Chapter 85

The sun blazed down on Bellamy as he crossed the track and stepped out onto the field with a football in hand The grass looked freshly-mown, perfect to play on. Or to practice on, as his team would be doing when they showed up in half an hour. If they were late, their conditioning drills intensified, but even knowing that, Bellamy fully anticipated at least one of them to show up five minutes after the time he was supposed to. The guys just weren't disciplined players, and he was trying to change that.

Bellamy smoothed his hand over the ball and extended his fingers over the laces, getting that familiar grip on it. It was harder than people thought, holding the football with the exact proper technique so that it would sail through the air on a throw. If it rested even a fraction of an inch too close to the palm of his hand, then the whole throw would get fucked up. Imagining that he was back out on that field as a player, underneath what had, at the time, felt like such bright, important lights, he lifted the ball up to chest level, then heaved it downfield. At nothing. At no one. He watched it land and roll towards the end zone, stopping just short.

He hadn't even realized he was no longer alone out there until he heard Miller come up behind him. "You know, if you wanna make that play," his friend said as he sauntered his way, "it helps to have a wide receiver."

"Then where's Zeke Shaw when you need him?" Bellamy wondered.

"Albuquerque, last I heard," Miller replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Bellamy tried to recall if Zeke had any family out that way, or any reason to have moved there, but he couldn't quite remember. "What's he doin' out there?"

"Living with some girl he met online," Miller said with a shrug.

"Ah." That made sense then. Bellamy walked over to pick up the football, once again gripping it around its side. "You know what's funny?" he said. "Back in the day, we all used to think Zeke and Raven were the couple who was gonna make it. Nobody thought it'd be me and Clarke. But look at us now. She's Mrs. Blake."

Miller smiled at him, then teasingly asked, "Did Mrs. Blake enjoy her honeymoon?"

"Oh, yeah." Bellamy grinned. "I made sure of it." The proof was still on their bodies. He had some fingernail marks on his back that were only now starting to fade, and Clarke had told him this morning that she was still pleasantly sore.

"It's good to have you back, though," Miller said.

"Feels weird. I got used to being lazy," he admitted. "How's the team doing, though? Made any progress?"

Miller sighed disappointedly. "Minimal. They listen to you more than me, though. We'll get more done now that you're back."

Bellamy nodded, figuring as much. Miller had been a good assistant coach, but sometimes the guys didn't push themselves as hard when he was the one supervising them at weights or during practice. "I might have to miss a few days coming up," Bellamy told his friend, just so he knew what would be coming. "I got some stuff I gotta take care of sooner than later."

"What kind of stuff?" Miller asked.

Looking down at the green grass and the faded ten yard line still painted on it,, Bellamy mumbled, "Avery. Adoption stuff." He didn't wanna go into detail, because to be honest, it freaked him out to even think about it and everything that could go wrong.

"Oh. Well, yeah, of course that should be your priority," Miller said. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help, alright?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Bellamy didn't feel like talking about any of that, so he motioned for his friend to run down the field so he could pass him the ball. Didn't matter if he'd never actually played as a receiver. They just needed to relax, throw that ball around, and feel like they were young again.

...

Coming home from California when she did turned out to be perfect timing for Clarke, because there was someone who ended up responding to one of the fliers she'd posted about music lessons. Madi was a young girl—probably about thirteen or fourteen—who lived a couple blocks down the street, and she wanted to learn how to play the piano. Clarke was definitely better on the guitar, but when Madi stopped by for a visit, she faked her confidence on the piano and acted like she was a little more knowledgeable about it than she actually was. She figured she could learn more about it as she was teaching.

"It's gonna be really fun," Clarke assured Madi as the young girl was getting ready to leave. "I promise."

Whether Madi was just being a typical moody teenager or in fact really didn't want to be there was a bit of a mystery, but the girl hadn't shown an ounce of enthusiasm at all during the visit. In fact, she walked with slumped shoulders and a frown on her face.

The front door opened, and in came Bellamy, who immediately looked confused to see a teenage girl in their living room. "Hey," he said. "When did we have another kid?"

Clarke laughed a little and introduced them. "Bellamy, this is Madi. She's my first music student."

