The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine

MAX POV

The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. My skin smelled faintly like sunscreen and chlorine. Life was good—or at least it was supposed to be.

I was sprawled out on one of the deck chairs by Jason’s massive pool, sunglasses on, shirt off, soaking in the rare moment of peace. Dylan was floating in the pool like some smug sea lion, and Jason sat under a parasol with a towel draped over his shoulders like a retired lifeguard. Ella, bless her hormonal, glowing soul, was sitting on a lounger with her feet in a tub of cold water like a tiny, pissed-off queen.

"Max," she snapped, not even looking up from her mocktail. "If you eat one more grape from my fruit bowl, I will end you."

I froze mid-chew, grape halfway to my mouth.

"I bought them!" I protested. "Technically, these are communal grapes!"

"I am housing a human," she said flatly, "so technically, everything is mine."

Dylan snorted and lazily paddled to the edge of the pool. "She has a point."

"Thank you, Dylan," Ella said sweetly, sipping her drink like a mafia boss.

Jason grunted. "Don’t encourage her."

"You encourage her every time she asks for crab legs at 2 a.m. and you actually get them," Dylan said, climbing out of the pool and shaking water everywhere like a dog.

"I was being a good husband," Jason replied.

"You were being a whipped man," I muttered.

"What was that?" Ella asked, raising an eyebrow dangerously.

"Nothing, your majesty," I said, bowing my head and shoving the grape in my mouth before she could snatch it from me.

We had barely settled into a rhythm of light bickering when Ella stood up suddenly.

"I need to pee," she announced. "Again."

"Drink one mocktail, empty your soul," Dylan muttered under his breath.

She waddled—yes, waddled—toward the house, grumbling about how someone should invent a portable toilet that followed pregnant women around.

Jason gave me and Dylan a side-eye. "She’s in a mood."

"She’s always in a mood," Dylan replied. "You try building a human with no refund policy."

We laughed. The kind of carefree, dumb-luck laughter that only three grown men avoiding responsibility could produce.

Then she screamed.

It was the kind of scream that freezes blood and turns grown men into idiots.

Jason was up in a flash. Dylan and I tripped over each other trying to reach her. She was clutching the wall just outside the bathroom, one hand pressed to her belly.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "It’s happening."

"WHAT’S HAPPENING?!" Dylan shouted, nearly falling.

"The baby!" she snapped. "My stomach—contractions—I think—I think the baby’s coming!"

"I’m not ready!" I shouted, even though it was clearly not about me.

Jason looked pale. "We’re only thirty-five weeks. It’s too early."

"She said it’s coming, so it’s coming!" Dylan yelled.

I grabbed a towel, like that would help. "Do we need hot water? Towels? Should I boil something?"

"No one is giving birth at the pool!" Jason shouted, scooping Ella up like a firefighter in a rom-com. "Dylan, get the keys! Max, grab her bag!"

"Which bag?!" I screamed, running in three directions at once.

"The one by the door! The one that says ’hospital’ on it in huge letters!"

"Right! Logical!"

I finally located the bag and ran out to the car. Jason was already strapping Ella in, who was making guttural growling noises that sounded very not false.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Dylan chanted in the front seat.

"You’re not the one about to deliver a baby in the car, Dylan!" Ella hissed.

"She’s crowning!" I shouted for no reason, just to see Jason’s face.

"MAX!"

"Sorry! Just checking everyone’s adrenaline levels!"

The car sped off, sirens wailing in my head as we peeled down the road like lunatics. Dylan was calling ahead to the hospital. I was breathing into a paper bag. Ella was threatening to bite off Jason’s head.

"This is it," she moaned. "This baby is coming, Jason. I swear it."

"You’re doing great, baby," Jason said, sweating bullets. "Just hang on. We’re almost there."

"Don’t tell me to hang on like I’m trying to finish a marathon!" she snapped.

"I mean technically—" Dylan started.

"DYLAN!"

"Right! Shutting up!"

We pulled into the hospital like we were in The Fast and the Fertile, screeched to a halt, and burst into the ER with Ella in a wheelchair Jason practically yanked from the lobby.

The nurses were alarmingly calm. Like, suspiciously calm.

"Let’s get you into triage," one said, smiling.

"THIS IS AN EMERGENCY," Dylan said to her like she was hard of hearing. "She’s in labor. LABOR. Do you hear me? BIRTH. WATER BREAKING. BLOOD. TEARS."

"Sir, please step back."

Jason followed Ella inside while Dylan and I were left pacing outside like nervous fathers at prom.

"I swear if I have to deliver a baby, I’m charging rent," Dylan muttered.

We were halfway through planning how to sterilize the glove box when Jason walked out with a doctor at his side.

"It’s false labor," he said flatly.

I blinked. "False?"

The doctor nodded, very serene. "Braxton Hicks contractions. Very common. No dilation. Baby’s fine. Everything’s fine. She’ll rest for a bit and then go home."

Dylan fell into the chair behind him with a wheeze. "I think I aged ten years."

"I think I peed myself," I whispered.

"False labor," Jason muttered, staring at nothing. "You know what that means, right?"

"That she’s going to do this again?" Dylan asked.

Jason nodded grimly. "And next time might be real."

We all stared at the ER doors in silence.

Then I said, "So... do we still get ice cream?"

DYLAN POV

I swear, if I ever become a father, I’ll need to be sedated for nine months straight. Not the mother—me.

