was getting lost in her or something, and he had no desire to be found.
The corners of her mouth moved upward a bit, and she smiled up at him, the first smile he'd seen from her since their blissful day at the beach. "This feels like a dream," she said.
He felt the need to assure her that it wasn't, just in case she actually had dreamt about something like this before. "It's not." Her mom really had decided to let up on the two of them, and they really were dancing right now. Knowing Abby, she was loitering down the hall, inconspicuously watching them, but he didn't care. Right now, Clarke was the only thing that existed.
She turned her head to the side, moved in closer, and rested her cheek against his chest, so he lowered his head to rest his chin against the top of her head. Closing his eyes, he let himself stay lost, lost in the warmth of her body, the smell of her hair.
It wasn't exactly the sweetheart dance, the two of them swaying around in her bedroom while only one of them was donning formalwear. But it was something so much better.
...
Sometimes Bellamy was amazed how many good memories he and Clarke had. They'd been apart longer than they were together, but there were still so many things he looked back on and remembered fondly. And that night in her bedroom, holding her and dancing with her . . . that was one of them.
"So do you think you fell in love with Clarke in high school?" Murphy asked, pushing the conversation forward. Sometimes when Bellamy started down memory lane, he went pretty far.
"Oh, yeah," Bellamy answered. "But I didn't realize it at the time." If he had . . . well, a lot of things probably would have gone differently.
"So when did you?" Murphy asked.
"I don't know." He thought about it, but nothing came to mind. "I don't think there was ever just one moment. It just kind of . . ." He trailed off, thought about it some more, and shrugged. "I'm not sure. Eventually I just knew."
"Yeah? So how long did it take?"
That was hard to pinpoint, too, but he had a general idea. "Well, I left for college," he reminded Murphy. And the camera. "We weren't together anymore, so she was free to do whatever she wanted to do, with whoever. And so was I."
Murphy raised an eyebrow knowingly. "And did you?"
He felt like kind of an ass to admit it, but . . . hell, he obviously hadn't been celibate for five years. "Yeah," he said. "I hooked up with girls. Didn't really date anyone, but . . . yeah, I hooked up with 'em."
"Clarke made it sound like she didn't hook up with anyone."
He sighed. "No, she didn't. Not until she went to college. So I feel kinda guilty about that, but . . ." Oh, well. He was a young guy, so he'd slept with lots of beautiful young women. There was no shame in that. "I mean, it wasn't like I just forgot about her, though," he said, just in case people would wonder about that. If thousands of people were going to view this film of Murphy's, he wanted to make that clear. "I missed her. A lot. I thought I'd get to see her over the holidays, but I guess she had family stuff."
"Why didn't you ever call her?" Murphy pressed.
"I didn't know what to say. And she didn't make any effort to call me, either, so . . ." It was definitely weird how they'd gone from being such a huge part of each other's lives to not being in each other's lives at all, and looking back, he wished he had picked up the phone. Maybe they could have had a long-distance thing going. Maybe that would have brought him back to Arkadia sooner. "It sounds stupid nowadays, but back then, I pretty much just figured it was over," he said. "Figured that was my one shot."
"But you knew you still had feelings for her."
"Well, yeah. I knew none of those college girls held my interest the same way she did. I knew I still wanted her," he said. "But I gave her up to go down to Florida and play football." That had been the priority for him at the time, but . . . priorities changed. "So you gotta understand, I thought I blew it. And eventually, I just kinda forced myself to move on."
Murphy nodded slowly, as if he were understanding. "But you never stopped loving her."
"No. I think that's why I never tried getting serious with anyone else. 'cause there were girls who wanted to get serious with me, you know." There had been a lot of girls down at UCF looking for a boyfriend, especially an athlete like him. And out in L.A., he'd had offers, too. "But I always stopped it after a couple of dates," he said. "Because it didn't feel like it did with Clarke."
"But it still took you years to come back. Even after you quit playing for UCF," Murphy pointed out. "Why?"
"Just . . ." When he started thinking about that place, all he thought about was that party, about what had happened there, what his teammates had done. "After all of that . . . I needed a break," he replied vaguely. "I needed to go off and do my own thing. And Clarke had her own thing going on here, too. She graduated, she started college. And it's probably better I wasn't around for all of that. I would've just held her back."
"Wait, what?" Murphy made a face. "Why the hell do you say that?"
"Well . . ." It sounded self-deprecating, but it was true. "It's no secret Clarke's the one with all the intellect and potential. The only profitable talent I ever had was throwing a football down the field, and I gave that up."
"So you didn't feel like you were good enough for her?"