"Not by choice," Madi added.

"Her mom got her a keyboard for her birthday," Clarke elaborated.

"Yep," Madi grumbled. "And now she wants to live out her dream of playing the piano through me."

Parents living vicariously through a kid? Clarke totally sympathized with that. Hell, that was something she'd been dealing with up until recently when she'd decided not to pursue a career in medicine. "I'm trying to get her to have a more positive attitude," she said, hoping that, after a few lessons, Madi might actually find something about piano-playing that she actually enjoyed.

"Hey, you got a good teacher," Bellamy told her, stepping out of his shoes and kicking them aside at the door. "Trust me, she's pretty cool."

Madi gave Clarke a skeptical look and asked, "Are you?"

"Yeah." Clarke put her hands on her hips and said, "I'm twenty-two. I'm young, I'm hip."

"Do you have Tik Tok?" Madi asked.

"No."

"Then you're not that cool."

Clarke huffed and through her hands in the air. "I have Instagram! Isn't that enough? Bellamy doesn't have Instagram."

"But Bellamy's still cool," Madi said. "Look at his beard."

Bellamy grinned smugly and headed into the kitchen. "I like her."

For the first time since she'd been there, Madi actually cracked a smile. "Relax. I'm just kidding," she said, reaching for the door. "Kind of. I'll see you next week, Clarke."

"Bye." Clarke closed the door after she was gone, deciding to take the teasing in stride. She probably wasn't as cool as Bellamy, even with her Instagram.

"Funny kid," Bellamy said as he opened up the fridge and peered inside.

"She's feisty," Clarke remarked. "I think I can rope her into being a babysitter sometimes."

"Only if she's responsible," Bellamy said, taking a beer out of the refrigerator. "And CPR-certified."

"Are you CPR-certified?" Clarke challenged.

"No. But I could do CPR if I had to," he claimed.

"Well, if we ever need a babysitter and no one else is available, it's not bad to have another option," she said, swaying towards him. She slid her hands up his chest, draped her arms over his shoulders, and kissed him. "Mmm, how was your first day back?"

"Good," he said, setting his drink down on the counter so he could wrap his arms around her waist. "Better now."

"My day was good, too," she said. "I'm so happy I finally have a student."

"Me, too. But you know, Clarke, you don't have to worry about working," he said. "I can support us. We'll be okay."

"But I wanna work," she said. "I mean, okay, I'm not gonna end up being a doctor, but I can still do something." As rewarding and fulfilling as it was to be doing the mom thing, she needed other responsibilities in her life, too, to help keep her same. "I wanna do something," she said, hoping that this new venture would be something worthwhile.

...

"We have to do something. This has to change." Clarke tried to speak as passionately and strongly as she could, because she had very passionate, strong opinions on the issue at hand, and she wanted the rest of the student council to back her up on what she was proposing to them. "Sexual harassment at this school is a serious problem, and it's only getting worse," she said. "How many of us have been the victims of it? How many of us have been too scared or embarrassed to say anything?"

Nobody said anything or even nodded in agreement, but they had to be thinking back to things, recalling little incidents here and there, or perhaps even bigger ones.

"It happens on a daily basis, sometimes right under our noses, and the school isn't doing enough to address it," Clarke went on. "So here's what I propose: An anonymous online reporting system." She used the clicker in her hand to progress to the next slide in her presentation, which was a screenshot of a very important page that already existed on the school website. "We already have a link people can go to to report bullying," she said, "right there on the homepage. Whenever anyone sees anything, if they don't feel comfortable telling someone face to face, they just get on here, fill this out, and the administrators get the information in an email. Now imagine how many more inappropriate sexual encounters would get reported if people had a way to do it anonymously." It seemed like a simple and obvious solution to her, so obvious that she was surprised the school hadn't already implemented it. But sexual assault was a touchier subject than bullying, it seemed. For whatever reason. "It's not asking much of the school, especially not when it could prevent someone from being assaulted or raped."

Thank God Wells was there, because he was nodding in agreement. Everyone else was just kind of sitting there staring blankly ahead. Even hearing the word rape didn't get a reaction.