I was still trying to catch my breath after the chaotic ride to the hospital. Max had driven like we were in Fast & Furious 18: Baby Emergency Drift, Jason had nearly torn the doors off when we arrived, and Ella—well, Ella had screamed bloody murder, slapped Jason for asking if her contractions were real, then cried when the nurse smiled too brightly. And after all that? False labor.

Now we were sitting in a quiet waiting room, sipping terrible vending machine coffee. Jason looked like someone had force-fed him glitter and made him attend a yoga retreat. He was stiff, awkward, tired. And visibly relieved.

"I think my hair turned grey," I muttered, examining a strand suspiciously.

"You don’t have hair long enough for grey," Max mumbled next to me, rubbing his temples. "What do you think they’re doing now?"

I glanced down the hallway. "Probably checking if Ella’s uterus has decided to rejoin the class and stop faking contractions."

Jason ignored us, completely lost in his thoughts. He was holding onto Ella’s jacket like it was some kind of emotional support item. Cute. Pathetic, but cute.

"So..." I cleared my throat, nudging him. "Since we’re already here. What if we ask the doctor about the gender?"

Jason turned slowly, like a vampire being disturbed from his eternal slumber. "Excuse me?"

"You know," I continued casually. "Ella didn’t want to know because she wanted to be surprised, but you and I? We’re planners. We need to prepare. Colors. Names. Toys. Tactical operations."

Max added, "And Ella’s been doing enough surprising lately. It’s our turn."

Jason blinked at us like we had just suggested sacrificing a goat in the waiting room. "Absolutely not. Are you insane?"

I sat back, offended. "What? We wouldn’t tell her. I swear. Look at this trustworthy face."

"That’s the face of a man who cried when Ella stole his fries last week," Jason snapped.

"That was betrayal!" I defended. "Anyway, it’s just to be prepared. Secret knowledge. Bro code."

Jason shook his head. "Nope. Not happening. She wants a surprise, she gets a surprise. And I do not trust you two not to slip up during one of your idiotic arguments."

"We are very responsible—" Max started.

"You two fought about who the better godfather is using uno cards, and Ella walked in and hit you both with a slipper," Jason deadpanned.

"Fair," I admitted.

Jason ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Look. As demanding, dramatic, and difficult as she is while pregnant, it’s still better than the ice queen witch I married when she’s angry. I’m not poking that dragon."

Max mumbled, "I kinda miss the witch. She was scary but at least she didn’t cry watching tissue commercials."

We laughed—too loud apparently, because a nurse peeked around the hallway and gave us the look. You know the one. The "you’re grown men but still acting like toddlers" look.

Jason stood. "Come on. Let’s check on her."

We followed him to Ella’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and we heard her voice before we even stepped inside.

"I’m never getting pregnant again. Ever," she huffed. "My back hurts. My legs hurt. My belly feels like it’s been stuffed with a bowling ball, and don’t even get me started on the fake contractions. What is this? The uterus playing April Fools?"

Jason slipped in first. "Hi, love."

Ella narrowed her eyes. "Don’t ’hi love’ me. I want to sue my organs for fraud."

Max choked on a laugh. I slapped his arm and gave him a warning glare.

Ella groaned and pointed to her feet. "These used to be ankles. Ankles, Jason. Now they look like water balloons."

Jason went over to her and kissed her forehead. "Do you want me to rub them?"

"Yes. Forever. Until I forget what pain feels like."

He sat by her side and started rubbing gently. "It’s just false labor. Baby’s not quite ready."

"Well, baby needs to pick a side. Either come out or sit down quietly. This in-between nonsense is ridiculous."

I sat in the chair beside her, trying not to look too amused. "You want snacks? Chocolate? That weird seaweed stuff you made me order at 3AM?"

Ella narrowed her eyes. "No. I want to go home. I want a hot bath. I want ten pillows and a blanket and for my body to stop being dramatic."

Jason nodded solemnly. "We’ll get out soon. Doctor just wants to monitor for a bit longer."

She sighed. "You’re lucky you’re cute."

"I know," Jason said, grinning.

"And you two," she turned to me and Max, "need to find a new hobby."

We both blinked.

"What?" Max asked.

"Coming to my house every day with snacks and exercise routines? Who do you think you are? Pregnant whisperers?"

"It’s called support," I protested. "It’s not our fault you’re constantly bribable with chocolate and fruit."

"And those biscuits," Max added.

Ella threw a pillow at him.

Jason chuckled. "They mean well."

"Well, I’m tired. Of walking. Of breathing. Of existing while pregnant." She leaned her head back dramatically. "The only good thing is knowing someday soon this will all be over and I’ll be holding a tiny little traitor who started all this."

Jason smiled and gently rubbed her belly. "You love the tiny traitor."

"I do," she muttered. "But still."

The room quieted for a few moments. Just the soft beeping of the monitor, the occasional shuffle of feet from the hallway. Jason leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Thanks for going through all this. You’re amazing."

Ella opened one eye. "You’re not getting sex for that line. That’s manipulation."

Jason raised his hands. "Just being honest."

Max whispered to me, "Should we leave them alone?"

I whispered back, "Do you want to risk being slapped by a hormonal queen again?"

We both stayed rooted in our seats.

Ella rolled her eyes. "Fine. But no more emergencies for at least a week. My heart can’t take it."

Jason nodded solemnly. "Deal."

I leaned forward. "So no labor until next Tuesday?"

She pointed at me. "Shut up, Dylan."

And for once, I did.