The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Chapter 215: Misunderstanding And Lingering Love

ELLA’S POV

You could hear a damn leaf fall in that car ride back home.

After the traumatic experience of watching a human being ripped from another human being like some kind of horror show disguised as "education," I was too emotionally scarred to speak. Dylan looked like he had seen the gates of hell. Max had somehow managed to shrink into himself, mumbling something about never touching a woman again without a legally binding contract and noise-canceling headphones.

Jason? Sweet Jason kept glancing at me, probably wondering if I was going to demand a full refund on his sperm.

The car pulled into the driveway with the energy of a funeral procession. My back was aching, my ankles were puffed up like overstuffed sausages, and I could feel my emotional stability hanging on by the thinnest thread.

Jason helped me out of the car like I was made of glass. "Let’s get you to the couch, babe."

He meant the porch couch—the one I had insisted we get after seeing it on Pinterest because it "looked like it understood my pregnancy fatigue." At this point, it had seen more of my ass than the toilet.

As I sat with an exhausted grunt, adjusting the way my belly flopped between my thighs, I noticed Dylan and Max exchanging a look.

"Hey, uh," Dylan began, fake-casual and way too cheerful for someone who looked like he’d seen a woman’s perineum get sliced open not an hour ago, "we’re just gonna have a little word with Jason. Guy stuff. You cool?"

"Sure," I mumbled, already preoccupied with whether I wanted orange juice or vengeance for having to witness that bloody childbirth video.

Jason leaned in, kissed my forehead, and whispered, "I’ll be back in a sec." Sweet. Gentle. Totally oblivious to the chaos about to erupt in the damn courtyard.

I watched them walk off like a gang of mafia brothers about to settle old debts. From my vantage point on the porch, I could see the courtyard clearly, though I couldn’t hear a thing. But who needed audio when Max was pointing at me with the rage of a betrayed soap opera wife and Justin was rubbing his temples like he’d just gotten off the phone with the IRS?

Then... boom. Dylan lunged.

"What the—"

His fist connected with Justin’s face like it was scripted by a Hollywood stunt team.

"Oh, hell no!" I screamed, already hauling my gigantic belly off the couch like a wobbly grenade about to detonate.

You’d expect Max, the so-called calmer of the two, to hold Dylan back, right? Nope. He stepped up and punched Justin too.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!"

They were rolling on the ground, fists flying like middle school boys who just discovered WWE.

I grabbed the nearest weapon I had—my sandals. Took them off, bent down like a deranged sumo wrestler summoning inner rage, and hurled them with the accuracy of a trained assassin. One hit Dylan square in the face. The other nailed Max right in the head.

"LEAVE MY FUCKING HUSBAND ALONE!"

They all froze.

"Why the hell are you beating up my husband?!"

I still—no, storming—across the yard like an enraged walrus in flip-flops. My pregnant belly jiggled with each step, my feet were puffed up like overstuffed bread loaves, and the only thing fueling me was pure, unfiltered rage.

Max and Dylan froze at the sound of my voice. Both of them were now standing a few feet away from Justin, who was wiping dust off his jeans and looking... amused? That jackass was smirking.

Jason held up his hand. "Leave them. I deserved it."

My mouth dropped. "Excuse me?!"

"Deserved what? Someone better start explaining before I give this baby the middle name ’Regret.’"

Max looked down at the ground like a five-year-old who’d just broken Grandma’s favorite vase. I turned to him, pointing my trembling, sandal-less foot his direction. "Speak up, Maximus. Why were you two ganging up on my husband?"

He shifted, cleared his throat, then muttered, "Stupid jerk hurt you..."

My whole body stiffened. Hurt me?

Then... oh.

Oh no.

Suddenly, my already-overloaded brain hit the worst kind of hormonal tripwire, and before I could even think, my insecurities came rushing in like a SWAT team.

He hurt me? That could only mean one thing, right?

He cheated.

My pregnancy brain—bless its dramatic, unmedicated soul—didn’t stop to reason or check facts. It didn’t weigh evidence or ask logical questions. No. It screamed, HE PROBABLY CHEATED ON YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE A FAT PREGNANT WHALE AND HE WANTS A HOTTER NON-SWOLLEN VERSION OF YOU WHO CAN STILL SHAVE HER LEGS!

