Chapter 72
Football plays were a lot of X's, O's, and arrows. Bellamy had looked over and learned a countless amount of them in his time as a player, but he'd never been the one to come up with them before. As he started looking through the Rockets playbook, he realized that there were just too many. They needed to narrow it down to the plays that would work well for their team, polish and perfect those before they added on any trick plays.
He and Miller drew out each play on the whiteboard in his office. (It wasn't a big office by any means, but hell, none of the other coaches had gotten one.) They tweaked the plays to fit their team, to match the skills (and in some cases, lack thereof) of the guys they had out on the field. It wasn't easy.
"Maybe we're overthinking it here," Miller said, taking a step back from the board and rubbing his head. "Should we just have him run a slant route?"
"Do we have anyone who can run a slant route?" was Bellamy's response.
"Not well."
He sighed, feeling like his brain was melting. They'd been at this for hours, and they still had over half the playbook to work through. "Alright, I gotta sleep on this," he decided. "Let's come back tomorrow and think about it some more."
"Sounds good," Miller said. "You wanna go grab a drink or somethin'?"
He shook his head and grabbed his phone and keys off his desk. "Can't," he said. "Somewhere I gotta be." See, the thing was, he and Clarke had decided it was bath day for Avery, the first one that would consist of more than just getting wiped off with a washcloth. And he sure as hell wasn't gonna miss that.
They were both so excited to bathe her that they didn't waste any time once he got home. They got her flowery bathtub in the sink and put some water in it that was warm, but not too warm. From the second they set Avery down in the bathtub, she looked both confused and intrigued.
"Look at her!" Clarke exclaimed as she rubbed some special baby soap all over Avery's soft skin. "She's like, 'What're you doing, Mommy?'"
"Yeah, look at her face." He had to laugh at the expressions she was making. Not even quite four weeks old yet, and she was already making funny faces.
"I think she likes it," Clarke said.
"She doesn't know what to think." At least she hadn't cried, though. He'd watched a video on YouTube before falling asleep last night where a bath had led to a crying attack.
"It's your first bath, Avery," Clarke cooed.
"Well, technically, they gave her a sponge bath in the hospital," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but this is, like, her first real bath," Clarke said, drizzling water over the baby's chest and shoulders. "We should be filming this, shouldn't we?"
Bellamy reached into his pocket and took out his phone. "Where's Murphy when you need him?" he said, quickly starting a video. It was a tough balance figuring out when to record something and when to just set the phone down and be in the moment. He was glad he was recording when Avery started to splash a little bit, though, 'cause that was so fucking cute, and he needed to be able to watch that over and over again. She didn't have much coordination or control yet, but she was definitely interested in what that water felt like.
"What is it, Avery? Is that water? Do you like the water?" Clarke asked her in a high-pitched baby voice. Avery looked up at her and sort of wrinkled her forehead. Clarke laughed. "You're right, she doesn't know what to think."
He chuckled, too, prior to blurting, "She's so cool." And he meant that. Seriously, that little baby was the coolest person in the entire world to him.
Of course, Clarke was pretty damn cool, too, and he loved spending time with her. Even though a lot of their time together revolved around their daughter these days, there were still moments that he managed to find with her. And one of them was that night, after they'd put Avery down for bed. Clarke ventured into the bathroom, and he sat down on the foot of the bed, flipped on the TV, and channel surfed for a bit while he listened to the bathtub fill up. He was tired, of course, but he'd gotten used to being tired. So he didn't feel like lying down and going to sleep. He felt like being close to her. So he made the decision to shut the TV off, get up, and head into the bathroom.
"Hey," he said quietly, poking his head inside.
She had a silk robe on but had been in the process of taking it off. Her back was towards him.
"Need any help?" he asked.
"I got it," she said, but it was hard not to notice she pulled the robe back up over her shoulders and re-tied it around her waist as she turned to face him.
Slowly shuffling into the room, he decided to ask, "Can I join you?"
She hesitated for a moment before reminding him, "We still can't do anything."
"I know." He wasn't looking for sex. He just wanted . . . intimacy? Yeah, that was probably the right word for it.
