Chapter 48

"So where are we going?" Bellamy asked Lexa as he followed her down the sidewalk. His heart was set on Dick's Sporting Goods, but his wallet was lobbying for the thrift store.

Lexa slowed her pace to fall in step with him, then pointed up ahead.

"The jewelry store?" he said. Hell, he'd just been there the other day.

"Yeah. I'm gonna get a ring for Costia," she declared.

"An engagement ring?" Was he not the only one who'd started thinking about marriage?

"No, a promise ring," she corrected. "For now."

Ah, the good old promise ring. One step down from the real deal, but pretty much a sign that things were headed in the direction of holy matrimony. "So why'd you ask me to come along?" he inquired.

"Because, Costia's like a guy," she explained.

"Oh, really?" Did that mean she was the one who was . . . on top a lot? Lexa didn't seem like the type to relinquish the control.

"Well, when it comes to rings, at least," Lexa added. "She doesn't know what she likes or what looks good. So I need a guy's perspective. I figure, if you like it, she'll like it. Plus, all my other friends were busy today, so you're kinda my only choice."

"Oh, thanks." Hell, he didn't mind being Lexa's last resort, though. Clarke was on this whole cleaning kick at home, so he needed to get out of there for a while. And Lexa was cool. He liked hanging out with her. It wasn't very often he'd had girls in his life who were just friends.

"So how's Clarke?" Lexa asked as they crossed the street. "Everyone's still talking about how she laid into Anya the other night."

"She's fine," he said. "She was pissed, but it passed." If nothing else, it had prompted them to have a pretty good conversation about how they'd accept Avery no matter what, how they'd never make her feel bad for just being who she was.

"Well, everyone's still pissed at Anya," Lexa informed him. "Some people are even talking about forcing her to step down as the leader."

"Ah, some rebellion. I like it," he said. "Why don't you take over?"

"Me?" She laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm not the right person for it. I mean, I can lead people, but I'm gonna graduate this year. And once I do, I wanna leave Arkadia for a while, go out and explore the world."

"With Costia?" he guessed.

She smiled. "Yeah. We wanna go to Europe someday. You've been to Europe, right?"

"Yeah," he said. "Well, Italy, mostly."

She sighed wistfully. "I'd love to go to Italy."

"Yeah, it's nice. Just make sure you brush up on your fashion knowledge," he advised.

"You mean, like, Prada? Versace? All those expensive designers I'll never be able to afford to wear?"

"Pretty much. And don't assume you know more about food than they do. You might think you do, but you don't." He'd gotten into a heated argument once with a waiter about whether or not pineapple had any place atop a pizza. "Oh, and they talk with their hands a lot, so you might start talking with your hands, too. Which is fine. Just don't make any gestures you'll regret."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked.

"Yeah, I got my ass kicked by this guy named Matteo," he admitted. "Don't tell Clarke. She thinks I'm badass."

Lexa laughed.

When they walked into the jewelry store, Bellamy immediately caught sight of the ring he'd ordered in the far back display case. It wasn't the most expensive one there, nor was it the biggest, but it'd look so perfect on Clarke's finger. It belonged there.

"You have any idea what you're looking for?" he asked Lexa.

"What do you mean?" she said. "A ring. That's it."

"But what cut? Round, princess, pear?"

"What now?"

"Well, a round cut's round. Obviously," he said. "And a princess cut's more of a square."

She looked at him suspiciously, with narrowed eyes. "How do you know so much about rings?"

"Everybody knows about rings," he claimed.

"No, everybody doesn't."

He was saying too much, giving himself away, wasn't he? He'd decided to just shut up and act clueless when the same sales associate who had helped him last week came up to him with a big smile on her face. "Mr. Blake, good to see you again," she said. "Did you come to make another payment on that diamond?"

Lexa's eyebrows shot upward, and Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief that he was just here with her and not Clarke. "Uh, not today," he said. "Probably by the end of the week."

"Oh, okay," she said. She seemed to realize that Lexa could have very well been the recipient of that ring, because she asked, "Is this the lucky girl?"

Lexa laughed emphatically at that. "No."

"Just a friend," Bellamy said. "But yeah, I'll be back Friday."

"See you then," the saleswoman said, that big smile still in place as she moved past him to help another customer.

"What was she talking about, Bellamy?" Lexa didn't hesitate to ask.

"Nothing," he lied. Picking up silver bracelet, he jingled it in front of her face in an attempt to distract her. "Hey, look. Pretty."

She swiped that bracelet from him and slid it onto her wrist. "You're paying off a ring," she said. "For Clarke." A slow smile spread across her face, and then she exclaimed, "You're gonna propose to her!"

