Page 37

Chapter thirty-six

Hudson

“I’m gonna tip water on him,” Rory tries to whisper, but she’s never been able to be quiet in her life.

“I mean, you could. I hear ice baths are all the rage these days.” Mom’s voice filters in now as I pretend to be asleep. My back aches from trying to squeeze my six-five self onto this tiny couch. It feels like I’ve been folded in half all night, but there was no way I could’ve slept next to Daphne. Not with how much I’d wanted to pull her close.

“Maybe I should go with a classic wet willy.”

“But what if you jump-scare him and he elbows you in the face, honey?”

“You guys suck at being quiet, you know,” I say without opening my eyes, my voice groggy from sleep.

Rory lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh gross, you’re awake. I was about to call the morgue to come get you.”

I crack one eye open to find her standing at the foot of the couch, a half-empty water bottle in her hand, ready to wreak havoc. She looks far too entertained for my liking.

“Were you planning to drown me, or just ruin my morning?” I ask, sitting up and rubbing my face.

“Neither,” she says with a grin. “I was just making sure you weren’t in a coma. You’ve been passed out forever .”

Mom walks over with her coffee, sitting opposite me. “Well, now that you’re awake, there’s a very beautiful girl in the kitchen drinking orange juice.”

That makes me pause mid-yawn. “What?”

“She’s one hundred percent out of your league,” Rory laughs, but joke’s on her. I already know I’ve been punching above my weight with Daphne.

Mom smiles over her cup at me. I’ve never brought a girl home before, so this is new for all of us.

Standing up, I stretch my sore muscles. Every joint cracks as if to remind me just how bad the couch was to sleep on.

As I step inside the kitchen, she’s right there, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing my hoodie and some leggings and fluffy socks, which are mismatched, one bright pink and one with a little reindeer pattern, and it makes me want to scoop her up and snuggle her all day. Who doesn’t love a girl in mismatched fluffy socks? I mean, come on.

But instead, I go with, “Morning.”

She spins to face me, a small smile gracing her lips. “Morning.”

“I see you’ve already met Mom and Rory,” I say, reaching up into the cupboard to get a mug.

She nods. “I have. We both came downstairs at the same time this morning. I like Rory. She told me I have princess hair, and your mom seems so sweet.”

“They’re both lulling you into a false sense of security. Believe me, Rory can’t be trusted,” I say, knowing Rory is listening in.

“I can hear you, loser!” she shouts from the other room, and Daphne giggles.

Once I’ve poured some coffee, I smile, turning to face her, looking at her make-up free face, trying to note any differences, but all I see is how beautiful she looks this morning.

“How are you feeling this morning? Bed comfy?” I ask.

“Bed was great, super cozy after you tucked me in. Did you sleep okay?” she asks. “I kept thinking about you squeezed on that couch and felt so bad.”

“You thought about me last night…in my bed.” I let out a low, whispered groan. “Don’t do that to me, princess.”

Crimson creeps up her neck before settling on her cheeks. She tugs at the hem of my hoodie nervously. “I mean, I didn’t… That’s not what I…”

“Relax, I’m messing with you,” I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then pulling back and letting my hand brush over her stomach for a second. The way she blinks up at me, wide-eyed and still pink, makes me want to kiss her again. “You sure you’re okay? No…” I pause, lowering my voice. “Sickness or anything?”

Shaking her head, she glances at the entrance to the living area. “All good.” She laughs softly, her fingers brushing over the rim of her glass.

I take a sip of my coffee as my mom and Rory join us in the kitchen. “Now that everyone’s awake, I’m going to start prepping dinner because I’ll be behind schedule otherwise.”

Daphne perks up. “Oh, I’m happy to help, Ms. Parker. My mom always had me chopping veggies for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Mom turns to face her with a smile that tells me she likes her already. “Firstly, honey, like I told you this morning, it’s Marlie to you. Any friend of Hudson’s is a friend of mine.” Mom gives me a little glance, and I want to blurt out that she’s more than a friend, but I hold it in for now. “But we do things a little different around here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

Rory snorts. “Real different.”