"Bellamy . . ." She let out a small sigh as he stopped in front of her. "It's not that I don't want you to," she said. "I just . . . I'm still really self-conscious about the way I look."
"You look great," he assured her. He was trying to tell her that every day, multiple times a day.
"But I feel . . . different." She sort of cringed.
It wasn't the answer he'd wanted to hear, but he wasn't going to push or pressure her, so he nodded, respecting her decision. "Okay," he said. "Whenever you're ready." He leaned in, lowered his head close to her ear, and said quietly, "But for the record, I think every single inch of you is beautiful."
That caused her to draw in a shaky breath.
Whenever she's ready, he reminded himself. As much as he would have loved to have his hands all over her, he'd respect whatever she was feeling and whatever she wanted. So instead of trying to convince her further, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then turned to leave the bathroom.
"Bellamy," she said, stopping him before he left. When he turned back around, he saw a look of longing in her eyes, the same kind of longing he felt in the pit of his stomach. "Maybe I am ready," she said, smiling a bit. "For cuddling."
"It's fine, Clarke," he assured her. "I can wait."
"No," she said, reaching down to grip the tied part of her robe. "I do want you to join me."
God, he wanted to. More than anything in that moment, he wanted to get naked with her and crawl into that big old bathtub. "Are you sure?" he asked, giving her another chance to reconsider.
"Yeah," she said. And she sure as hell looked sure when she pulled open her robe and let it fall to the floor. She stood before him then, completely naked and completely vulnerable. And fucking breathtaking. No, she didn't look exactly the same as she had in high school, but she didn't need to. Her curves, her skin, her whole body . . . he was in awe of everything.
He got out of his clothes quickly, too, and enveloped her in his arms, kissing her and reveling in that skin to skin contact. They'd done plenty of cuddling these past couple weeks, but nothing quite like this. It was like he was really feeling her again, like she was really feeling him.
Once they got in the bathtub, it was even easier to relax. The water was warm, and she'd put some of her floral bubble bath in. Sure, he'd smell like a chick once he got out of there, but he didn't care. At least it smelled good. And she smelled good. She sat in front of him, in between his legs, leaning forward, and whenever he sat up to press a kiss to her shoulder blades of the back of her neck, he caught a whiff of the shampoo she'd used in her hair that morning. Her hair was getting longer again, gave him the chance to thread his fingers through it.
"Mmm, this feels nice," she purred as he rubbed her arms and back. "I think I'm enjoying my bath more than Avery enjoyed hers."
"I'm enjoying it," he said. He didn't even have to be touching the usual parts of her to get worked up. If she scooted back a bit, she'd probably feel the evidence of just how worked up he got just by having her naked body close to his. He'd have to stay in the tub a little bit longer than she did and rub one out, because . . . he didn't wanna be an ass and ask her to do it.
When she lay back, resting her head against his chest, he was pretty sure she had to feel what was happening to him underneath the water. She didn't say anything about it, though, which made it a little bit easier to ignore. "I can't wait to feel your hands all over me again," she said as her eyes fell shut.
"Good." He couldn't wait to have his hands all over her again. He was trying his best to read up on how to go about having sex with a woman after she had a baby, and he felt like . . . it'd be fine. Better than fine, actually. He was gonna make it really good for her.
"I feel like I could stay here with you all night," she said sleepily.
"We'd get shriveled," he pointed out. Plus, the water would get cold, eventually. If she fell asleep, he'd make sure to pick her up and carry her into the bedroom before it got too chilly.
"Mmm," she moaned again, sounding so content. So happy. "I love you, Bellamy," she whispered.
A similar feeling of contentedness washed over him, filling him with a different kind of warmth than that bath water did. "I love you, too."
...
The more days she spent at home, the more confident Clarke became in her mom routine. Sure, it got boring sometimes, and she would have loved to be able to go out more often. But Raven was working, and Harper was choreographing for an audition she had next month, so it wasn't like she and Avery would be of any assistance with things like that. Lexa had stopped by to visit, but only before heading off to spend the summer with Costia. Possibly more than just a summer. Clarke really doubted she'd come back to Arkadia after living with her girlfriend for the next few months. Octavia was spending a lot of her summer at the gym with Lincoln, and although Clarke wanted to do some working out, she didn't want to do it with other people around.
