#beaquinn!!

“Sorry,” Bea apologizes. “Not ‘it.’”

Quinn smiles. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you meant. I’m just teasing.”

Bea pats his chest and he catches her hand, holding her wrist so her palm is pressed against his skin, fingers splayed over his heart. 

“If I had a baby boy right now, I’d name him after Luke,” Quinn says. “We have a system– I name my son after Luke, Luke names his after Jack, and Jack names his after me. Then the other brother will be the godfather. So Jack would be the godfather of my son, and I would be the godfather for Luke’s, and Luke would be Jack’s son’s godfather.”

“Sounds like you guys have thought this out,” Bea says. 

“We had to,” Quinn says. “I want to name my son after my brothers, but if Jack was my son’s middle name, Jack would throw a tantrum. He always wants to be the number one pick. Going first in the draft really sent his ego through the roof.”

“But you would rather use Luke as a first name,” Bea says.

“Yeah,” Quinn agrees. “Luke is really special to me. I love them both, but Luke looks up to me a lot and always has. Sometimes I feel like I can’t fulfill his expectations of me. Sometimes I feel like I don’t treat him as well as I should. Ever since I was a kid, I was trying to be the best role model for Luke. He was like my first kid, in a way. He wanted to be just like me, the same way I wanted to be just like Dad.”

saturday, march 1, 2031 10:42 P.M.

“Is he here yet?” Quinn asks frantically, dropping the two duffelbags in his hands on the chair in the corner of the hospital room. “Did I miss it?”

“Do you see a baby in this room?” Bea snaps. “Seventeen hours later and this gremlin won’t get out of me.” She directs her cutting tone towards her stomach. “Get out! Get out!” 

“Sweet Bea, don’t yell at the baby,” Quinn chides softly, grabbing the water from Bea’s bedside table and bringing the straw to her lips. “You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot.”

Bea takes a sip of the water, then raises her hands to tuck a few strands of hair back into her braided pigtails. “I am going to lord this behavior over my child’s head for as long as I want,” Bea replies, tone grave. “He is taking his time, so much so that I have not eaten in twelve hours, because that’s how long I’ve been in active labor. Our doctor said that he would probably be here around seven and you managed to play an entire hockey game in the time since seven.” She tilts her head towards Quinn’s and glares menacingly. “I want him out.”

Quinn leans forward and plants a kiss on her lips. “I can’t take him out for you, babe. He’ll come when he comes. Do you want to try walking around a bit, see if you can loosen up?”

Bea narrows her eyes. “Conveniently, I already did that. I spent the entire second intermission and third period pacing around this room and all I got out of it was one lousy centimeter.”

“Okay, Crab-Bea,” Quinn says with a chuckle. His use of the nickname is warranted. Bea is being crabby. Seventeen hours of labor will do that to you. “Do you want some good news?”

“I’m dying for some.”

“Jack and Luke got special permission to fly out a day early and Mom and Dad are already on the way too,” Quinn says, kissing Bea’s cheek. “So you get to see Luke’s reaction in person.”

“If the baby even comes by then,” Bea grumbles. “You never know, he might still be in there by the time the ‘Hughes Bowl’ is over.” Her voice adopts a mocking tone when she quotes the media-given name to the Canucks/Devils game, eyes rolling. She really loves the Hughes Bowl, but not when there’s a baby stubbornly camping out in her uterus.

“He’ll be here by then,” Quinn assures her. “I bet he’ll be here by midnight. Now, scoot forward. Let me give you a back massage. It’s the least I can do.”

Bea scoots forward as best she can, providing Quinn enough room to climb onto the bed and situate Bea between his thighs. “The least you can do is right,” Bea agrees. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”

Quinn laughs. His hands fit over Bea’s shoulders and his thumbs dig into the tense space at the top of her spine. He massages the area and Bea feels herself relax immediately. The skin on her neck rises when Quinn fits his lips next to her earlobe and reminds her, “You were there too. I seem to remember you begging for your husband to fill you up.”

sunday, march 2, 2031 2:15 P.M.

A knock sounds at the door. Quinn peeks his head in the room, finding Bea on the bed with their little boy on her chest. “Are you ready for some guests?” he asks, grinning at Bea. 

She’s in a much better mood than she was last night, having finally birthed their first child and gotten some food  in her system. Little Luke is fed, changed, and is having a nap on her chest. One of his hands is balled up in the spaghetti strap of Bea’s tank top, holding her close. He’s been cuddling with Bea for over an hour and a half now, so he should be waking up any minute. Bea nods, biting her bottom lip and beaming at Quinn, trying not to jostle the baby too much.