Daphne’s brow knits as she looks between them, then to me with an unspoken question lingering on her lips.

“On Rory’s first Thanksgiving, she was only a month old. I couldn’t put her down for more than five minutes. She was either feeding, crying, or sleeping on me.” Mom pauses, smiling fondly at the memory. “So, Hudson, bless his heart, said to me, ‘Mama, we don’t need a big, fancy bird. We can just have waffles and chicken, ’cause that’s what you do best, and it’s my favorite.’” She looks at me, her eyes warm and faraway. “And I always kept extras in the freezer. So, that became our tradition.”

Daphne’s expression shifts with excitement. “Chicken and waffles for Thanksgiving?” she asks, her smile growing.

Rory nods enthusiastically. “It’s the best. And you get to eat as much syrup as you want without judgment.”

Daphne chuckles, glancing at me. “I have to admit, that sounds way better than being stuck basting a turkey for hours.”

Mom laughs, her hands moving expertly as she starts pulling ingredients from the pantry. “It certainly saved my sanity that first year, and the kids never let me change it after that.”

“Because why would we?” Rory chimes in, sliding onto a barstool. “It’s waffles. With fried chicken.”

“So, Daphne, do you want to help me make the waffle batter? Hudson usually does it, but he tends to sneak extra vanilla in when I’m not looking.”

“Hey,” I interject, “the extra vanilla makes it better.”

Mom raises an eyebrow. “And yet, you’re not in charge of it this year.”

Daphne steps in quickly, smiling at Mom. “I’d love to help. Just tell me what to do.”

“Perfect,” Mom says, then hands her a mixing bowl. “I’ll show you the family recipe.”

It might not seem like much, just a mix of flour, sugar, eggs, and a little nostalgia, but it’s more than that to us. Mom doesn’t just share this with just anyone. Rory and I were barely trusted with it growing up, and even now, she watches like a hawk to make sure we don’t mess it up. It’s something sacred in our house. So when Mom casually hands Daphne the mixing bowl, it hits me. This isn’t just about waffles. It’s her way of saying, You’re part of this. Even though Mom and Rory don’t know about the baby yet, about what Daphne is already starting to mean to me, Mom is welcoming her in, no questions asked. This is why I wanted them to meet, because my family means everything to me, and she’s a part of that now.

As I watch Daphne laugh at something Mom says, standing here in my hoodie like she belongs, I realize she fits into this chaos so effortlessly; it’s almost like she’s been here all along.

***

Daphne

“Oh my god,” I moan as I bite into the crunchy most delicious fried chicken I’ve ever eaten in my life. Seriously, Marlie can cook, and I’m feeling all kinds of things from one bite of chicken. Except it’s not really about the chicken, it’s for being here in this home that’s so incredibly warm and inviting. My home was the same growing up, and I feel so content here.

Rory and Marlie smile at me.

“So good, right?” Rory says around a mouthful.

And as I take my second bite, I suddenly have a stab of fear shoot through my body at the idea that I’m about to mess this up. I’m pregnant, and it’s not fitting into the perfect day I’m having or this perfect family I’m with. I have no idea how they’re going to react.

Oh no, here I sit with a mouthful of chicken, and I can feel my eyes welling up. Desperate to not lose it, I look over to Hudson, who is also mid-bite when he catches my face and drops the chicken. “Shit,” he whispers, immediately shifting his body closer to me, which just makes me feel even more of an idiot because I’m gonna make a scene.

I shake my head, trying to chew and swallow the bite of chicken as quickly as I can, but the lump in my throat is making it nearly impossible. I feel my chest tightening, the pressure of tears threatening to spill over. Why now?

“Hey,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong? Are you gonna puke?”

I try to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale. My eyes dart to Marlie and Rory, who are now watching with concern, but Hudson stays focused on me, his full attention locked on my face. His hand moves gently to rest on my arm, grounding me without being overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. His tone is so tender it nearly undoes me. “Take your time. I’m right here.”

I manage to shake my head again, desperate to stop the tears. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I look at Marlie and Rory too. “I—I just need a second.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Hudson asks.

The kindness in his offer makes my throat tighten even more. “No, it’s okay,” I whisper. “I won’t be long.”