That pretty much left Murphy, who did pop in about every other day. He claimed it was because he was bored, too, but Clarke suspected Bellamy had asked him to check in on her and Avery every once in a while. Sometimes he sat and watched a little TV with her, and usually he grabbed a snack from the refrigerator on his way out.
For the most part, though, it was just her and Avery, and they had their routines. One of them was a 10:00 nap. For whatever reason, Avery always seemed to get sleepy around that time each day, so Clarke could bank on being able to put her down for a while, then head downstairs and eat brunch before catching a few Zzzzzs of her own.
"Alright, you get some sleep, baby girl," she whispered as she lay her infant down in her crib. "But not too much. You gotta sleep tonight." She stroked the fine, downy hairs on top of Avery's head, mumbling, "More than three hours at a time would be nice." Avery was still feeding at predictable intervals, and short ones at that. When the day finally came when she was able to sleep for more than a handful of hours at a time, Clarke was probably going to cry. Tears of absolute joy, of course.
As she left the nursery, turning the lights off, she glanced down at her phone to make sure the baby monitoring app was doing its job. Right when she tried to bring it up, however, her phone rang. It was her father calling. "Hi, Dad," she answered.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said. "How's it goin'?"
"Good." She gently pulled the door to the nursery shut, but not all the way. More like halfway. "I just put Avery down for a nap."
He chuckled. "I'm sure she's taking lots of those."
"Yeah, it's her favorite pastime." She yawned as she shuffled towards the stairs and admitted, "Mine, too, these days." If Murphy stopped by today, she'd watch some morning TV programs with him while she ate her brunch, but if he didn't, she was going to lie down on that couch and doze off while she could.
"I talked to your mom," her dad told her as she was heading downstairs. "She says you seem to be adjusting to motherhood pretty well."
Clarke smiled. Even though moms were practically obligated to say that, it made her feel good to get that compliment. "Yeah, I think so," she said, venturing into the kitchen. "No signs of post-partum depression, so that's a relief."
"I'm sure," he said. Then he hesitated a moment, and his voice was quieter, almost a bit farther away, as he said, "I always knew you'd be good at this."
Clarke froze with her hand on the refrigerator door, trying not to read too deeply into that. But it was hard not to.
...
Hands trembling, Clarke reached for the door to her father's office. When she pulled it open, he must have heard her, but he didn't even glance up from . . . whatever it was he was doing. Quite honestly, his whole job went way over her head, but he had a pile of papers in front of him and was looking through it while also looking at something on his computer.
"Dad?" she said quietly. "Can we talk?" They really needed to. Really needed to.
He did finally look up, but only for a second before returning to his work. "I'm kind of in the middle of something," he mumbled.
So was she. In the middle of something life-changing, actually. "I need to talk to you," she insisted.
He sighed frustratedly. "Can it wait thirty minutes?" he asked.
"No." She didn't feel like it could wait at all.
"I'm working, Clarke," he said. "If I don't get this paperwork done and sent out by midnight . . ."
"No, Dad, you don't understand," she interrupted urgently. "I'm thinking about having an abortion." The words felt like a knife slicing across her chest. But she'd said them. Out loud. To someone other than her mom.
That was enough to do it, to get her dad's full attention, to make him forget about whatever work he'd been trying to focus on. "What?" he gasped.
She didn't want to say it again, nor did she need to. "I told you we need to talk," she said.
He stared at her in disbelief for what felt like a long time, then stammered, "What—what do you mean you're thinking about . . ." He trailed off, shook his head as if he refused to believe her, and stubbornly muttered, "No. No."
Yes, she thought sadly. She was thinking about it. A lot.
Her dad's expression changed into one of anger very suddenly, and his voice rose in volume as he demanded, "Why would you even consider that?"
"Because." Maybe he couldn't understand because he was a man and he'd never gone through the experience of actually being pregnant. And maybe that was why her mom could. "Mom and I have been talking about it," she told him.
