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║ Chapter 41 – Morning After and why does this shit keep happening 🌅💗🐾 ║
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Nova woke slowly, wrapped in warmth.
For a moment, she didn't move—just breathed, letting the steady rise and fall beneath her cheek ground her. Hope's chest. Hope's heartbeat. Strong. Steady. Safe.
Nova smiled softly.
She tilted her head just enough to press a gentle kiss to Hope's cheek, careful not to wake her. Hope murmured something unintelligible, lips twitching, but didn't stir.
Good, Nova thought fondly.
Carefully, quietly, Nova shifted.
Her body reminded her immediately that it still had opinions.
The moment her feet touched the floor, a wave of weakness rolled through her legs like wet sand. Nova swallowed, bracing her hands on the bed, breathing through it.
You're fine, she told herself. Just slow.
She pushed.
Bad idea.
Her arms shook. Her legs wobbled. The room tilted slightly as her lungs burned faster than they should have.
Behind her, Hope opened her eyes.
She didn't move.
She watched.
Watched Nova grit her teeth, watched her stubbornly refuse to ask for help, watched the determination give way to exhaustion far too quickly.
Nova took one step.
Then another.
Her knees buckled.
Hope was there instantly.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back before she could hit the floor.
Nova gasped, startled. "Hope—!"
Hope chuckled softly, already guiding her back toward the bed. "Morning, sunshine."
"You— you were awake?" Nova asked, breathless, half-embarrassed, half-relieved.
"Mmhmm." Hope steadied her easily. "For a while."
Nova frowned. "You could've—"
"I wanted to see if you'd ask for help," Hope said gently.
Nova huffed. "I was about to."
Hope raised an eyebrow. "You almost face-planted."
"That's exaggerating."
Hope smiled and helped Nova sit. "You were one breath away from reenacting a crime scene."
Nova pouted. "I'm fine."
Hope leaned in, calm, patient, deadly logical. "You just got winded standing up."
Nova opened her mouth.
Hope added, "Your legs gave out."
Nova closed it.
Hope kissed her forehead. "Bathroom. Then breakfast. And then rest."
Nova grumbled, but didn't argue as Hope helped her wash up, brushing her hair gently, steadying her when she swayed, never rushing, never scolding—just there.
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Breakfast in the cafeteria was loud, chaotic, and exactly what Nova needed.
Lizzie waved them over dramatically. "LOOK. SHE LIVES."
"I never left," Nova muttered, easing into her chair.
Malia slid a plate toward her. "Eat. You look like you'll fall over again."
"I will not—"
Hope placed a hand on Nova's knee.
Nova sighed. "…Fine."
They laughed. Talked. Planned the day loosely. Nothing urgent. Nothing heavy.
Then Nova's phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen.
Her smile faded.
Just slightly.
Hope noticed.
She filed it away quietly—deciding she would ask Nova about it later. For now, she chose not to push, letting it sit as she focused on getting Nova through the morning.
So did Stiles—his joking expression flickering for just a second before smoothing out.
And Lydia caught it too, eyes sharp and knowing.
Neither of them said anything.
Nova locked the phone, slipping it into her pocket. "We should… go see the girls."
Hope nodded immediately. "Yeah. I was thinking the same."
Nova stood carefully this time, letting Hope steady her.
As they headed out together, Nova glanced down at her phone once more.
Her jaw tightened.
She didn't say anything.
Hope didn't press.
They walked toward their room together, getting ready to head to the hospital—Nova's heart already racing, pulled back to where her daughters waited.
And whatever that message was…
Nova wasn't ready to share it yet.
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Back in their dorm room, Hope moved around quietly, pulling on her jacket and grabbing her keys while Nova rested against the pillows, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
Nova lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling while her phone sat face-down beside her like it might bite.
Allison: We need to talk. Alone.
The words replayed in her head.
Her thumb hovered over the phone, then pulled back. Her chest tightened.
No, she thought. I don't owe her anything.