"Yeah, go ahead and speak from the diaphragm if you wanna be a little louder," he suggested sarcastically.

"Sorry, I'm just . . . happy for you guys," she said. "I mean, it's not surprising, but it's exciting."

"Don't tell anyone, please?" he begged. "Only my mom and my sister know." He hadn't intended to let anyone else in on it.

"Oh, your secret's safe with me," she promised, sliding the silver bracelet off her wrist. "God, Clarke's gonna get married. And have a baby. At this point, all she needs is a white picket fence and she's living the American dream."

...

Clarke sorted through the overflowing laundry basket of clothes meticulously, dropping only the darkest of darks into the machine. All of these baby clothes were brand new. The colors of one could bleed into another so easily. She'd have to do at least three loads.

"What're you doing?"

She didn't even have to look up when Raven came to stand in the doorway, but if she would have, she would have glimpsed her best friend looking long, lean, and beautiful in her bikini. "Laundry," she replied simply.

"Yes, I see that. But no one's actually worn those clothes yet," Raven pointed out.

"That's why I have to wash them," she said. "New clothes have all sorts of fabric irritants. I can't dress Avery in things that could irritate her skin." She poured some detergent into the machine, closed the lid, and twisted the nob to start the cycle.

"Well, you should come outside," Raven suggested. "It's nice out. Perfect weather for a beach day."

"Raven." She was right. It was a beautiful day. Sun was shining, there was a slight breeze to keep things from getting too hot, and it definitely felt like spring. But that didn't mean they could all enjoy it in the same way. "How am I supposed to take part in beach day? I can't wear a swimsuit, I can't swim, and you know what? I don't even walk anymore; I waddle," she ranted.

"You don't need a swimsuit. You can lay out on the beach with me and Harper," Raven said. "And who cares if you waddle? That's what penguins do."

Clarke gave her an incredulous look. "Well, I'm tired of being a penguin!"

"Oh, you know what I mean." Raven put her arm around her shoulder and led her out of the laundry room. "Penguins are cute. You're cute right now, Clarke. Your cheeks are all chubby and . . ." She trailed off when Clarke shot her a warning glare. "I'm not helping, am I?"

"No." She knew she was blimpish, didn't need a reminder.

"Sorry," Raven apologized.

Before Clarke could complain any more, the front door opened, and Bellamy came in hauling . . . a surfboard? He literally had a surfboard with him. And it had a picture of Pamela Anderson from her Baywatch days on it. "Hey," he said. "I'm gonna try surfing." And just like that, he cut through the living room, carrying that board under his arm, apparently eager to get outside.

"Now that's something I wanna see," Raven said, wriggling her eyebrows. "Come on." She took Clarke's hand and practically pulled her out onto the back porch. Clarke dug her heels in, though, reluctant to go any further. Harper was out there looking like a supermodel, and Monty was lathering her shoulders up with sunscreen. Miller was shirtless and all in shape, too, throwing a football around with Murphy, who couldn't seem to catch it to save his life.

"Come on," Raven said again, finally pulling hard enough to get her to come down off the porch and set foot in the sand.

"Bellamy!" she called out to her boyfriend as he unabashedly stripped down to his underwear. "Where did you get that?"

"At the thrift store," he yelled back. "Fifty bucks."

At least he'd gotten a bargain then. But still . . . "Have you ever surfed before?"

"Yeah, when I was younger," he said. "But then I stopped when I started getting good at football."

Leave it to Bellamy to see something and then just get it in his head to do something so athletic so spontaneously. "Don't get hurt," she told him.

"I won't." He ran out into the water with his board, got deep enough to fling himself up onto it, and started paddling out deeper.

"See, you gotta be out here," Raven said. "Gotta keep an eye on him."

Well . . . she definitely wouldn't mind seeing Bellamy give surfing a go. He always looked so hot when he did sporty things.

"There she is," Murphy said, a lyrical tone to his voice. He'd given up football and approached them now with his camera poised to capture everything. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

Clarke smoothed her hair back from her face and said, "Well, thank you, Murphy." Any attempts to improve her self-esteem right now were appreciated.

"Nobody rocks a bikini better than my girlfriend," Murphy said, panning the camera up and down Raven's body. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, hey, Clarke."

She smiled, embarrassed that she'd assumed he was talking to her. "Hey," she said.

"How's it going?"

"Well, I have a baby the size of a pineapple in my uterus. How do you think it's going?" she snapped back.

"Okay." Murphy put the camera down. "Not the right day for an interview then."