"Dammit," her father swore, shaking his head again. He stood up, walked around his desk, and came closer to her. "Clarke," he said, reaching out to grab her arms. He looked like he wanted to shake her, but he didn't. "Listen to me." His voice was stern. "You don't wanna have an abortion."
She blinked, trying to hold back her tears. "That's the thing, though. I do," she confessed. It wasn't fun to say by any means, but it was true, and the more she thought about it, the more she couldn't stop. "On some level . . . that's what I want," she said, her voice cracking as the mix of emotions inevitably bubbled up, closer to the surface. "I just want it to be done."
"It'll never be done," her dad told her. "It'll stick with you forever."
"You know what else would stick with me? A baby," she shot back. "A baby that needs to be fed and changed and looked after all the time. I'm too young to have a baby, Dad."
He finally let go of her arms, took a step back, and angrily crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, you weren't too young to have sex," he pointed out.
Part of her wanted to argue against that, because it wasn't sex that had been the problem. Her carelessness with it had been. "I made a mistake," she admitted. If she could have just gone back in time to that hotel room on her last night with Bellamy, she would have insisted he put a condom on instead of telling him to go without. Simple as that.
"And this would be another one," her dad said. "Another mistake. Mark my words."
"Maybe." She wasn't blind to that possibility. "But maybe not."
Her dad dragged his hands through his hair, exhaling heavily, looking like he just wanted to scream. But to his credit, he remained calm enough to just keep talking to her. "Why—why would you even consider this when you could put the baby up for adoption?" he asked. "Your mom and I would support that."
She gulped. "Bellamy wouldn't. Bellamy would wanna raise it. He never had a dad. He wouldn't just give his kid up. He'd be a dad." It wasn't like she could blame him for that, or even be mad about how he would react. Bellamy Blake was a good guy, a good man. Beneath all the quarterback bravado was this sensitive, loving guy who would never willingly part from his child.
"I could talk to him," he father offered.
"And say what?" she challenged. "You don't get it, Dad. You can't just talk to him. You can't—you can't fix this!" If it were that simple, she would have done it herself already. "Dad, if I have this baby, I ruin Bellamy's whole life. All his dreams and plans . . . they're just gone because of me. And the things you and Mom wanted for me, too, like going to med school . . ." Her bottom lip quivered as she shook her head. "I can't do that if I have a baby. Who are we kidding? I can't do anything."
"Clarke." Her dad swallowed hard, and even though he was trying to keep his tears inside just like she was, she saw that his eyes had begun to shimmer. "I need you to stop and think about this," he said. He sounded . . . desperate.
"What do you think I've been doing?" she said. "It's all I think about. It never stops." She wasn't an idiot; she knew that, even if she did have an abortion, she'd still think about it a lot. But not all the time. It wouldn't be so constant like this. "But if I just do this, then Bellamy never even has to know," she said, picturing the simplicity of such a secret. "No one does. Just you and me and Mom. We—we don't ever have to tell anybody." It would be so easy to just keep it to themselves. They were family, after all. They could trust each other. "You wouldn't tell, right, Daddy?" she pleaded, trying to appeal to him by calling him that. "You wouldn't tell anyone."
It looked like it physically pained him to assure her, "No, of course I wouldn't. But Clarke-"
"It could just be our secret. And we don't ever even have to talk about it again. We can just pretend it never happened," she said, talking herself into it more and more by the second. "Even if we still think about it, we don't have to talk about it, and that way, it's just done. It just over, and we all can all move on."
"Clarke . . ." Her dad began to cry, something she had rarely ever seen him do. And it broke her heart. "Please think about this, honey," he begged. "Please."
"No, I have." She hadn't gotten any sleep last night, because she'd just lain awake contemplating all the pros and cons, making mental maps of all these different paths in front of her and imagining where they could lead. "I've thought about it, and I feel bad, but I'm not ready to be a mom." Her own mother had been right all along, hadn't she? She just wasn't ready for this. "I wouldn't be a good one."
"You don't know that," her father said. "I think you'd be great."