Cue the rampage.

I sprinted—okay, waddled with aggressive intent—toward Jason, fists clenched, sandals already weaponized and long gone. "YOU CHEATER!" I shouted at the top of my lungs like a madwoman at a soap opera audition.

Jason’s face twisted in confusion. "What?! Babe—"

"DON’T ’BABE’ ME, YOU LYING, CHEATING PIECE OF—" I launched forward, aiming a series of poorly coordinated but emotionally devastating punches at his chest.

He tried to back away, but miscalculated and tripped over his own foot. Down he went, landing on his butt like a lanky scarecrow. Which only made it easier for me to reach him. Thank God, because I was not about to get on my tiptoes in this condition.

I started swatting at his head, his shoulders—anything within reach. "YOU STUPID, USELESS, EGGS-BETRAYING, HORMONE-TRIGGERING CHEATER!"

"Ella!" Jason yelped, trying to block me while somehow still being respectful of my pregnancy. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You cheated! Admit it! You went off and found some younger, tighter, non-pregnant version of me, didn’t you?! IS SHE FLEXIBLE? DOES SHE STILL HAVE A WAIST?!"

Max and Dylan stood like stunned flamingos, watching me slap Jason’s shoulder repeatedly while he tried to defend himself like I was a cat with claws. Then they suddenly snapped into action.

"E-Ella, stop!" Dylan rushed forward, grabbing me gently under the arms. Max grabbed the other side like they were defusing a bomb. "You’re gonna kill him!"

"GOOD! LESS DIAPER DUTY FOR ME!"

They hauled me up, my feet kicking mid-air like a possessed toddler, my rage only doubling.

"I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CHEATED ON ME!" I screamed, chest heaving with betrayal and hormones.

Max’s voice cracked as he tried to overpower mine. "Ella! Listen to me!"

"YOU TWO PUNCHED HIM TOO! SO CLEARLY HE DID SOMETHING!"

"ELLA, HE DIDN’T CHEAT ON YOU!"

That finally made me pause.

Everything went still.

I blinked, turning my head slowly to Max like a broken wind-up doll. "He... didn’t?"

Max, still gripping me like I might bolt again, nodded quickly. "No! No cheating! No other woman! I swear!"

I glanced over at Jason, who was still sitting on the ground, eyes wide, face red, lip bleeding—and totally not acting like someone who’d just been caught cheating. He was still confused as hell. freēwebnovel.com

Jason, still sitting on the grass like a sad gladiator, said, "I’m literally still trying to understand what just happened."

"Then how..." I trailed off, looking between all three of them.

Max raised his hands like he was surrendering to a hormonal FBI raid. "Because he made you pregnant."

I stared at him.

"What?" I blinked.

"He impregnated you," he explained, nodding like it was a legal charge. "That’s how he hurt you."

"...Huh?"

Dylan slowly backed up two steps, clearly trying to distance himself from my unstable gravitational pull.

"You’re suffering," Max continued, motioning to my belly. "Swollen feet, mood swings, back pain, birth canal horror movies! And we just realized he did that to you. He fertilized you. Like a demon. With sperm."

Jason, still sitting in the grass, raised a brow. "This is... the dumbest intervention I’ve ever seen."

I covered my face. "Oh my God."

Max wasn’t done. "It’s gonna be torture when you go into labor! That’s what today’s video showed us! The screaming! The stitches! The cutting! And he just knocked you up like it was nothing! Of course we were pissed."

I dropped my hands slowly, looking at my husband.

My sweet, stupid, non-cheating husband.

And all I’d done was attack him with verbal and physical weaponry because my emotions had gone full Disney-villain-without-the-song.

"I..." I coughed. "Might have overreacted."

Jason looked at me with an unreadable expression—equal parts amused, exhausted, and slightly afraid for his life.

"You think?" he said dryly.

Max helped Justin up while muttering something about he deserve it.

"Someone bring me juice," I said weakly. Waddling back to the porch with my dignity dragging behind me and my baby belly leading the way.

"Yes, ma’am," Max said sheepishly.

Dylan cleared his throat. "Should we... like... hug it out?"

"No," Jason and I both said at the same time.