The Girl in the Hoodie is Mine Chapter 208: Reconciling

ELLA’S POV

The room was alive with the sound of laughter and inside jokes that only people who’ve known each other forever can understand. And honestly? I didn’t rember the last ti I laughed this hard with Jason’s friends—our friends now, I supposed. The ones who once played the role of stupid boys with even dumber bets... now turning into uncles-in-training who were lowkey obsessed with my baby.

I watched Max and Dylan crouched over my belly like it was so ancient oracle. Every ti my baby kicked, they acted like it was a sign from the heavens.

"He kicked when I said ’Uncle Max,’" Max pointed out smugly, reclining on the floor like he’d just scored a goal.

"Yeah?" Dylan rolled his eyes. "Well, he kicked harder when I said ’Uncle Dylan.’ Clearly, he already has a favorite."

Jason snorted. "Or maybe he was kicking in protest."

"Okay, that’s rude," Dylan said, offended. "This kid’s gonna love . I’m fun Uncle Dylan. I give cool gifts, I let them eat dessert before dinner—"

"And that’s exactly why I should be godfather," Max interrupted. "Because I’d be the responsible one. The one who tells him that no, Dylan, five-year-olds can’t ride motorbikes."

"You don’t even own a motorbike."

"Details."

I watched this ridiculous argunt unfold with a mixture of amusent and maternal panic. My son isn’t even born yet, and he already has two wildly unqualified godfather candidates.

Jason leaned closer, whispering, "Should we tell them we haven’t picked a godfather yet?"

I grinned. "Why ruin the show?"

Dylan stood up dramatically and pointed at Max like they were in a courtroom. "Let’s state facts. I’m funnier, I’m cooler, and I’d teach the kid valuable life skills—like sarcasm and how to survive awkward family dinners."

Max scoffed. "I have a stable job, a functioning espresso machine, and I can actually cook. He lives on ran and questionable takeout."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You burned toast at our house last year."

"That was one ti!"

I cleared my throat, pretending to be solemn. "Gentlen. If I may weigh in?"

Both of them turned to like I was the judge on a televised competition.

"I love you both," I said sweetly. "But if this turns into a dance battle, I’m filming and posting for the whole world to see."

Dylan grinned. "Don’t tempt ."

Jason stretched his legs and threw an arm around with a lazy smile. "Alright. Let’s settle this like adults."

Max imdiately sat up straighter. "You’re picking , right?"

Jason laughed. "No. I an—we’re not picking anyone yet. The baby’s not even born. And let’s be real, we might need both of you."

"Co-godfathers?" Dylan asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Is that a thing?" Max frowned.

"It is now," Jason said.

"Wait, what would that even look like?" I mused. "You two trying to plan a birthday party together? Fighting over cake flavors and balloon colors?"

"I’d go for a dinosaur the," Dylan said proudly.

"I’d do a space-thed one," Max countered.

Jason leaned closer to , whispering again, "We’re going to need a referee."

I laughed softly. "Or a fire extinguisher."

An hour passed in easy conversation—stories from their wild college years, the way Dylan used to fake stomachaches to get out of exams, and how Max once accidentally stole a professor’s cat thinking it was a stray.

I watched Jason laugh so freely, his arm still around , his smile so full of light I could hardly believe this was the sa man I’d wanted to strangle a few months ago. Whatever wall had existed between us had been chiseled down bit by bit.

And Max and Dylan?

Idiots. Absolute idiots. But mine now. Our baby was going to grow up surrounded by madness, love, and the kind of friends who might accidentally teach him to curse before he can even crawl.

At so point, Jason disappeared into the kitchen again to get more snacks while Max and Dylan lounged on the floor, now browsing through baby na apps like they had any say.

"Hey, Ella, how do you feel about the na ’Zeus’?"

I blinked. "Like the Greek god?"

"Yeah! Powerful. Iconic. Lightning bolt vibes."

"Hard no."

Dylan showed his screen. "I suggested ’Elio.’ Sounds fancy."

"Also sounds like an expensive perfu," Max muttered.

I smirked. "Guys, we’re not naming him after a thunder god or a cologne. We have a list. A normal list."

Jason returned, handing a glass of juice and casually handing Max a diaper.

"What’s this?" Max asked, confused.

Jason sat down beside with a sly smile. "Practice."

Dylan burst out laughing. "You’re seriously giving him a diaper as howork?"

"Better now than later," Jason said. "You want godfather privileges, you need to earn them."

Max groaned. "I didn’t realize there was a training program."

Jason winked at him. "Fatherhood is war, buddy. Better get your reps in."