"No, I wouldn't," she insisted. "I wouldn't." Great moms didn't even think about having abortions, did they? Great moms took pregnancy tests and were happy to see a positive result. "So I have to do this," she decided, picturing one path in front her now. Just one. "I have to get rid of this baby." With the decision made, she felt a newfound sense of conviction, and that was, in a strange sense, a relief. At least now she knew what she was going to do.
"Clarke!" he yelled after her as she turned and fled his office. But she didn't stop or even turn back around, because she knew he was going to try to get her to change her mind. But she wasn't going to. This was happening. No turning back now.
...
"You did always know," Clarke whispered into the phone.
"What?" her dad said.
"Oh, um . . . nothing," she said, pulling herself out of her thoughts. She yanked open the refrigerator and looked around inside, though she didn't feel quite as hungry anymore. Maybe brunch could wait an hour or two. It wouldn't throw her routine off too much.
Her dad must not have heard her clearly, because he went right ahead and asked, "So when do you think I'll get to see my granddaughter again?"
"Uh, pretty soon, probably," she said, closing the fridge. "You know, Bellamy's kind of busy with his new job, but . . . we can probably come visit next weekend or something. If we're up to it." She didn't want to commit to anything and then feel bad if they had to cancel.
"Sure," he said. "Or Alyssa and I could come visit you."
"Yeah, we'll play it by ear," she said. "Nothing has to be set in stone." She heard what sounded like a car pulling up out front, so she peered out the window, expecting it to be Murphy. But that wasn't Murphy's car. Murphy's was actually . . . nicer.
"You know I'm not into the Instagram or Twitter or anything like that," her dad was saying. "But Alyssa keeps showing me all the pictures and videos you've been posting. I saw the bath one. Must've watched it a dozen times."
"Yeah, me, too." She closed the kitchen blinds when she saw, of all people—of all people—Finn get out of the car. He had a cigarette in his mouth and a nervous look on his face. "Hey, Dad, I have to let you go," she said quickly. "Somebody's here."
"Oh, okay," he said. "Maybe we can talk later."
"Sure. Bye." She ended the call quickly and scurried into the living room to mute the television. Maybe she could just pretend not to be home? Would Finn actually fall for that?
Tiptoeing towards the front door, she leaned in close and looked through the peephole, watching as he came forward. He at least had the decency to put out his cigarette, but then for some reason, he tried to smooth out his hair before he knocked on the door, too. As though that would do him any favors or make him look any more impressive.
"Clarke?" he called. "Can I come in?"
No, she thought stubbornly. He had no reason to be there. Unfortunately, Avery made some sounds from upstairs, and they came through loud and clear over her phone. She wasn't sure whether Finn could hear anything from the other side of the door or not, but for some reason, that made her feel obligated to open the door. So, reluctantly, she did.
"What're you doing here?" she asked, standing in the doorway, trying to keep him from seeing anything inside. Sure, Avery wasn't downstairs, but one of her baby blankets was. Some of her toys were.
"Nice to see you, too, Clarke," he said sarcastically.
"What do you want?" She wasn't going to stand there and waste time. They were going to cut to the chase, even though she felt like she already knew why he was there.
He confirmed it when he answered, "To see my daughter. Or is that too much to ask?"
Is it? Clarke wondered. She wasn't sure. If only Bellamy had been there. He probably would have told Finn off. "She's sleeping," she told him, pocketing her phone just so he couldn't catch sight of her on the baby monitor.
"That's okay," he said.
Clarke frowned, narrowing her eyes at him, and pointedly reminded him, "She's not your daughter. I mean . . . it takes more than that." She was Bellamy's daughter. Everybody knew that.
"I just wanna see her," Finn said, sounding . . . remarkably sincere. "Can I come in?"
God, she felt so indecisive, like no matter what decision she made, it was going to be the wrong one. Part of her wanted to just slam that door in his face, but instead, she stepped aside and said, "Yeah." Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but . . . was it wrong? Whether she liked it or not, Finn was Avery's biological father. She wouldn't have even existed without him. "Look, I don't know what you're up to," she said, "but-"
"I'm not up to anything," he said. "There's a little girl in this world who's half me, and I've never even gotten to see her face to face. I've never gotten to hold her."