Then another part of her—quieter, older, scarred—whispered that unresolved things had a way of festering. That avoidance didn't make ghosts disappear.
Nova swallowed, fingers curling into the blanket. She didn't unlock the phone. She didn't type a reply.
Not now, she decided. Not when I'm tired. Not when the girls need me calm.
She turned her face toward the wall and closed her eyes, breathing through the knot in her stomach until it dulled.
She didn't look at Hope.
She just locked the screen and set the phone face-down on the bed, heart pounding as Hope turned back toward her.
Hope paused—just for a fraction of a second.
Something twisted low in her chest, sharp and sudden, like a tug on an invisible thread. Instinct flared. The soulbond stirred, uneasy, whispering that something was off.
Hope frowned faintly, glancing back at Nova, but whatever it was slipped just out of reach.
She pushed the feeling aside—for now—unaware of the storm quietly building behind Nova's eyes.
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Hope helped Nova into the passenger seat carefully, one hand braced at her lower back, the other steadying her knee as she eased in.
"Okay," Hope murmured, fastening Nova's seatbelt herself. "Comfortable?"
Nova nodded, softer now. "Yeah."
As Hope pulled the car onto the road toward the hospital, the space between them filled with something unspoken.
Hope could feel it.
Worry threaded through the soulbond—Nova's exhaustion, her fear, her anger held tight behind her ribs. It buzzed against Hope's own concern, her protectiveness sharpening with every mile.
Nova stared out the window for a long moment before finally speaking. "I… got a text this morning."
Hope's jaw tightened. "Is that what's been bothering you?"
Nova nodded. "I didn't want to worry you. I'm already worrying enough for both of us."
Hope's grip tightened on the steering wheel—not at Nova, never at Nova—but at the unseen source of her distress. "Whoever it is," she said quietly, "they don't get to mess with you. Not right now. Not ever."
Silence stretched.
Then something clicked.
Hope's instincts flared hard, cold certainty flooding her veins. She eased the car to the side of the road, put it in park, and turned fully toward Nova.
"Was it Allison?"
Nova's breath caught.
For a heartbeat, she couldn't speak. The word sat heavy between them, dragging old memories to the surface—betrayal, heartbreak, the night her world had cracked open before she ever knew how fragile it was.
Her fingers curled tightly in her lap, knuckles whitening as she swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat. The car felt too small. The air too thick.
Slowly, she nodded.
"…Yeah," Nova whispered. "It was Allison."
The effect was immediate.
Hope went utterly still.
The air in the car felt like it shifted—tightening, pressing in—as something cold and furious flared behind Hope's ribs. The soulbond snapped taut, no longer a quiet hum but a sharp, electric surge that stole her breath.
Nova felt it too.
The bond flooded with heat—Hope's rage, her fear, her need to protect crashing into Nova all at once. Nova sucked in a shaky breath, instinctively curling inward as if bracing for impact.
Hope closed her eyes for a brief second, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked beneath her skin.
Allison.
The name alone dragged memories forward like broken glass—Nova screaming in pain, blood on hospital sheets, doctors shouting, the terror of watching Nova go into labor far too early. Thirty weeks. Too small. Too fragile.
Hope saw it all again in a flash:
Nova curled in on herself, shaking and terrified.
Their daughters fighting to breathe.
The word premature echoing like a death sentence.
And underneath all of it—stress.
Fear.
Allison showing up.
Allison refusing to let go.
Hope's hands trembled once before she forced them still.
She opened her eyes and turned fully toward Nova, fury blazing—but never at her. Never.
"Hey," Hope said, her voice low, controlled, deliberate. She reached out and cupped Nova's cheek gently, grounding herself through touch. "Look at me."
Nova did, eyes glossy.
Hope swallowed hard. "None of this is your fault. Not the stress. Not the labor. Not the NICU. Nothing."
Her thumb brushed away a tear Nova hadn't realized had fallen.
"But Allison?" Hope continued quietly, every word edged with restrained violence. "She does not get to touch you. Or scare you. Or drag you back into something that almost killed you."
