The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

Chapter 219: Another Head

Jason POV:

Another head.

Another. Head.

Ella blinked at her. "WHAT. DO. YOU. MEAN. ANOTHER. HEAD."

I gasped, grabbing the side of the bed. "We didn’t order a sequel!"

"I’m seeing a second baby," the doctor confirmed. "You’re having twins!"

Ella looked like she was about to ascend into a plane of fury unknown to science.

"T-W-I-N-S?!!"

"Yes! And the second is almost here!"

"WHY WAS THIS NOT IN THE ULTRASOUND? WHO IS THE SCAMMER TECHNICIAN WHO MISSED AN ENTIRE PERSON?!"

The doctor nodded. "It happens sometimes. Surprise twins are rare but not unheard of."

"UNHEARD OF MY ASS!"

She groaned, slamming her head back on the pillow. "I just got done! I JUST CLOCKED OUT!"

I leaned close. "You can do this. Just one more push, babe. We’re almost there."

She squinted at me. "You said that about the first one."

"I lied. But this time, I’m pretty sure."

Another contraction hit.

She grabbed my broken hand again.

"You’re going to pay for this," she hissed. "Every birthday, every diaper, every night feed—yours. Both of them."

"Okay," I gasped. "That’s fair."

"Push!" the doctor said.

Ella screamed like a banshee, muscles clenching, face red as hellfire.

And then—it happened.

The second baby—our daughter—came into the world screaming just as loud as her mother. Pink and furious and already flinging tiny fists like she had opinions.

"She’s got your attitude," I mumbled, crying, laughing, maybe dying.

Ella fell back against the pillows, gasping. Her hair plastered to her face, her hospital gown sliding off one shoulder, her eyes wide and wild and glassy.

She looked at me. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

"I did it?" she whispered, half-disbelieving.

I nodded, voice breaking. "You did it. You fucking did it."

Ella blinked at the ceiling. "Did I just give birth... to twins?"

"Yes," I whispered, as the nurse handed her the girl and I held our son. "One of each. You made two humans."

She stared at the babies.

Then at me.

She blinked. Then glared. "Next time, you’re giving birth."

I laughed. Then she grabbed my collar again.

"I’m not joking."

Then she passed out.

I turned to the nurse, wide-eyed.

"She’s okay?"

"She’s just resting," she said with a gentle smile. "But you might want to cancel your credit cards. Twins get expensive."

I laughed. Then winced. My hand was still not functional.

The doctor handed me the baby. My knees almost gave out.

Our son yawned.

He looked like her.

But as I sat there—baby in each arm, my wife knocked out cold from the battle of her life—I realized something:

I may be bruised, battered, yelled at, emotionally shattered... but I was the luckiest man alive.

Still terrified. But lucky.

Dylan’s POV:

Max and I burst into the hospital like two drunk raccoons who just found a bakery.

"Room 408, third floor!" a nurse shouted, clearly regretting her career choices.

I was still sweating from the sprint through the lobby because Max forgot where we parked the damn car. "You said it was Lot B!"

"It was Lot B. It just—looked different during daylight."

"IT’S AN UNDERGROUND GARAGE, MAX."

We practically flung ourselves into the elevator. Max nearly hit the emergency stop button instead of "3." I slapped his hand like a kindergarten teacher. "Do not kill us in an elevator before we meet our godson."

"Godchildren," he corrected automatically.

I stared at him.

"What?"

"You said godchildren. Why would you—"

"We still don’t know the gender yet. Why are we whisper-fighting?! MOVE!" The elevator doors opened and we ran like we were in a Mission: Impossible finale.

Then we found the room.

Jason was inside. He looked... haunted. Like a man who’d gone to war and barely made it out alive. His shirt was rumpled. His hair was sticking out in several directions. One of his sleeves had visible drool. One of his eyes twitched independently from the rest of his face.

"Holy shit," Max whispered. "He looks like a crime scene."

Jason looked up.

"She had twins," he said, voice hollow.

I blinked. "Twins? As in—two?"

"No, Dylan. As in four. YES TWO. A boy and a girl."

Max sat down on a stool like someone unplugged his spine. "I—I wasn’t emotionally prepared for this."