"Because that's what we're looking at here, people," Clarke continued, hoping that they were just taking it all in rather than spacing out on her. "If something doesn't change, it's just gonna get worse. That's why we have to do something." She waited a few seconds, hoping to see some other heads start to nod, but none did, so she clicked on to her next slide, which showed a screenshot of the homepage for petitions. "We might also think about gathering up signatures," she proposed. "You know, people who support our initiative. We could do that online, or on paper, or maybe even a combination of both. Online's definitely easier and less time-consuming, but maybe seeing all sorts of handwritten names might really make the administration realize how many people are concerned about this."

Finally, someone else spoke up, but it was the one person on the student council whose opinion Clarke had no real interest in hearing. Josephine was just a sophomore, but she acted like she was a senior and had a bad habit of thinking she was better than everyone else. "Are people concerned, though?" she challenged.

"Yes." Clarke was stunned by the sheer stupidity of that question. "And if they're not, they should be."

Josephine just rolled her eyes.

"Eight out of ten students experience sexual harassment in schools," Clarke said, glad she'd done her research. "And it's not just girls, either. Boys deal with it, too. Kids even in elementary school deal with so much more than they should ever have to. Which is why the last part of my approach centers on education." She skipped forward a few slides, sensing that she was losing the interest of her less-than-captive audience. "Currently, our school has no curriculum in place for educating kids on sexual assault and harassment. If we could implement something, say at the junior high level, imagine how beneficial that could be. These kids could come into high school with a different mindset already in place. They would already know what's appropriate and what's not. Maybe high schoolers like us could even be the ones to teach them about it."

Josephine snorted out a laugh and said, "Yeah, good luck getting that through the PTA."

"What?"

"I'm just saying, do you really think parents are gonna agree to let a bunch of teenagers talk to their kids about sex?"

She frowned, fed up with the negative attitude she was getting from that girl. "It's not sex; it's-"

"Sexual harassment," Josephine cut in. "Yeah, we heard you the first time. But face it, Clarke: You're not exactly the ideal role model for impressionable youth."

The sudden and not-at-all subtle jab wasn't something Clarke had anticipated. Although, in this school, maybe she should have. "This isn't about me," she said, trying to stay focused on the actual issue.

"Sure it is," Josephine said. "That's why you called this meeting. You're upset because someone sexted you. Big deal. In fact, maybe you should take it as a compliment. I mean, you're not exactly looking like the prom princess this year."

As hard as she tried not to react to that . . . it was hard not to. Clarke felt the obviousness of her hurt feelings crash all over her face. "Look, Josephine, I don't—I don't care what you think about me," she stammered, struggling to retain her composure in the face of such a personal attack. "I just wanna do something about this problem."

"If you're the only one who thinks it's a problem, then maybe you're the problem," Josephine said.

"She's not the only one," Wells said, rising from his seat. He came up to the front of the classroom to stand next to Clarke, a show of support and solidarity that suddenly felt very, very vital. "I think we need to do something about it, too."

"Of course you do," Josephine said, twirling her hair around her finger flippantly. "But I don't. So I'm leaving. And anyone else who thinks Clarke's overreacting to a harmless little dick pic can come with me." She made a big show out of getting up and walking out of the classroom, and the sad thing was . . . everyone else on the student council went with her. Freshmen to seniors. Guys and girls. They all just got up and left. And Clarke was shocked. She hadn't expected such opposition. It just seemed so obvious to her that they had a serious issue to deal with, and none of her ideas were asking for too much time or even effort. They were simple solutions to a rampant problem, but . . . apparently no one cared. Besides Wells, anyway, who stayed there with her and didn't say anything.

Clarke felt utterly discouraged, to the point where she wanted to cry. She held her tears in, though, and grumbled, "God, how does a girl like that ever get on student council?"

"People are afraid of her, so they voted for her," Wells reasoned. "Hey, don't listen to her, Clarke. This matters, and people will care about it. She just doesn't wanna face the facts, 'cause she and Dax are hooking up now."

"What?" If that was true, that explained part of the hostility. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. You didn't know?"

"No. I've been kind of out of the loop this year."

"I've noticed."

Dax and Josephine . . . that was a truly terrifying combination. Not just because they were both crappy people, but because . . . Dax was a senior, and Josephine was probably going to get caught up in something even she didn't deserve. Dax wasn't one of the good senior guys. Not like Bellamy had been.