Quinn retreats from the doorway and pushes the door open, letting his family walk in ahead of him. Ellen is first, eyes already teary, and she presses a hand to her mouth when she sees Bea with the baby on her chest. The hormones catch up with Bea and she tears up too, her lower lip pouting slightly even as she smiles.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ellen murmurs, coming to Bea’s bedside and touching her hairline daintily, brushing a kiss on her forehead. “You did it.”

Not for the first time in this whole process, Bea wishes her mom was here. Her entire family is trying to plan a trip out to Vancouver over the next few months, staggering their arrivals so that Bea always has someone helping her with the baby until Quinn’s season ends, but she would love it if her mom was able to be here right now. They’d called the McLeans earlier to introduce little Luke to his Mimi and Poppop, but it wasn’t the same. Having Ellen’s presence isn’t the same either, but it’s just as comforting– Bea has always been accepted as one of the Hugheses, even before she and Quinn were officially together.

“It took him long enough,” Bea jokes, both laughing and welling up further at the same time. God, the post-partum rollercoaster of emotions is no joke. “It was eighteen hours of labor before I reached ten centimeters.”

“The first one is always the hardest,” Ellen tells Bea, cradling her face in both hands and kissing her forehead again before her attention turns to the tiny little human nestled against Bea’s skin. Ellen’s smile softens and her head tilts. “Oh, Bea, he’s beautiful.”

“Do you want to hold him?” Bea asks, already bringing her hand to the back of little Luke’s head and gently changing his position so that she can hand him off. She has to pry his fingers off of her shirt, which unsettles the boy and makes him twitch, although he stays asleep. 

“You gotta wash your hands first,” Quinn interjects, tugging his mom away and guiding her towards the sink in the room. 

Jim claps Bea’s shoulder and squeezes. “Good job, Bea. We’re so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Bea replies. She tilts Luke’s body so that Jim can look down at him. “I thought you’d walk in here with a stick or something.”

Jim lets out a little chuckle, speaking under his breath like he’s sharing a secret with Bea. “Between you and me, it’s in the back of the car. You’ve got the number one pick of the 2049 draft in your hands there.” He winks and heads to the chair in the corner of the room, making himself comfortable and lacing his hands over his stomach.

Jack sits at the foot of Bea’s bed. “I brought the little guy a present,” he says, holding up a small gift bag. “Go ahead and open it.” He balances the gift bag precariously on Bea’s knees, his eyes darting to Ellen as she comes back to Bea’s side and carefully takes the baby in her arms, cooing and shushing him gently as he reacts to the transition and lets out a short wail.

Bea reaches for the present and pulls at the wrapping inside. A tiny black beanie falls on her lap when she pulls the tissue from the bag and Bea has a feeling she’s going to start laughing as soon as she turns it over. Her eyes go to Quinn as she picks up the beanie and flips it in her palm. She looks down and finds the Devils logo branded on the cuff of the article and releases a honk of laughter. 

“We thought he could wear it to the game tomorrow,” Luke adds with a crooked grin, standing at the end of Bea’s bed and patting her shin over the covers. “Show his support for the winning team, right?”

Bea holds up the beanie for Quinn to see and continues giggling as his face morphs into an angry frown. “Absolutely not,” Quinn says. “He’s already got gear for the ‘winning team.’ Boes got him a Canucks onesie that looks like Fin.”

“Yeah, and I don’t know if we’re going to the game,” Bea says. “I’m probably going to have to stay home with him. He’s less than a day old, Jack.”

“What’s his name?” Jim asks, tapping at his phone. His reading glasses are balanced precariously on the tip of his nose. “I want to add his birthday to my calendar.”

Bea and Quinn share a look. Bea presses her lips together and raises an eyebrow quickly, signaling for Quinn to go ahead.

“His name is Luke,” Quinn reveals, his face glowing with pride. “Luke Charles Hughes.”

Bea almost starts crying again when Uncle Luke’s eyebrows knit together and he whips his head from Bea to Quinn, then back to Bea. He looks at the baby in his mother’s arms, then back to Quinn. “What?” he asks. “Are you serious?”

Ellen clicks her tongue, her face crumpling a bit at the reveal. She touches baby Luke’s face, then wipes her thumb beneath her eyes. 

“We had a deal,” Quinn says with a laugh. 

Luke takes about two strides across the room and crashes into his oldest brother, wrapping him in a hug. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it, are you kidding? He’s actually named Luke?” Luke releases Quinn and makes his way to Bea, his arms surrounding her tightly and robbing her of some of her breath.

“Yes, actually,” Bea says when he pulls away. “Luke, after you, and Charles, after Honey.”