“Alright,” he says, but his gaze lingers on me as I push back my chair and stand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t call any more attention to it, just watches me with a look so full of care that I have to swallow a sob.

I hurry down the hallway to the bathroom. Once inside, I shut the door and lean against it, my hands trembling as I press them to my face. I’m not sure what’s worse, the fear of what I’m carrying or the weight of how safe I feel when Hudson looks at me like that.

Splashing cold water on my face, I try to slow my breathing. But when I glance at myself in the mirror, I know I’m not fooling anyone. My eyes are red, my chest still tight, and I feel like I’m seconds from falling apart completely.

A soft knock on the door startles me. “It’s me.” Hudson’s voice comes through.

I hesitate for a moment, swallowing hard. But the sincerity in his actions always melts my resolve. Stepping back, I unlock the door, just a crack, and Hudson’s concerned face fills the space. “Can I come in?” he asks gently, so carefully, it makes me want to cry all over again.

With a nod, I step back to let him in. He closes the door behind him and turns to face me, his eyes searching mine. “Talk to me,” he says, keeping his distance but leaning forward slightly, like he’s ready to catch me if I fall.

I hold my breath before I let it all out. “I’m so sorry, I just… Today has been perfect. I need you to know that.” I take his hand in mine, glancing down at my belly and back at him. “And then I panicked about the baby and telling your mom and ruining everything. I… I don’t want her to be mad.” I let out a breath before continuing. “And I’m scared that she could react like my dad did, I don’t want that for you. I know they’re scared, but I am too, and I just didn’t want you to feel that from your mom because she’s amazing.”

Hudson’s eyes soften even more, his shoulders relaxing as he steps closer.

“First of all,” he says, “you don’t need to apologize. Not for how you’re feeling, not for needing a moment, and definitely not for worrying about this. You’re carrying a lot, and it’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

I blink up at him through the tears streaming down my face. He moves closer, his hands lifting to hold my face in a way that’s so intimate, more tears fall. “Second,” he continues, “my mom already loves you. Like, genuinely loves you. I see the way she looks at you, how she talks to you. There’s no way she’s going to be mad. If anything, she’ll probably start knitting baby clothes before we even finish telling her.”

Despite myself, I let out a shaky laugh, and Hudson smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that always makes me feel warm inside.

“And third,” he says, using his thumbs to wipe my tears, his tone turning a little more serious, “I hate that you’re holding on to your dad’s reaction like this. I know it’s impossible not to, but they’re not you. Their fears, their sadness, that’s their stuff to process. You’re allowed to feel however you feel without apologizing for it.”

My chest tightens again, but this time, it’s not from panic, it’s from the weight of his words settling over me. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to hear that until now.

“And hey.” He dips his head to meet my eyes. “We’re a team, okay? You don’t have to protect me from this, or from how you’re feeling. If you’re scared, tell me. If you’re sad, tell me. I’m not going anywhere, and you don’t have to carry this alone. I’m your two in the morning milkshake guy.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. The tears haven’t stopped, and I’m not sure how to get them to, but they’re different now, less heavy, less suffocating. Hudson’s thumbs continue to brush lightly across my cheeks, wiping them away as they fall.

“You’re amazing, just like your mom,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“So are you, princess,” he replies. “Now, I’m going to hug you, so try not to feel me up. I know it’ll be hard, but control your urges for a second.”

Genuine and unfiltered laughter bursts out of me, immediately replacing that heavy feeling I was drowning in with something much lighter.

Hudson grins wider, his eyes shining. “There she is,” he says, like the sound of my laughter is all he wanted in the world.

I don’t have to move much at all, he’s already so close, but as I lean into him, his arms are right there, wrapping around me like it’s second nature. His hold feels effortless, solid and comfortable, like this is exactly where I’m meant to be. With his steady chest beneath my cheek, the rise and fall of his breathing anchors me in a way I need.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers slipping gently into my hair, while his other hand rests on my back, moving in slow, soothing circles. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

I feel seen. Fully and completely, like every part of me—messy, scared, and uncertain—is worth holding on to.