"This is the first thing I've been truly passionate about in a long time," Clarke said sadly, clicking a button to shut off the projector so that her failed presentation was no longer staring her in the face. "And it's not gonna amount to anything."

"Sure it is," Wells said, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. "You have good ideas, lots of them, and I'll help you."

Could they really do this on their own, though? There were sixteen people on student council, and here they were, just a lonely two.

Wells must not have dealt with much crap in his life, because he still had this unwavering optimism and faith that something could be done. "I promise you, Clarke," he said, "we'll do something good here."

He sounded so certain, and she wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him, because she really, really needed something good.

...

Bellamy rubbed Clarke's back and said, almost apologetically, "I didn't mean to sound like some old-fashioned guy. I don't have to be the breadwinner."

"Oh, no, you're definitely winning the bread," she assured him. Her contributions to their household income were going to be minimal for the foreseeable future. Even when she did accumulate more students, it wasn't like she could charge an arm and a leg for lessons.

"Not really," he said. "I'm a high school football coach."

"And I'm a piano teacher of one. And I don't even know if I can teach," she said, starting to worry a bit. "I can play, but . . ." She'd never even actually taken lessons herself. She'd taught herself most of what she knew, and singing had always been something that had just come naturally.

"Well, teach me something," Bellamy told her. "I need another piano lesson."

"Right now?"

"Yeah." Lovingly, he stroked her cheek and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. "Let's see what you got."

She knew for a fact that he had no interest in the piano, so him volunteering to learn a little something was utterly adorable to her. She took him up on the offer, too, and brought him upstairs to try to teach him a few simple things. Just some basic notes that could combine together to form basic melodies. She showed him how to position his hands on the keys and took extra delight in seeing his wedding ring on the left ring finger. He definitely noticed hers, too, because as she was demonstrating which keys to press down, he reached over and traced his fingers over her wedding band and engagement ring, which she still had to get connected together. She was going to wear both of them for the rest of her life.

...

Back when he had taken the job as football coach, Bellamy had anticipated that he'd have to put his foot down with some of the guys. Athletes weren't exactly well-known for being the best-behaved teenagers of all time. He knew a lot of them were spending every other night this summer getting drunk, and there was nothing he could do about it. But when their drinking caused them to do something so stupid that the cops ended up having to punish them for it, Bellamy felt like, not only could he do something, he had to do something.

Two of his linemen sulked up to him at practice and told him all about what trouble they'd gotten into over the weekend, and Bellamy made them be the water boys for practice instead of actually practicing. They hated every second of it, which was the goal, and looked like they couldn't wait to get out of there and go home. But instead of letting them go, Bellamy told them to get in his car, and he drove them to Kane's community center, where he was sure there had to be something wholesome going on that could set these two idiots straight.

"Hey, Kane," he said when he walked in with the wannabe hoodlums in tow.

"Hey." Kane left a room full of kids with their faces buried in books and approached him with a semi-tired smile. "How's my favorite son-in-law? Do I get to call you that, even though Clarke's not my stepdaughter yet?"

"Yeah, I think you do." Bellamy looked past him at the kids, noting that most of them were young, but there were a few who looked old enough to be in junior high who were reading to the younger ones.

"So how are you?" Kane asked again.

"Good, good. Better than these two," he answered, motioning to his players. "This is Ben and Dalton. Two starters on my team who might not be starters anymore. They decided it'd be fun to go out last night and vandalize some cars. But they ratted each other out, so now they got all this community service to do to learn the error of their ways."

Kane nodded. "Ah, I see."

"So I was wondering if they might be able to volunteer here, maybe find out what it feels like to be an actual good role model for a change."

Kane surveyed the two linemen briefly, then agreed to it. "Sure. We've got our summer reading program going on right now. Go ahead and jump right in."

Ben and Dalton exchanged unenthused glances with each other, then slumped into the reading room. All the kids looked at them as though they were giants, and one little boy ran right up to Dalton and threw his book at him.

"They look thrilled to be here," Kane remarked sarcastically.