The soulbond flared again—agreement, instinct, promise.
Hope leaned in, forehead resting against Nova's. "She already took enough from us."
Her eyes burned, voice iron-clad despite the storm raging inside her. "She doesn't get another inch."
Nova swallowed, then nodded shakily. "She said… she wants to meet me. Alone."
The word hit like a spark to dry tinder.
Hope's jaw tightened, fury flashing hot and bright before she forced it down. "Absolutely not," she said, firm and immediate. "You're not meeting her alone—ever. Not after everything. Not when you're still healing. Not when she thinks she can corner you."
She softened just enough to press her forehead to Nova's again, voice dropping but no less certain. "If Allison wants to say something, she can say it where I can see her—or she doesn't say it at all."
Nova let out a shaky breath, the tension finally cracking. "I just… I don't understand why she showed up at all," she said, her voice breaking. "It's been almost ten months, Hope. Ten. I was happy. I am happy—with you. With our babies."
Her eyes filled, tears spilling over despite her effort to stop them. "And then she and Scott show up and it feels like everything shattered all over again. Like they just—ruined it. Ruined everything."
Hope didn't let her finish.
She pulled Nova into her arms, strong and sure, tucking Nova's head under her chin and holding her tightly as Nova cried. One hand cradled the back of Nova's head, the other pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, anchoring her.
"I've got you," Hope murmured fiercely. "Nothing they did ruined what we have. Nothing. You're safe. Our girls are safe. And I'm not letting anyone take this from us."
Nova's breath hitched hard. Her hands clenched in the fabric of Hope's jacket as the words finally tore free. "But because they showed up—because Allison and Scott couldn't just leave me the hell alone—I almost died," she choked out. "I was bleeding, Hope. I was in so much pain. I thought I wasn't going to make it."
Her voice broke completely. "And our babies—our little girls—they're in the NICU right now. They're fighting to live because of that stress. Because of them."
Anger surged through her grief, hot and raw. "I hate them," Nova spat shakily. "I hate that Allison couldn't keep her damn distance. I hate that Scott went along with it. They ruined my body, my pregnancy, almost my life—"
She pressed her face into Hope's shoulder, sobbing. "They had no right. No right at all."
Hope's face darkened.
For a moment, something fierce and dangerous flickered in her eyes as memories surged—standing helpless in a hospital hallway, blood on Nova's hands, machines beeping too fast, too loud. The terror of almost losing her mate. The fear of losing their newborn daughters before they'd even had a chance to live.
A low, protective anger settled into Hope's bones.
Never again.
She pressed a kiss into Nova's hair, holding her tighter. "They're not hurting you anymore," Hope said quietly, every word a vow. "I won't let them. I'll talk to my family. I'll talk to your pack. Allison doesn't get to reach out to you after what she did—not without consequences."
Nova's breathing slowly steadied against her chest as Hope rubbed slow, grounding circles along her back.
"For now," Hope murmured gently, easing back just enough to look at her, "let's get you to the hospital. Our girls are waiting."
Hope reached for the ignition again, pulling back onto the road, one hand never leaving Nova as they headed toward the hospital together.
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Elsewhere…
Allison stared at her phone, jaw clenched as the screen remained stubbornly silent.
"No response?" the woman beside her asked.
They were parked in a quiet lot, the engine off. The unknown woman leaned back against the SUV, arms crossed, watching Allison with sharp, assessing eyes.
Allison shook her head. "She saw it. I know she did."
The woman smirked. "Then you've planted the hook."
Allison's grip tightened around the phone. "She won't ignore me forever."
"She doesn't have to," the woman replied calmly. "She just has to hesitate. That's all it takes."
Allison looked away, eyes dark. "She's different now. Stronger. Surrounded."
"Doesn't matter," the woman said. "You don't need everyone. You just need one moment. One crack."
Allison exhaled slowly, resolve hardening. "She was mine first."
The woman's smile was thin and dangerous. "Then let's make sure she remembers that."
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End of Chapter 41 – Morning After