The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Chapter 209: Fussy Pregnant Ella

MAX’S POV

I don’t know how it came to this.

One minute Dylan and I were knocking on Ella’s door with a care package full of her favorite chocolate, biscuits, fruits, and some neutral-colored baby clothes that cost more than my last two paychecks combined. The next, we were in the park with a very pregnant Ella who had planted herself like a royal tree on a bench and was now refusing—refusing—to move.

"I’m not walking back," she said, her arms folded across her very round belly like a queen on a throne. "You want me to walk back with a watermelon strapped to my gut? Not happening."

"It’s not a watermelon," Dylan mumbled, crouching in front of her like he was trying to negotiate with a bomb. "It’s a baby. A cute baby. Possibly the future king."

Ella raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. "Then carry your future king back to the car, Dylan."

Dylan looked at me like I might have a better idea.

I did not.

"Ella," I tried, crouching beside Dylan. "Jason’s gonna kill us. He told us to keep you safe, not exhaust you. If he comes back from that business meeting and finds out his pregnant wife was stranded in a park with two idiots—"

"Stranded?" she cut in sharply. "Who asked you two to drag me out here like I’m some kind of health experiment?"

"Hey, you liked the fruit platter," I pointed out. "You said so yourself."

"That was before my feet started swelling, Max!" she barked.

I shot Dylan a look. "She’s using our names. That’s not good."

Dylan nodded grimly. "Not good at all."

And as if fate had a sense of humor, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Jason.

I went pale.

Ella saw the color drain from my face and smiled. Smiled.

Oh, she was enjoying this. She was absolutely enjoying this.

I answered the call. "Hey, bro! What’s up?"

"Checking in," Jason’s calm, too-calm voice came through. "Everything good?"

"Peachy," I said, voice an octave too high. "The queen is happy. Feet up. Relaxed. We’re, uh, on our way home soon."

I felt Ella’s foot nudge my knee and glared at her. She smirked. Evil woman.

"You better not be tiring her out," Jason warned. "She gets backaches and won’t sleep, which means I won’t sleep."

"We’re not, I swear. We even brought snacks!"

"You bribed her, didn’t you."

There was no point lying. "Yes."

Jason sighed. "Get her home. Call me when you do."

I hung up and groaned. "We’re dead."

"We’re already ghosts," Dylan muttered. "She’s gonna haunt us before Jason gets the chance."

"Ella," I pleaded, turning back to her. "Taxi’s waiting at the gate. It’s not allowed in. We have to walk. Just to the entrance. I’ll carry all the bags. Hell, I’ll carry Dylan too if it helps."

Dylan scowled. "I’m not a damn puppy."

"YOU made her walk two extra laps around the park because of that ’exercise is good for the baby’ crap!" I snapped.

Ella pointed at Dylan accusingly. "He did. He even brought up some article about fetal circulation!"

"I was trying to help!"

"Now help me walk to the car, because if I move on my own, someone’s foot is getting crushed."

Dylan turned to me. "We’re not getting out of this alive."

"Wait!" I said, suddenly remembering. I reached into one of the tote bags and pulled out a shiny package.

Her eyes lit up.

"Kinder Bueno," I said dramatically. "Imported. Melted slightly but still elite."

She snatched it like a woman starved, then narrowed her eyes. "One bar for fifteen steps."

I blinked. "You’re negotiating?"

"I’m hormonal, not stupid."

I turned to Dylan. "We’re negotiating with a snack demon."

"Two bars for thirty steps," Dylan added helpfully.

She considered. "Fine. But you carry all the baby stuff. All of it."

We loaded Dylan like a pregnant pack mule and Ella finally stood with a theatrical groan. "God, I’m going to walk like a penguin. My ankles hate me."

"They’re gonna hate me more when Jason hears this," I muttered.

We started the journey to the park gate, which might as well have been Mount Everest the way Ella huffed and puffed. She stopped every twenty feet to complain.

"Water break."

"Rest stop."

"I need a pep talk."

"I hate both of you."

Each pause was accompanied by a snack handout. We were losing supplies faster than a sinking ship.

Finally, as the gate came into view, she froze again. "Nope."

"What do you mean nope?" Dylan asked, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

She sat on a park trash bin lid like it was a chaise lounge. "I’m staging a protest."

"Ella," I said weakly. "We’re so close."

"I want fried chicken."

"I’ll get you fried chicken!"

"With chips. And a strawberry milkshake. And I want Jason to rub my back."

I looked to the sky. "God, if you’re listening, I’m sorry for every stupid thing I’ve done."

"She’s hormonal," Dylan said under his breath. "This is above our pay grade."

I was about to offer to carry her when her eyes suddenly widened. Her hands shot to her belly.

"What? What happened?" I panicked.

Then she gasped.

"He kicked."

The world froze.

"He what?"

She smiled—really smiled—for the first time since we got here. "The baby kicked. Oh my god... he kicked."

Dylan dropped the bags. "Let me feel!"

She grabbed his hand, placed it on the bump. Then mine.

It was like a tiny flutter, like popcorn under skin.

I blinked. "He really kicked."

"I told you he was angry," Ella said, grinning. "Probably kicking you two for dragging me on a cardio mission."

Despite the sweat, the panic, the exhaustion—we were smiling. All of us.