“That’s awesome, guys,” Jack says. He pinches the soft spot under Bea’s knee between his thumb and forefinger. “Really. That’s so great.”

Luke touches Bea’s arm. “I can hold him, right?”

Bea laughs. “Yeah, bud, you can hold him,” she tells Luke. “He’s going to look so tiny when you do, I want a picture.”

Quinn pulls Luke to the sink before he can reach Ellen, who has stood and is now bouncing the baby slightly. When she turns to look out the window in the room, Bea can see baby Luke’s squinty eyes blinking open and peering out at the room around him, only the top half of his head visible since he’s mostly resting on Ellen’s shoulder and unable to hold his head up on his own, being only 14 hours old.

Luke is gentle when he takes his nephew and cradles him in his palms for the first time. “He’s so little,” Luke marvels. 

“Seven pounds, ten ounces,” Quinn brags. “21 inches tall.”

“We gotta get this guy bulking,” Jack jokes with a big grin, standing up and looking at the boy in Luke’s arms. He touches baby Luke’s little foot through the onesie, gently moving the appendage back and forth and whispering a quiet, “Hi, Little Lukey.”

Quinn grins next to his brothers, hand on Luke’s shoulder and smiling down at his first son. 

Life is good.

Quinn is back in Michigan, in his house. He did some film with Jack and Luke today, played around in the shooting room for a bit, and took the boat out. He’d grilled with Dad and washed the dishes with Mom and, best of all, he’d taken Bea on a nighttime drive to see all of his favorite places. Luke is out with some friends now, some of his school buddies who live in Ann Arbor during the summer, and Jack is across the street with Lani. 

It’s Sunday, Bea and Quinn’s last night at the house since they have to leave after breakfast tomorrow, and Quinn kind of wishes that they didn’t have to go. He’d barely had enough time at the lake house, since on Saturday, he and his brothers had been at the NHL ‘25 from 7:30 for makeup and hair until after dinner. They only had one day to film everything they needed for the release– a bunch of videos with people like Bauer, Jack’s old teammate PK, EA Sports, BarDown, and plenty of other content creators. It was exhausting.

Quinn also feels bad because Bea had come with them originally, but she’d grown restless and tired by the fourth hour. There was only so much she could do and they were on such a tight schedule that, around lunchtime, Quinn convinced her that it would be okay if she went home for the day. She’d left, but she’d still dropped by about thirty minutes later with sandwiches for all of the brothers. Quinn’s not even sure how she did it, but she managed to get all of their orders right. He’d kissed her right in front of the cameras and shooed her off a second time when Jack and Luke started making a ruckus. 

Saturday afternoon, Mom and Bea had gone shopping. Quinn had received a giggly fashion show from his girl after dinner, where she’d twirled and posed and glowed with excitement whenever Quinn complimented her. And she had looked great– but it’s hard not to look great when you’re as perfect and lovely as Bea McLean.

They’d gone out on the boat after that, just them, in time to watch the sunset. Bea had sat on Quinn’s thigh while he drove and he’d been sufficiently distracted by her weight, so he’d sped across the waves and driven in circles, blaming the bouncing on the water. He’d been sure to keep his hand on Bea’s hips to keep her in place, especially when she started biting her bottom lip and wiggling against his quad as subtly as she could– like Quinn doesn’t notice everything about her. Once Bea had finished and Quinn had murmured a low “Good job, baby,” they’d cut the motor off in the middle of the lake and drifted along with the wind. They’d lain on the cushions at the front of the boat and kissed and talked until the stars started twinkling in the sky. Then, Quinn had taken them back home.

Today had been long and Quinn hadn’t gotten to spend as much time with Bea as he would’ve liked. Their drive had been nice. They’d rolled the windows down and Bea had sang along with Quinn’s music, although she didn’t know all the words and she’s not the world’s greatest singer. He didn’t mind. She was laughing when she messed up the words and she was singing as loud as she could; it was almost hard to keep his eyes on the road. 

At the beginning of the summer, he didn’t think he’d like her so much. He definitely didn’t think he’d fall in love with her. Even though he knows what’s coming at the end of this month, it’s hard to imagine being without her. He hadn’t even had the stomach to explain the situation to Mom when they were washing dishes and she’d told him that she liked Bea and that she seems to fit in with the family.

She does. It’s not just because she was with the brothers at earlier points in the summer. No, Bea fits because she’s supposed to. She’s supposed to be in Michigan during the summers, with Quinn.

And that’s a dangerous way of thinking. 

He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror for a second before leaning down to spit out his toothpaste. He’s been in here too long. Bea will start to wonder what’s holding him up.