She didn't mean to be such a grump. It was just really hard to act as young and free-spirited as her friends were acting. "Sorry," she said. "It's just . . . I've been pregnant for so long at this point. It's really exhausting."

"I'm sure," Murphy said. "Don't worry about it. I'll just film Bellamy surfing. My female subscribers will love that shit." He raised his camera again, this time capturing the exact moment where Bellamy tried to stand up on his board, lost his balance, and fell right off before he'd even had a chance to ride a single wave. Murphy cringed and remarked, "He's not very good."

No, he really wasn't. But that was okay. He made up for it by being good at other things.

...

"Oh, Bellamy," Clarke gasped, pinned beneath her boyfriend's heavy, sweaty body as he pounded his hips into her. "You're so good."

Her words seemed to spur him on as a low growl escaped his throat. He pressed his face against the side of her neck, his breath hot on her skin, and somehow thrust into her even more forcefully than he already had been. Surely they were making his truck move at this point. They had to be, right?

Since they were out in the middle of nowhere, she didn't bother being quiet. She let herself make all the noises she wanted to, expressing her pleasure in moans as he fucked her. Despite the condom, he seemed to be savoring the sensation just like she was. He'd gone non-vocal a couple minutes ago. When Bellamy stopped talking altogether during sex, that was how she knew he was really into it.

The mix of their heavy breathing had fogged up the window a long time ago. Or at least it seemed like a long time. Clarke wasn't really sure how long they'd been going at it, but she had no intention of stopping. She squeezed her innermost muscles, trying to pull him deeper. He felt so good there. Bellamy muttered, "Fuck," against her neck, the first word he'd said since he'd slid inside her.

His hips slammed against her, eliciting a high-pitched noise from her with every thrust. She coiled her legs around his hips, digging her heels into his ass, and let out an impassioned cry as her orgasm hit. It was the toe-curling, heart-racing kind that sent tingles out through every inch of her body. Even though he was on top of her, still moving, she felt like she was floating. Or flying. Or something. He came almost at the exact same time, which made her feel like her orgasm was lasting even longer. She loved it when they managed to cum together. It felt so incredibly intimate.

After they were done, the truck was quiet and still. He lay on top of her, barely supporting his own weight, completely drenched in sweat. Her body felt slick, too. It was a muggy, humid night, and they'd turned the car off to have their fun, so it wasn't like they had the air conditioning to cool them down.

Slowly, Bellamy lifted his head, still breathing heavily as he gazed down at her. "What time is it?" he asked her.

"Doesn't matter," she replied.

"No, it does," he insisted. "Gotta get you home before curfew."

She groaned, wishing she didn't have a curfew, especially such a ridiculously early one. But what could they do? This was part of the compromise they'd made. At least they got to be together. And have nights like this.

They got dressed, wiped off the windows, and reluctantly headed home. If she could have, Clarke would have stayed out with him all night. In fact, they could have just slept there in the backseat of his truck. It would've been comfortable enough for her.

Clarke stared forlornly at the 9:50 showing on Bellamy's truck as he pulled into the driveway. It was a couple minutes behind, so it was probably more like 9:55. She really had to be getting inside. But she really didn't want to.

"Tell your mom I said hi," he joked.

She laughed. "Yeah, right." Just because her mom was on civil terms with Bellamy, it didn't mean they were suddenly friendly.

As she started to open the door, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "Hey," he said, just staring at her for a few seconds with a soft smile on his face. Then he moved in close and kissed her, a gentle, almost chaste kiss that stood out in stark contrast to how hot and heavy they'd gotten tonight. "Goodnight," he whispered.

"Goodnight," she echoed, finding it hard to look away from him. So hard, in fact, that she didn't. She kissed him again, and he kissed her back, and they just scratched the surface of making out before she forced herself out of that truck so she could walk in the front door on time.

Bellamy's truck rumbled down the street, in desperate need of a better muffler, as she walked into the living room. Her parents were both home, both still awake. Her mom sat in the chair, and her dad was lying on the couch, both of them watching TV.

"Hi, honey," her mom said. "Right on time."

"Of course." It wasn't like she had much choice. One wrong move, and they were right back in forbidden romance territory. Which just wasn't as sexy as it sounded.

"How was the movie?" her dad asked.

She smiled and said, "It was great," hoping he didn't ask her for any plot details or anything. Because she and Bellamy had gone in the opposite direction of the movie theater. "See you guys in the morning," she said, retreating up the stairs before they could ask her anything else about it. There were some things they were better off just not knowing she'd done, and sex in Bellamy's truck was one of them.

...

Clarke wasn't sure why Murphy followed her back inside until he headed into the kitchen, opened up the refrigerator, and pulled out one of Bellamy's beers. Then it all made sense.