"Okay," Ella said finally, pushing herself up with effort. "Let’s get home. Before I give birth on a bench."

"Don’t joke like that," Dylan said in a terrified whisper.

By the time we reached the car, the sky was tinged with gold. We helped her into the backseat like she was royalty again, set the snacks beside her, and closed the door carefully.

I turned to Dylan as the driver pulled out.

"I’m never doing this again."

"You’ll do it tomorrow when she calls."

"Damn right I will."

We bumped fists.

She was a pain in the ass.

But she was ours.

And if we had to bribe her with a lifetime supply of chocolate to stay in her life, we’d do it gladly.

Even if it meant risking Jason’s wrath every single time.

*******

If there was a god of misfortune, I’d like to have a quick chat. Maybe throw hands. Because just when I thought we’d conquered the hardest part of the day—waddling Queen Ella back to the taxi—the universe threw a wrench the size of a small planet into our plans.

Quite literally.

With a cough, a shudder, and a final ka-thunk, the car rolled to a pitiful stop in the middle of the road.

"Why," Ella whispered, eyes wide as she blinked out the window. "Why did it get quiet?"

The driver looked sheepish. "I think... it’s the engine."

"You THINK?" Dylan snapped. "Dude, I have a hormonal pregnant woman in this car. THINK HARDER."

Ella sat there blinking, her snack bag clutched to her chest like a lifeline. "Tell me you’re joking."

I looked at the driver. "Please tell her you’re joking."

He turned the key again. The car whimpered and died.

"I’M GONNA DIE!" Ella wailed.

"No, no!" I spun in my seat to face her, waving my hands like I was performing a magic trick. "You’re not! Everything’s fine. Look! Snacks. You love snacks!"

"THE BABY WANTS TO GO HOME!" she screeched.

Dylan slapped his own forehead. "Okay, okay. Deep breaths, Ella. In through the nose, out through the mouth."

She did the opposite—sobbing loudly while inhaling through her mouth and hyperventilating through her nose. "You... y-you said we were almost ho-ho-home! And now I’m st-stuck on the road like an abandoned mutt!"

"We would NEVER abandon you," I said quickly.

"You DID abandon me in the emotional sense!"

"I—what does that even mean?!"

"You don’t UNDERSTAND!" she cried harder, her face red and puffy now. "Jason’s going to KILL you both. And I’m going to cry again and he’s going to BLAME YOU and I’m FAT and the baby is pressing on my bladder and this car is a coffin—"

Dylan started rubbing her back frantically. "Okay, okay, we’ll figure this out, let’s just—hey, how about we sing something? Huh? A lullaby?"

"Don’t you dare," she sniffled. "If you sing ’Twinkle Twinkle’ I swear to God I will throw my slippers at your head."

We were teetering on the edge of hormonal meltdown when my phone vibrated.

Jason.

Again.

"Crap."

Dylan and I exchanged one of those glances. The kind that said, "One of us has to die, and it’s probably going to be both of us."

I picked up.

"Hey—"

"Where are...Is she crying?" Jason’s voice was tight.

"...define crying."

"MAX."

"She’s just a little overwhelmed—"

Suddenly Ella wailed in the background, "I’M NOT OVERWHELMED I’M ABANDONED!"

Jason went quiet.

Dead quiet.

"Where. Are. You."

"We’re about fifteen minutes from the house—car broke down. Nothing serious. Everyone’s alive. No contractions. I think."

"You better not move a muscle," he said, low and deadly. "And Max?"

"Y-yeah?"

"She better have stopped crying before I get there."

Click.

I put the phone down slowly. "We’re dead."

Dylan groaned. "No, we’re worse than dead. We’re doomed. He used his scary voice, Max. The one he used when we broke his PS5."

"We need to make her stop crying before he arrives."

"How?"

I turned back to Ella, who was sniffling and staring blankly out the window like the world had betrayed her. Her lip trembled.

"I want... McDonald’s," she whispered.

"I’ll build you a McDonald’s," I said quickly.

"I want Jason," she whimpered.

"We texted him! He’s on the way!"

"I want to lie in bed and have my back rubbed and watch trashy reality shows!"

"Say no more!" freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Dylan unwrapped a KitKat and handed it to her like it was a peace offering from ancient times. "Here. It’s still kind of whole."

She took it with trembling fingers, took one bite, then resumed sobbing.

"I SWEAR YOU TWO CURSED MY CHILD."

"We’re going to die," Dylan whispered under his breath.

The car was still, the driver wisely staying silent in his seat. The sun was setting now, casting long golden shadows through the window, highlighting Ella’s wet cheeks and exhausted face.

And then, headlights.

A sleek black car pulled up behind us.

Ella’s sniffles paused.

"Oh no," Dylan muttered. "He’s here."

Jason stepped out of the car. His coat billowed slightly in the breeze. His jaw was set. His eyes?

Murderous.

"I HAVE TO PEE!" Ella suddenly shouted, throwing open the car door and nearly tumbling out.

I scrambled to help her up, while Dylan shoved bags aside and cursed under his breath.

Jason reached us, his gaze sweeping over the scene—the open door, the panic in our eyes, and the still-sniffling mess that was his wife.

He didn’t say a word.

Not one.

He just stepped forward, looked Ella straight in the eyes and—