I gasped. "That explains the scream I heard from the lobby. I thought someone dropped a vending machine."

Jason nodded, eyes unfocused. "That was Ella. After the doctor told her she had to push again."

"Oh no."

"She told the universe to go fuck itself."

"Ohhh no."

"She tried to negotiate with God. Like, full-on bargaining. She said she’d name the baby after the Pope if He just made the second one slide out."

I snorted. "Did she?"

"No. She named her after Beyoncé."

Max slapped his thigh. "As she SHOULD."

Jason just kept blinking. "I’ve seen things. Heard things. She blamed my penis for the whole pregnancy."

I patted his shoulder. "Well, I did tell you that thing looked suspiciously powerful."

He didn’t laugh. Poor man.

We peeked into the room.

There she was—Ella, knocked out cold like a Greek war hero post-battle. Her hair looked like a crime scene. Her hospital gown was askew. Her foot dangled off the side of the bed like she’d fought the devil and won.

And in the bassinets...

Two tiny, pink, squishy humans.

Max and I tiptoed forward like we were entering a sacred shrine.

"Dude," Max whispered. "One of them just blinked. I think she saw into my soul."

"She’s judging you already," I nodded. "Like mother, like daughter."

The boy was yawning dramatically. The girl already looked mildly annoyed, which—again—checks out.

"She came out last," Jason whispered, still traumatized. "Ella said she was late because she wanted to enter dramatically."

Max clutched his heart. "I have never loved anyone more."

Then—Ella stirred.

She opened one eye and stared at us like two raccoons had just appeared in her fridge.

"You."

Oh no.

"You two."

Max waved nervously. "Hi bestie."

She raised a finger, very slowly. "You. Took me. To a mall. And then I had TWINS."

"In our defense—" I started.

"NO DEFENSE." She sat up like a rising phoenix of postpartum rage. "I now have TWO screaming meatballs. TWO. You said we were shopping for ONE. You promised me smoothies and ’light walking’ and then my uterus exploded."

Jason coughed. "Technically it... unfolded."

She glared at him and he immediately sat back down. Smart man.

"Do you know what it feels like to give birth to twins?"

I opened my mouth.

"Don’t answer that, Dylan, or so help me—"

"Got it! Muted! Muted forever!"

Ella took a breath, winced, then looked at the babies. Her face softened by 0.01%. "They’re cute though."

Max stepped forward, hands clasped. "May I hold one?"

Ella squinted. "Have you washed your hands?"

Max pulled a bottle of sanitizer from his back pocket like a magician and squirted himself like a man preparing for surgery.

Then we both got handed a baby.

I held the boy. Max held the girl.

We both started crying almost immediately.

Max sniffled. "She’s holding my finger. Like—my actual finger."

"He’s yawning again," I sobbed. "I would die for him."

Jason looked at us both. "They haven’t even pooped yet. You’ll change your tune in a week."

"Let us have this moment!" Max cried.

Ella rolled her eyes but there was a tiny smile tugging at her mouth.

Then Max looked up, serious. "So... uh... what are their names?"

Ella smiled.

"Meet Leo King Kingsley..."

We gasped.

"...and Lia King Kingsley."

I dropped to my knees. "I KNEW you were dramatic but damn, queen!"

Jason muttered, "I suggested Ben and Lucy..."

"AND YOU WERE WRONG," Ella said without hesitation. "My children are not accountants."

Max held up Lia like Simba. "You will rule the galaxy, baby girl."

I leaned in to Leo. "And you? You’ll be President of Space."

Jason groaned. "You two are absolutely unfit for godparent duty."

Ella waved a hand weakly. "They’re already on the birth certificates."

Jason looked like he wanted to walk into traffic.

Max sat back down with Lia in his arms. "So. When do we get matching jackets? Godparent gang jackets."

"Embroidered, obviously," I added. "With our names and custom quotes."

Ella blinked. "What quotes?"

Mine: ’Brought snacks to labor. Would do again.’

Max: ’Emergency wheelchairs are my love language.’

Jason, deadpan: "Mine will say ’Please help me.’"

We all looked at each other.

Then at the babies.

Leo yawned again.

Lia farted loud enough to startle herself.

Perfect.

THE END

ps: Side Story Coming Up Soon