Because you haven't wanted to, she thought. But he was here now, so . . . maybe that was a lie.
"I came to the hospital, you know, right after she was born," he said. "Did Bellamy tell you that?"
"Yeah." She was glad she hadn't had to deal with him then. It'd been better to just be able to focus on Avery.
"And did he tell you he made me leave?"
She nodded. "Yep." She still supported that decision of his, and she wasn't going to let Finn make either her or him feel bad about it.
"And you were okay with that?"
She shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be? Bellamy's my partner in all of this."
Finn made a face, as if he had the audacity to be offended by that.
Starting to feel heated, she began lashing out a bit, because really, didn't he kind of deserve it? "He's the guy who's raising Avery. Not you," she told him. "Because you made it pretty damn clear you wanted nothing to do with us. Remember that? Remember when I told you I was pregnant and you told me to get an abortion?"
His eyebrows shot upward. "I would think you of all people would understand that."
Maybe she'd set herself up for a snide little comment like that, but that still didn't mean she had to just stand there and take it. "No. No, don't even try to act like it's the same thing," she growled. "I was sixteen. You're—what, twenty three now? You're supposed to be an adult, Finn."
"That's why I'm here." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a folded envelop and handed it over to her. "I wanted to give you this."
She felt like she didn't even have to open it to know what it was, but since it wasn't sealed, she reached in and pulled out a check. For one-hundred measly dollars. "Child support?" she grunted.
"Yeah. It's all I can afford right now."
A hundred bucks hardly covered anything. He had no idea how expensive babies even were, did he? "I don't want your money," she said, shoving it back at him, too proud to take what he had to offer.
"Please-"
"I don't need your money," she repeated, literally pressing the envelop against his chest. "We're doing fine."
He sadly took it back, folded the envelope again, and put it back in his pocket. "Then please . . . please just let me see her," he begged.
No, was her immediate, gut reaction. But she also found herself wondering, Should I? Maybe he wasn't really asking for much. Or maybe it was too much. She wasn't sure.
"I feel guilty," he admitted quietly. "I thought you'd understand that, too."
She winced inwardly. Despite knowing exactly what he was trying to do—playing on her own insecurities, using her own feelings against her—she felt herself giving in. "Just for a couple minutes," she said. This wasn't going to be some big, extended visit. She was just going to let him see her, and then he'd have to leave.
It felt so weird having Finn in her house, leading him upstairs, letting him in to Avery's nursery. He seemed out of place, like he just didn't belong there. Because he didn't. He looked awkward, walked with his hands in his pockets, and when she opened the door to the nursery, he looked shocked to see it for the first time. The last time he'd seen that room, it'd been empty.
"Wow," he said. "Who did all of this?"
"Bellamy," she replied. Who else?
Finn's attention didn't linger on his surroundings for long. Once he laid eyes on Avery in her crib, he walked right up to her and gazed down in awe. "That's her?" he said. "She's so small."
Clarke stood beside him, feeling protective of her little girl, even though it wasn't like Finn was going to do anything to hurt her. "She's normal-sized," she informed him. At her last doctor's appointment, they'd found out she was right within the average weight range.
Finn gripped the edge of her crib, his fingers moving slightly as if he wanted to reach down and touch her. "What color are her eyes?" he asked.
Of course he didn't know that. But Bellamy did. Bellamy had always known. "Blue," she told him. "Like mine." For some reason, it mattered to her that Avery had gotten that from her and not from him. It was too early to see what color her hair would end up being, but right now, what little was there was sort of a dirty blonde. Hopefully that didn't darken as time wore on. Because that would obviously have come from Finn. But Bellamy had dark hair, too, so . . . maybe they could just pretend.
"She's beautiful," Finn said, looking at her in awe. Genuine awe. She couldn't take that away from him. "Do you think she knows I'm here?"
What kind of question was that? She sure as hell hoped not. "I don't . . . I don't know," she answered unsurely.
Finn reached down to stroke her cheek with his thumb, and Clarke noticed that they had the same skin tone. The exact same. "Can I hold her?" he asked.
