Page 117 of Pieces

My eyebrow arches. “What kind of distraction?” If it requires me moving, then I’m probably not up for it.

“Some of the guys are partying at Benny’s.” He shrugs, and I feel a pang of guilt for all of this, him being here and not able to spend evenings with his friends.

I swallow that burn in my throat. “Do you want to go?” I can’t look at him. Suddenly, the fear of keeping him here when he doesn’t want to be here feels too much, and I know that’s ridiculous but, apparently, I’m feeling ridiculous tonight. I’ll cry harder if I see even a glimmer of hope there.

“It’s fine if you do,” I add quickly, trying to sound breezy, though I can feel my voice wobble. “I’m probably just going to stay here, you know, preggo and all. It’s not really the party vibe. Not when I’m rounder than every single person there.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I steel myself for the worst. I imagine him telling me he’s heading out, that he needs a break, and that he’ll be back later. But instead, he leans in close, his breath warm against my cheek.

“Daphne?” he murmurs, his voice low.

“Hm?” My throat tightens as heat prickles across my skin, clashing with the goosebumps he’s giving me. I brace myself for his words, for him to tell me he’s leaving, or worse, that he wants me to come with him.

“I really don’t mind,” I cut him off before he can speak. “You don’t need my permission to go without me. Seriously, if you want to go, just go.”

His lips curve into a soft smile as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I love you. I want to stay here,” he says, his voice firm but tender. “In your dorm, snuggling you, and feeding you ice cream. Fuck the party. There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, baby.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My heart feels like it’s about to crack open, all my fears instantly melting away.

That is the most romantic thing he will ever say to me.

***

It’s 2 a.m., and I can’t get comfortable. No amount of tossing and turning, even watching re-runs of trashy TV, has settled me. I’ve spent all night tossing and turning, adjusting my pregnancy pillow, but nothing is working. At this rate, we should’ve just gone to the party. I might’ve found a more comfortable sleeping spot somewhere random.

“What’s up? You’re like lightning in a bottle tonight,” Hudson says, his voice raspy and deep from sleep.

I sigh, slapping the bed covers with my palms. “I can’t get comfortable. The baby kicks me, or I keep thinking of the reel I left in my drafts yesterday. Or the fact that I might need to pee again. Then it’s back to baby kicking again. I swear if they’re a night owl, I’m going to cry.”

In fact, maybe I’ll prelude that by crying right now.

“Come here,” Hudson says, pulling me into his front, blanketing me in his body heat, his hand resting on my stomach. It feels so good, but it lasts for seconds before his palm is almost kicked away from me. “Woah, she’s spicy tonight. Do we need to call Dr. Carter?”

“No, they’re always like this at night. You know that I’m probably going to have some kind of monster football playing baby try to destroy my vagina on its exit out of me.” A tear leaks from the corner of my eye, dripping onto the pillow.

Hudson bursts into laughter, his shoulders shaking.

“What’s funny? I’m crying, Hudson!” I snap, wiping a tear from my cheek.

His laughter cuts off abruptly. “No, princess, that’s not funny,” he says quickly, his tone earnest. “I’m sorry you’re feeling sad. I just… I imagined the baby coming out yelling ‘Touchdown!’ and it was…” he trails off when he sees my glare. “No, definitely not funny. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never speak again.”

It’s quiet for a moment, but then I feel it, his shoulders juddering behind me. He’s still laughing. Tears prick my eyes again, this time from rage. I’m going to kill him. Mrs. Peacock, in the drawing room, candlestick style.

“Hudson!” I cry out as I twist in his arms to confront him.

His face is streaked with actual tears of laughter, and he’s struggling to control himself, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” he says between gasps, his voice still shaking with amusement.

I try to push away, but his arms tighten around me, pulling me back down. “No, wait—don’t get up,” he says quickly, his tone suddenly soft and serious. “I want to try something. Just…lay back for a second, okay?”

I narrow my eyes at him but reluctantly settle back against the pillows. He takes a few deep breaths before he shifts beside me, grabbing his pillow and moving it.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He adjusts the pillow so it’s resting directly next to my bump, his fingers brushing lightly over my stomach. “I’m making space,” he murmurs. “For her.”

His hand slides back to my belly, and he leans down, his face close enough to speak softly. “Okay, little one, listen up. You’re already giving your mom a hard time, so it’s time to chill, okay? No more touchdowns tonight.”

“She’s not listening,” I say, wincing as a foot goes straight into my rib cage. I squirm, trying to rid myself of that feeling but it’s no use. Hudson adjusts himself, smoothing his hand over my top, then lifting it higher until my belly is exposed to him.

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