The night wore on with comfortable chaos.

Eventually, the laughter died down, the room dimd, and Max and Dylan slumped sleepily on the couch after eating half a tray of cookies I wasn’t planning to share.

I looked over at Jason and murmured, "You happy?"

He t my gaze, eyes softening. "More than I ever thought I’d be."

And I believed him.

Because as I looked around—at our crazy friends, at the ss of snack wrappers, at the life we were building—I felt sothing new and unfamiliar bloom in my chest.

Peace.

Joy.

And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of our own little beautiful chaos.

******

It was finally quiet.

A blessed, almost sacred kind of quiet that settled over the apartnt after the door slamd shut behind Max and Dylan—Jason literally booting them out with a mock glare and a "go be idiots sowhere else" shout.

The second they were gone, Jason locked the door with exaggerated flair and leaned his forehead against it with an exhausted groan. "Sweet. Silence. God bless."

I chuckled from the couch, belly propped up like a mountain in front of . "You act like you didn’t enjoy all of that."

"I did," he admitted, turning and walking back toward . "But my ears need a recovery period. Especially after Dylan’s speech about teaching our son how to win poker at age five."

I rubbed my temple. "We’re gonna need parental controls on our friends."

"Facts," he muttered, plopping down beside .

I scooted over to make room, then frowned when I realized I was already sitting on the edge. "Okay, wait, no—I can’t scoot. I’m officially house-sized."

Jason leaned in with a grin. "Nah. You’re just deluxe edition Ella. Extra adorable."

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched. "You’re trying to butter up."

"Always."

We settled in together, leaning into his chest as he guided my legs across his lap. His hand instinctively dropped to my belly, and I felt him exhale slowly like he was breathing out the last bits of chaos the boys had stirred up.

"Y’know," I said softly, "they’re really not bad. Still a little stupid. But sweet."

"Max nearly cried when you hugged him."

"Yeah, well... I nearly cried when he brought three flavors of ice cream."

Jason laughed quietly and kissed my forehead. "Thanks for giving them a chance."

I looked up at him, our faces close. "Thanks for trying to fix things."

His thumb rubbed lazy circles across the stretched skin of my stomach. "I just... didn’t want the baby to grow up with walls between all of us. You, , the guys. I know I ssed up back then. But I’m trying now. Really trying."

"I know," I whispered. "And I see it."

A soft thump made both of us pause.

We looked down at the sa ti—his hand still on my belly—when it happened again.

A little kick. Stronger than earlier. More deliberate.

Jason froze like soone had hit pause on him.

"...Did he just—?"

"Yep." I smiled. "He’s practicing his kung-fu."

Jason’s whole face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "That was so cool."

He bent down instantly and whispered at my stomach, "Hey, champ. That you saying hi to Dad?"

Another kick.

I swear, Jason looked like he might cry.

"You felt that, right?" he asked, as if needing confirmation that it wasn’t just wishful thinking.

I nodded. "He likes your voice. Might be a mama’s boy, but you’re a close second."

Jason’s eyes were soft as he looked at , then leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss over my bump. Then another, a little higher. Then one at the corner of my lips.

"You’ve got magic in you, El," he murmured. "Both of you."

I blinked slowly, heart flipping in ways that had nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. "You’re such a sap lately."

He shrugged. "Can’t help it. I’m in love."

"You better be talking about ."

"And the kid. But yeah, mostly you."

He reached over, hand brushing hair from my face, and for a second the whole world lted into this tiny, quiet bubble of just us. Our laughter. Our healing. Our future pressing gently between us.

"You know," I whispered, snuggling closer, "about last night..."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Oh no."

"I counted."

His eyes widened. "You counted?"

"Four."

He blinked.

"Four tis, Jason. Four tis in one night and they were long sessions."

He cleared his throat and looked absurdly proud. "I’m just saying... we work well under hormonal influence."

"Shut up." I whacked his shoulder with a pillow.

"But you couldn’t get enough of ," he teased, smug and grinning.

"I plead temporary hormonal insanity."

He leaned in again, whispering against my neck, "We could try and beat the record tonight."

I shoved him back, laughing. "Jason! Let breathe."

"Fair. But don’t say I didn’t offer."

We both collapsed into laughter again, the kind that leaves your chest warm and your heart even warr. I curled up beside him, letting the rhythm of his breathing soothe .

The baby gave one final kick—like a secret handshake between the three of us—and I rested my hand over Jason’s.

I don’t know when it happened... or how... but I know I love him.

And this ti, it felt like we were building sothing real.