Oh, god. Her stomach clenched. Was that too much? Or maybe, if she let him do that, he'd have his fill of fatherhood for one lifetime and leave? "She just fell asleep," she told him, feeling powerless to stop it as he already had begun reaching down into the crib to pick her up, "so try not to wake her." In a way, it would have been great if he did, though, if Avery would just start crying and squirming and reaching out for her mom.
"Wow," Finn said, smiling as he held her. She was still and quiet. "Hi, sweetie," he said. "It's me. It's your dad."
No, it's not, Clarke thought in protest. She didn't want Avery to hear things like that and then think they were true.
"Sorry it took me so long to show up," he apologized to her. "I just wasn't sure . . ." He gulped, blinked away tears that were way too convincing to just be an act, and then said, "But I wanted to see you. Do you wanna see me?"
No, she doesn't, Clarke thought. But Avery must have had other ideas, because slowly, she opened her tired little eyes.
Finn practically gasped. "She's looking right at me," he said.
That meant she could see him. Clarke had done her fair share of reading and YouTube watching to know that babies could see details of faces at a month old, as long as they were close enough. Focusing was still hard, but they were already starting to be able to make out who was who. And Finn's face wasn't one she wanted Avery to see. This was starting to feel very wrong, and she felt compelled to put a stop to it. "I told you not to wake her up," she said. "Here, give her to me." She took her daughter back from him and held her close, head against her shoulder. "Now she'll probably wanna feed again," she said, even though she knew enough about their routine to know that that wouldn't be the case. "Look, I think you should just . . . you should just go," she told him.
Finn immediately started to whine. "But . . ."
"You wanted to see her, and you got to see her. Right?" That was probably already more than he deserved.
It took him a moment to suck it up and mutter, "Right." But at least he didn't put up too much of a fight. In fact, he actually respected her wishes and headed out. "Bye, Avery," he said as he left the nursery. He seemed reluctant to tear his eyes away from her, but eventually he did.
Clarke stood there with her baby, holding her and patting her back while she listened to Finn's footsteps as he walked downstairs. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard that front door open and then close again, then pushed the curtains aside and peeked out just long enough to see him driving off. She'd expected to feel an overwhelming sense of relief once he was gone, but he didn't. In fact, she still felt tense. Probably because this wasn't over. Sure, Finn had left, but now she had to do something she really didn't want to do. She had to tell Bellamy he'd been there.
...
Napping wasn't an option. Nope. Not after what had happened that morning. Clarke dwelled on it, to the point, even, where she thought about calling Bellamy and asking him to come home early. But she refrained, because she knew he'd scheduled a long practice with the team. He'd said it was going to be a grueling but important one, and she didn't want to interrupt. So she went through her normal routine with Avery, minus the naps on her end, and waited not so patiently for him to get home.
When he walked in the front door, she was right there, ready to spill her guts about everything. "Hey," he said, giving her a quick kiss.
"Hey." Go for it, she told herself. She'd rehearsed it several times today, thought about how she could tell him what had happened without upsetting him too much. Hopefully.
"How was your day?" he asked her as he stepped out of his shoes.
"Good," she said, even though that wasn't completely true. "It was . . . good." The temptation to just not say anything was so strong. After all, she was used to keeping a secret.
"How's Avery?" he asked. It never took him long to ask about her.
"She's fine," Clarke said, wishing she'd gone and woken her up so that she, too, could greet her daddy as he walked in the door. "She missed you," she made sure to add. Because it felt important to say that.
"I missed her," he said. Wandering into the kitchen, he started telling her about how practice had gone, but she was only halfway listening. "Came up with some new plays today, though," he said. "Now we just gotta see if the guys can handle 'em."
You have to tell him, she reminded herself. Another secret wouldn't help anything.
"You know, it's like they just expect to lose. Like they're resigned to it," Bellamy grabbed a carton of milk out of the fridge. As he poured himself a glass, he continued, "And when they walk into a game with that kind of mentality, all defeated and shit, no wonder they can't even put up a fight. Back when I was playing, we always-"
"Bellamy, I need to tell you something," she cut in, knowing that, if she let him talk for too long, she'd lose her nerve and just end up having to tell him later. And the longer she waited, the shadier it seemed.