"Ah, drinking," she said. "Yet another thing I can't do." She sighed, feeling like she was a dark cloud hanging over an otherwise sunny beach day, and said, "You know, you can go back out there if you want, Murphy. I just can't watch Bellamy wipe out again. It's too painful."

"I thought he was supposed to be a good athlete," Murphy said.

"He is. On land." Now that he had a surfboard, though, maybe he'd have a new hobby. "Anyway, really, I'm fine here," she insisted. "I don't mind being alone." By her estimation, she had about fifteen more minutes until the load of dark darks was done, and then she'd have to toss all the lighter darks in.

"Nah, I'm fair-skinned," Murphy said. "I'll burn to a crisp. I'm better off in here."

She wasn't really sure how to entertain him when her main priority at the moment was laundry, so she offered, "Then . . . you wanna see the nursery?"

"As long as I can film it," he answered quickly.

She rolled her eyes, so used to his camera at this point that she wasn't even really all that annoyed by it anymore. "Come on," she said, motioning him to follow her up the stairs. It took her a little while to get to the top. She had to take it one stair at a time. Murphy was already filming by the time she opened the door to the small, girly space.

"Wow," Murphy said. "So Bellamy did all of this, huh?"

"Well, he had some help from a guy at work," she said, "but yeah. He did it." Every morning, she just walked in there and looked around, feeling in awe of everything he'd made.

"The man, the myth, the legend . . . he strikes again," Murphy joked. "Is there anything that guy can't do?"

"Surfing, apparently."

Murphy panned his camera all around the room, collecting more footage. Clarke wondered what he would use and what would end up on the cutting room floor, so to speak. He zoomed in on the letters of Avery's name up on the wall, then turned around and walked over to the bookshelf to focus in on the titles there. And the shelves full of toys. There weren't many clothes hanging in the closet, though, since she was washing them.

"This is nice," Murphy remarked. "Very organized. I wonder how long it'll stay that way."

Clarke wasn't really listening to him. Her mind wandered as she stood next to the crib, gripping the side of it with both hands. She looked down into it at the pillows that said Mommy and Daddy. She'd have to take those out once Avery was born. Pillows could be dangerous for a little baby. She'd learned that in her class.

"Hey, you okay?"

She looked up at Murphy, or more precisely, at Murphy's camera. "What?" she asked.

"Are you crying?"

Was she? She wiped tears from beneath her eyes, unaware that they'd even been falling. But of course they had. Of course. "Pregnancy's an emotional thing, Murphy. I can cry at the drop of a hat these days," she said. "I was just thinking about how there's gonna be a baby in here soon, instead of just this empty space."

"Yeah, that's crazy," Murphy said. He hesitated a moment, but he never put his camera down before asking, "Can I ask you something?"

"That's the whole point of your documentary, isn't it?"

Again, he fell silent for a moment. But when he asked his question, it was . . . kind of a big one. "Are you scared?"

Oh, yeah, she thought. Terrified.

"I mean, life threw you this curve ball, and you didn't really have any choice but to accept it," he went on. "I mean . . . you had a choice, but . . . you know what I mean."

"Murphy . . ." She really didn't want to talk about that.

"I just wonder if the thought of being a mom scares you at all," he said simply, as though it were a simple question.

"Well, of course it does," she said. "I'm scared I'll feed her something she's allergic to or do something wrong with her car seat, or look away right when somebody comes up to snatch her up." There were so many things to be scared of, things she'd never feared before but would now worry about incessantly.

"I wonder if Bellamy's scared," Murphy pondered.

"Probably not." If he was, he hadn't let on. The closest he'd come to getting panicked about anything was making sure he'd gotten that hospital bag packed up the night after she'd had her Braxton Hicks incident.

"Yeah, I haven't known him as long as you have," Murphy said, "but . . . he seems like he's destined to be a really good father."

Tears sprang to her eyes again, so she blinked to hold them back. "Yeah," she said, looking away from the camera. "He is."

...

Bellamy caught up to his boss just as he was about to get in his car and drive off. "Hey, sir, can I talk to you?" he said.

Emerson dumped several rolls of floor plans into the passenger's seat and sighed. "Make it quick. Wife's got dinner waiting for me."

"Right." Clarke was probably eating her dinner without him, but he couldn't blame her for that. "I was just wondering if . . ." He tried to just launch in, tried to make it quick, but it wasn't exactly a quick conversation they needed to have. "I don't even know if I should be saying anything," he mumbled, really hoping he didn't get in trouble for this. He'd never had any qualms about getting in trouble in high school, but his adult life was different. "Look, I'm not trying to sound greedy," he said, "but . . ."