"No. Sometimes I still don't," he admitted. He looked down at his lap, sort of embarrassed that he was being so honest. If Murphy decided to include this footage, his insecurities would be broadcast to the world. But he couldn't very well do a film like this and lie. The truth of it all . . . that was where the story was. "So when I came back here, I didn't have any grand visions of us ending up together," he said. "I mean . . . I hoped she didn't have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. I hoped she'd be happy to see me again. And I was so excited to see her." He smiled as he thought back to that night and how freakin' thrilled he'd been when she'd responded to his text. And how floored he'd been when she'd walked into the bar, shorter hair but still the same Clarke. "She was the first person I met up with, besides my mom and sister," he said. "I never stopped thinking about her, in all those years. I thought maybe . . ." There had been a lot of maybes running through his mind back then, but now they were all certainties.
"And when you guys saw each other again . . . Clarke says it felt like you'd never been apart," Murphy told him.
"Yeah." The conversation had just flowed, and that, of course, had led to sex. And sex with Clarke had always been electric. "You ever just feel like something's meant to be?" he said, switching it up and questioning his interviewer.
"Kind of," Murphy replied.
"Well, that's how I felt that night. That's how I still feel." Shaking his head, he laughed a little. "Sounds cheesy as fuck, but it's true."
"No, I get it," Murphy said. "She's the love of your life."
Bellamy smiled, because that was a fact, and it hadn't changed in five years. Wasn't ever gonna change. "Yeah," he said, excited for the world to know how he felt about her. "She's my constant."
...
Even though Clarke planned to work up until her due date, she really hoped Diyoza might not schedule her at all the week beforehand. This third trimester was bringing back all sorts of aches and pains that she thought she'd ridded herself of the first trimester, and being on her feet for hours wasn't easy. Especially since her feet were so huge. She was actually starting to wear Bellamy's shoes out and about.
Despite being the biggest employee, she still felt like she was one of the best. She got more tips than anyone else, which may have been due in part to her baby bump; but she maintained good customer service, too. She was chipper and personable and only got cranky when people touched her stomach without her permission. But there was a bright side to their violation of her personal bubble: They usually ended up tipping extra generously because they felt bad.
She'd just gotten done clearing off a table and bringing the glasses back to the sink when Avery started kickboxing. Or at least that was what it felt like. Clarke stopped what she was doing, put her hands on her stomach, and forgot all about work for a moment. In fact, the whole bar kind of just faded away, and it was just her and her baby. Feeling her move was like . . . mother/daughter bonding time.
"Is she kicking?"
Finn's voice broke into her bonding time, and she whirled around, less than thrilled to see him sitting at the bar, leaning over the counter as though he wanted to reach out and feel, too.
"No," Clarke lied, taking her hands off her stomach. "I mean, she was, but . . . she stopped."
For a second, Finn looked disappointed, but he didn't linger on that disappointment for long. "What's it feel like?" he asked.
Resisting the urge to tell him to Google it, she mumbled, "It's hard to explain," and didn't elaborate any further. It wasn't a good idea to get wrapped up in a whole conversation with him, so she asked, "Do you want something to drink?" and really hoped he'd say no. And then leave.
His answer was the one she was hoping for: "No." But unfortunately, he didn't move off that barstool.
"Something to eat?" she said.
"No."
Her patience wore out, and she couldn't hold back the bite in her voice when she asked, "Then why are you here?"
"I just thought I'd stop in," he said, "say hi."
She rolled her eyes. Say hi?
"Hey, I'm just checking up on you," he said. "Is that so bad?"
No, it wasn't bad. It just also wasn't necessary. "Well, I'm fine," she said. "Everything's fine." That was all he needed to know. He didn't need to know that she and Bellamy had their first Lamaze class scheduled, because then he'd just show up there, too. He didn't need to know that she and Raven were eyeing dates for her baby shower, and he definitely didn't need to know that Kane was helping her put together the necessary paperwork to ensure that Bellamy would be appointed Avery's legal guardian if anything ever happened to her. There was a lot of stuff he didn't need to know, and she didn't feel bad for keeping it from him. He'd given up his right to know things a long time ago.
Finn's cameo at the bar left Clarke in a bad mood that afternoon when she went to get her hair cut with Harper and Raven. She only stopped ranting about him when the hairdresser tilted her backward to wash her hair. But when the trimming started, she picked up her rant right where she'd left off.
"Ugh, I wish Finn would just make up his damn mind," she growled. "He acts like he doesn't want to have anything to do with me or this baby, but then he makes these random little guest appearances in my life whenever he feels like it. It's annoying."
In the chair next to her, Raven, who was only getting her hair styled since it was already the perfect length and shade, said, "He's probably just doing that so he doesn't feel like as much of a deadbeat dad."
"That's what he is, though," Harper said softly as her hairdresser worked on her highlights. "Right?"
"I guess," Clarke muttered. "I don't even know if I'm gonna let him pay child support. Maybe it's best to just have him out of Avery's life. Completely. You know, he didn't even want me to have her."
"That's awful," Raven sympathized, and Harper agreed with her.