"They could be in a lot worse places." Bellamy knew that they both had pretty well-off parents who were capable of keeping this off their records. The community service was a slap on the wrist.

"Yeah, they got off easy," Kane agreed. "How old are those guys?"

"Sixteen. Juniors."

"So you're not that much older than them then."

Bellamy grunted. "Old enough to make 'em scared of me. You should've seen their faces when they walked into practice and told me what was goin' on. They knew I was gonna chew them out. And I did."

"Well, that's what they need sometimes."

"Yep." Bellamy shook his head at their utter cluelessness as they sat down with the little kids and stared at the books as though they didn't know how to read them. Hell, they didn't even have dyslexia as an excuse. They were just lazy. "I don't get it," he said. "Why just go out and cause trouble? I mean, I wasn't a saint when I was their age, but all I wanted to do was get laid and party. I wasn't vandalizing shit and having to do community service for it."

"You had a goal you were working towards," Kane reasoned. "College. Football scholarship. They don't have that."

"Yeah, none of my guys are gettin' any scholarships this year." Hopefully in another year or two, they'd be a much better team, and scouts would catch word that there was some actual talent in Arkadia again. There were definitely some decent guys on his team who needed sports if they were going to make it onto college. Just like he had. "They're really bad, Kane," he lamented. "It's sad to see, but the team's gone so downhill."

"Well, I never went to any games back when you were in high school," Kane said, "but from everything I've heard, that was inevitable after you left. I'm sure you can turn it around, though."

Bellamy shook his head, doubtful. "I don't know." He had plenty of ideas for how to help them improve, but he didn't feel like he had the time or energy to implement them yet. "I can't really focus on them right now, 'cause . . . there's more important stuff to focus on," he mumbled.

"Well, sure. You're still a new dad."

"Not legally." He sighed, wishing there was a way to fast-forward through the next few weeks or months or . . . however long it took to make Avery officially his. Waiting was torture. The longer it took, the more he worried. "So that lawyer friend you have . . . you're sure he can't meet up with us until Wednesday?" he asked quietly.

"He's on vacation until then."

Damn. Having just gone on his honeymoon, he respected a person's right to just get away for a while, but . . . Wednesday felt too far away. "But he's a good lawyer?" he asked, seeking any reassurance he could get. "He knows what he's doing?"

"Yes. He's handled lots of adoption cases."

In the back of his mind, Bellamy kept trying to tell himself that this lawyer, whose name he couldn't remember, had probably handled plenty of adoption cases that were messier and more complicated than this one. There were some truly fucked up families out there, but thankfully, his wasn't one of them. And they wouldn't ever be, because once the adoption was finalized, Avery was his daughter in every sense of the word, and that was all there was to it.

Folding his arms over his chest, he lowered his voice and pondered, "You know, I was thinking . . . do we have to tell Finn about all this? I mean, I know it's the law to inform him, but we've already done that, so . . ." He trailed off, wondering if Kane even knew the answer to his questions, or if this was something only a lawyer could answer. "Can't we just go ahead and get this all done as soon as possible?"

Kane sort of . . . cringed. Which wasn't a good sign. "Bellamy, I know you're nervous, but it's important to include him in this whole process. And I think he's a lot less likely to oppose the adoption if he feels like his voice is being heard and respected. Communication's key. If you don't include him now, he could cause problems down the line. Nobody wants that."

No, nobody wanted that, but Bellamy didn't know how to communicate with a guy whose voice and opinion he, quite frankly, didn't respect at all. He hadn't done anything to even deserve to be included in any of this. Still, though, as much as he hated to have to suck it up and admit it, Bellamy knew Kane was right. It was good to have someone more rational and level-headed who could keep him in check about all of this. "Thanks, Kane, for everything," he said. "You've been a big help. See, it's good that Avery has grandparents like you and Abby and Jake. And my mom. She's a good grandparent, too. Finn can't give her that. Not that that's his fault or anything, but . . ." He wasn't really sure what he was trying to say, so he just muttered, "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Kane said. "She's got a good family."

"Yep." Two parents who loved her, grandparents who loved to babysit, and more aunts and uncles than she'd be able to count for years. It was a damn good family, one that he was determined to make sure Finn Collins was never part of.