"Let me guess: You want a raise," Emerson cut in.

Bellamy breathed a sigh of relief, glad that his boss had vocalized it so he didn't have to. "Yeah."

"You and everybody else who works for this company," Emerson grumbled, "myself included."

Bellamy just nodded, waiting for him to say more. But when he didn't . . . it started to feel awkward. "Well, is there any possibility of it?" he asked. "Because I've been working here for a while now, and I think I've done a pretty good job." He noticed Emerson didn't agree or nod his head or anything, so that was kind of discouraging. "And also because I have a baby on the way, and an engagement ring to pay off," he added. "And a future mother-in-law I'm constantly trying to impress."

Emerson wasn't a warm and fuzzy type of guy, so it wasn't exactly surprising when he didn't look sympathetic in the slightest. "Look, Bellamy, some of these guys have been working here a lot longer than you have."

"I know. I know that." He wasn't trying to take away Roan's raise or anything like that. Roan needed the money just like he did. But Roan was also already making more. "I'd do whatever it takes," he said. "I can get some more training or work longer hours or . . ."

"Longer hours?" Emerson echoed. "When you have a newborn baby?"

Bellamy knew he couldn't commit to that. Especially in those first few weeks, Clarke was going to need his help. "Well, I can try," he amended.

Emerson shook his head. "That's not how it works."

Bellamy let out a heavy, disappointed exhale, figuring he should just cut his losses on this conversation. It hadn't gone the way he'd hoped at all. "Alright," he said. "Okay. I just wanted to explain my situation. I'm not trying to guilt-trip you or anything."

"No," Emerson said, "I think that's exactly what you're trying to do."

"I'm not," he insisted. Although . . . maybe he was. Just a little bit. "But if there ever is a promotion or a bonus on the table . . . can you at least consider me for it?"

Emerson only response was, "We'll talk about this next week, Blake. I need to go." And with that, he got into his car and shut the door, effectively putting an end to any further discussion.

Dammit, Bellamy thought, taking a few steps backward. He waved halfheartedly to Emerson, who ignored him as he drove out of the parking lot. At least he'd given Emerson something to think about over the weekend. Come Monday, maybe he'd be more . . . receptive.

Before he could head home, he had to stop at the jewelry store before it closed. Once there, he nearly emptied his wallet of cash and slid it across the counter. "This is all I've got this week," he said. "I was stupid and spent fifty bucks on a surfboard." It wasn't like he could take that back, either. The thrift store didn't offer returns.

"Well, you're making progress," the sales associate said, counting through his money.

He watched her sift through the twenties first, then the tens, then the fives, and he wondered why engagement rings were so expensive anyway. The cheaper ones looked like crap, so if any guy wanted to get their girl a nice one, they had to be willing to shell out some bucks.

"I'm just curious," he said, "at this rate, when am I gonna have this paid off?"

"Oh, probably about three more months," the saleswoman replied.

"Three months?" he shrieked. "How is that possible?"

"Well, the engraving alone adds on over a hundred dollars," she said. "And you did seem pretty dead-set on having that."

He sighed. Yeah, he had been. The engraving, the fact that he'd gone for the traditional diamond instead of a different gem like a sapphire or an emerald, and his insistence on a one karat diamond instead of a 0.9 karat diamond . . . it had all added up. Maybe it was this woman's fault. What was her name again? Sue? Yeah, Sue had talked him into the higher-priced stuff. She was just too good at her job.

"Three months won't cut it," he said. "I have to have it sooner. Isn't there any discount you could give me?"

"Not unless you opt for a cheaper ring," she said, "but yours has already been produced. The engraving makes it custom. I can't sell it to anyone else."

So what she was saying was that he was locked into paying for that one then, wasn't she? In a way, he didn't mind, because it really was the perfect ring for Clarke. The moment he'd seen it, he'd been able to imagine it on her finger. He just wished . . . he wished he made more money so he could buy her all the fancy stuff she'd had growing up. Clarke wasn't materialistic by any means, but sometimes he still worried he'd let her down. "I'll just get this one paid for," he decided, fumbling around in his pockets to see if he had any loose change. He found two nickels and handed them over. Ten cents less to pay next time.

When he left the store, he was feeling pretty down on himself. That ring was only about halfway paid off at this point, and there was no way he could pay the rest on his own before the baby was born. So although he hated having to do it, he took out his phone, swallowed his pride, and called the one person he knew he could rely on to help him out with this no matter what.

"Mom, it's me," he said after she answered cheerfully. "I need a favor."