Yeah, Clarke thought, looking down at her stomach. It's awful. "You guys are so lucky," she said. "When you two get pregnant, it'll be so simple. Monty will be a great dad, and Murphy will be . . . interesting. But you're not gonna have to deal with some other guy."
"Well, at least you're not doing this alone," Raven pointed out. "No matter what, you have Bellamy."
Clarke's hairdresser stopped in mid-trim and said, "Bellamy? Bellamy Blake?"
Clarke looked at her in the mirror. "Yeah."
"You're dating him?"
"Uh-huh."
The hairdresser finally finished snipping off one section of Clarke's hair, but she looked like she was in daydream land as she sighed wistfully and recalled, "Oh, I was a senior when he was a sophomore. He was really hot. We hooked up a few times."
"Great." Why would she tell me this? Clarke wondered. She was already in a bad enough mood.
"Yeah, I didn't usually go for jocks, but Bellamy . . . ooh, he had some skills."
Sex skills, Clarke realized. This chick was literally going to fantasize about Bellamy right in front of her.
"I remember this one night when I was walking home, and he offered to give me a ride. Well, he gave me a ride alright. I swear, I've never had it so good. He-"
"Will you just shut up and cut my hair?!" Clarke shrieked, cutting her off when she couldn't take it any longer. Good God, could the woman be any more idiotic? She'd better not give me a bad haircut, Clarke thought, ignoring the looks some of the other people in the salon were giving her. As long as she had this protruding belly, she felt like no one could judge her for any public outbursts.
...
When Clarke got home, she was satisfied with her haircut but nothing else. "Bellamy?" she said as she dragged herself through the door. "I might need a foot rub. Or a shoulder massage. Or a really thorough fucking." Or all of the above, she thought. As long as it included the fucking. She didn't get a response from him, but she heard movement upstairs, so she called his name again. "Bellamy?" He still didn't seem to hear her, so she trudged up the stairs. Just getting from the first floor to the second felt like exercise these days; it was ridiculous.
Bellamy came out of the nursery just as she reached the top stair, and he quickly shut the door and said, "Hey, you're home early," as he came to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"It's 8:30," she informed him.
"Oh, is it?" He looked outside and laughed a little. "I must've lost track of time." Then he touched her hair and said, "You look nice."
"Thanks." She'd only gotten about an inch taken off, but it'd been necessary. She couldn't let her hair get too long, not when she was going to be a mom in a couple months. Short hair was just so much easier to manage. "Working on the nursery, huh?" she said.
"Finishing it, actually."
Finishing? she registered. It was done?
"You wanna see?"
What kind of question was that? Of course she wanted to see. Nodding eagerly, she started forward, but he sipped in between her and the door and kept her from entering right away.
"Okay. If there's anything you don't like, I can change it," he said. "You ready?"
"Yes! Open the door." It'd taken everything she had these past few weeks to not take a little peek.
"Alright," he said, pushing open the door. "I hope you like it."
What she walked into was . . . so different than the blank, vacant room she'd barely set foot in since she'd moved into the beach house. Everything was there: the crib, the dresser, the changing table, and the shelves full of toys they'd stocked up on. All the furniture was white, often accented with pastel pink in some way. In the crib's case, it was pink pillows. There was a pink rug on the hardwood floor, too, and pink bows tying the curtains back. The walls were painted a calming grey, and Avery's name was displayed right above her crib in pink letters. Hanging from the ceiling was a beautiful light fixture that hadn't been there before, and it lit up the room in warm hues.
"Oh my god, Bellamy," she said, moving around the space to get a closer look at everything that was there. "This is beautiful." He'd put in so much work; everything was so detailed. The pillows in her crib said Mom and Dad, and the mirror next to the dresser had a crown on the top of it. It really was a room fit for a princess.
"Roan helped me with a lot of this stuff," Bellamy said. "I can't take all the credit."
When she turned around, she noticed so much more. There was a little closet space with all sorts of outfits hanging up. Every day outfits and little dresses and, of course, a princess costume. There were books on the shelves, books that they would take turns reading to her in the plush white chair in the corner. And there was a small photo hanging on the wall, one Clarke recognized well. It was the first ultrasound image, back when Avery had been only been the size of a sweet pea. Now there it was, proudly displayed in a silver frame that said Love at First Sight.
"It's perfect," she said, in awe of everything he'd done. She'd expected something nice, but not this nice. "Thank you." She hugged him, and all of the negative feelings she'd come home with just vanished, replaced by happiness and joy. "You're the best," she told him, not sure that she could adequately express how much this nursery meant to her.
"I'm not," he said, keeping his arms around her, "but thanks for saying that."
"No, you are," she said, not loosening her hold on him one bit. "You are." She kept hugging him and feeling utterly grateful for him as tears stung her eyes. A few of them spilled over, but most of them she blinked away.