He immediately looked . . . alert. But he stayed relatively calm as he put the milk back in the fridge and closed it. "Okay," he said. "What is it?"
Oh, you're not gonna like it, she thought, cringing inwardly. But he had to know. "Finn came by today," she blurted out.
Bellamy expression changed into one of surprise. "Oh, really?" he said. But he still didn't sound worked up. "Why?"
He must have already known. It had to be obvious. But maybe he didn't quite want to believe it. "To see Avery," she replied.
He fell silent for a moment, looked down at the floor, then slowly looked back up and met her eyes. "Did you let him?"
Oh, god. She sort of wished she had just slammed the door in his face. But then he probably just would have come back tomorrow or the day after, and that would have been just as stressful. "Well, I wasn't going to," she said. "But then I just felt . . . bad for some reason. I felt like I had to let him see her."
He didn't say anything, but she saw something flash through his eyes. Just for a second or two. He looked worried.
"It was only for a few minutes. Like two, maybe," she tried to reassure him. "She was sleeping, so he just watched her for a minute and then held her and . . ." She stopped abruptly when she noticed him avert his eyes upon hearing that. She knew that he had to be picturing it in that moment, Finn holding Avery, her being in his hands. "And then I told him he had to leave. That was it," she said. And that really was it. No secrecy, no lies. She wanted to be totally and completely honest and upfront with him about everything. "Oh, and he tried to pay child support," she tacked on, "but I told him we don't need it."
Bellamy nodded slowly, as if he was taking everything in, then said, "Good."
She needed more than that, though. She needed him to say more. "Are you mad at me?" she questioned.
"No," he answered quickly, much to her relief. "Why would I be mad?"
"Well, because you turned him away at the hospital," she reminded him. Not that he probably needed a reminder.
"Yeah. And you said you trusted me to make that decision," he recalled. "So I trust you, too."
She let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, and all the nervousness that had accumulated throughout the day started to dissipate. "But if you're upset, we can still talk about it," she told him. If they needed to have a serious conversation, that was totally understandable.
"It's fine, babe," he assured her. "You don't have to worry. I'm not mad."
He seemed a little tense, maybe caught off guard, but . . . yeah, he definitely wasn't mad. And that definitely made her relax a little. "Okay," she said. "Good. That's a relief." She'd probably wasted her whole day getting all worked up when she hadn't needed to. "And maybe now that he's seen her, he won't come by anymore. Got it out of his system."
"Yeah," Bellamy agreed. He took a look at the glass of milk he'd just poured for himself, made a bit of a face, then said, "You know, it was really hot out today, and I had to demo some plays, so I think I might go take a shower."
"Alright. I can get dinner ready," she offered.
"Sounds good." He eased past her, giving her shoulder a supportive squeeze, and that one, simple touch made her feel so much better. About everything. If he'd wanted to, he could have gotten angry at her for inviting Finn in today without talking to him about it first, for letting him see and hold Avery. But he trusted her, even after she'd kept something life-altering from him for years. And he loved her. A lot.
Clarke fully intended to whip up something tasty—or at least as tasty as she could manage—but as she was searching through her cabinets for ingredients to make something, she kept waiting to hear the shower start upstairs. And she never did. Either Bellamy was taking a while to get out of his clothes, or he'd gotten sidetracked. She had a feeling it was the latter, and she also had a feeling she knew exactly what, or rather who, had sidetracked him.
Deciding that dinner could wait, Clarke walked upstairs quietly and went to the nursery. The door was open, and the light was on, and when she looked in there, she saw that Bellamy was holding Avery, who had woken up and was smiling up at him while he smiled down at her.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, holding her close to his chest. "Yeah, Daddy's home."
Clarke felt tears sting her eyes. Mostly the happy kind. Even if Finn hadn't stopped by today, Bellamy probably would have made a pit-stop at Avery's crib before jumping into the shower. He loved spending time with her. But today, seeing him hold her felt even more significant, even more poignant. It just looked so . . . right. Meant to be. Avery and her dad. Her one and only.