It’s late, so the lights in the hall are off. Quinn pads down the hallway as quietly as he can, trying not to wake up his parents down the corridor. The light behind his door is off, too, which is weird because he could’ve sworn he’d left it on when he left to brush his teeth. Bea was comfy in bed, and she’d already brushed her teeth earlier to try and dislodge a piece of food that was still bothering her, long after dinner, so she’d stayed behind instead of fulfilling their usual habit of brushing their teeth side-by-side.

Quinn is sure to turn the knob slowly and creak the door open gently, just in case Bea is alseep.

“I forgot to show you what else your mom and I bought yesterday,” Bea says excitedly when he enters, kneeling on the bed next to Quinn’s nightstand. “It’s more fun in the dark. C’mere, close your eyes.”

Quinn chuckles a bit, crossing to the bed and sitting down behind Bea, leaning back against the headboard and slipping an arm around her waist. He flattens his palm against her stomach, underneath the navy shirt that she stole from his dresser drawer about an hour earlier. He closes his eyes. “Okay, baby. My eyes are closed.”

Bea fiddles with something. Quinn hears a few clicks, then a dim light grows behind his eyelids. Quinn’s lips turn up in a slight smile. 

“Guess,” Bea says.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Quinn pretends. “Did you buy some glow in the dark lingerie for me?”

Bea giggles. “I don’t think they make that, Q. I don’t think I’d buy it with your mom, either. Here, do you smell that?”

“Did you fart?”

“No!” Bea chastizes, swatting Quinn’s chest. She moves on the bed, manuevering over his thighs and settling down between them, legs criss-crossed. “Don’t try to be funny and make this all boy and gross, I’m excited about it.”

Quinn inhales deeply. It smells like flowers and fire– if he wasn’t sure that Bea had bought a candle, he’d know now. “Mm, you and Mom went to the candle bar, huh? What is that, lavender?” Quinn blinks his eyes open and smiles at Bea. 

Bea returns the look, bouncing a bit with enthusiasm. “Mhm, and chamomile and jasmine,” she informs Quinn. “It’s called ‘Wildflowers and Meadow Grass.’ It made me think of Honey’s yard. Do you like it?”

“It smells great, Bea. Very Litchton,” Quinn concedes. 

Her face is lit up by the soft glow of the flame. Bea’s smile morphs in the candlelight. Her eyes are still twinkling with delight, even more so when they reflect the glow of the candle. She leans into Quinn’s space and kisses him. “Tell me a secret,” she says when she pulls away.

I don’t want to break up, Quinn thinks. “I love you,” he says instead.

Bea laughs lightly, climbing onto Quinn’s lap and kissing him again. “That’s not a secret, Q.”

It’s the closest thing he can say without actually saying his secret. He knows that Bea wants to break up at the end of summer. What’s worse is that Quinn understands it. He knows that they’ll be far apart and it’ll be hard. He knows that he won’t be able to give Bea the attention that he wants to give, since his job comes first, and that will be really hard for her. He doesn’t want her to hate him for prioritizing his job– and he has to prioritize it. He’s the captain. He’s the leader of the team, he’s the guy who had the season of his life just a few months ago, and he has to keep going.

God, he wish he didn’t have to. He’s happy here now, but in another life, he’s able to be happy here forever.

Bea’s kisses are soft. She brings their lips together and pulls away only ever to tilt her head the other way. Her arms rest on his shoulders and her hands have naturally wound around Quinn’s neck, toying with the hair at his nape. 

She never says it back, but Bea tells Quinn everything she needs to in the way she kisses him. Hell, she says everything she needs to when she looks at him. 

Quinn slides his hands up under Bea’s shirt– his shirt– and lets his fingers dance along her ribcage. “I love you,” he says again, breathing the word into her lungs. If he says it enough, maybe it’ll become a part of her, and she’ll find it unbearable to leave him, too.

“Quinn,” Bea replies, mewling a bit as he draws the fabric up and over her head. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, just like he likes, and it’s messy from being free all day. 

He tosses the shirt into the corner of the room and palms over her breasts before bringing his hands to her behind. Quinn scoots down the bed until he’s laying beneath her– Bea loves being on top, when she can take what she wants from him. He likes to look at the bliss on her face when she uses him to make herself feel good.

Bea twists above him to push at his boxers, the only piece of clothing that separates them now. 

Quinn’s breath escapes his chest when she does. She always moves like something that should be studied, but the fire embellishes her figure in the best way. The candlelight casts a glow that seems to wrap around her, like the warmth of the flame itself chooses to linger on her skin. Quinn watches, mesmerized by the way the light moves with her every breath, tracing the gentle curves of her body like an artist finding inspiration in the unspoken.

She’s not just in the room with him, on top of him and unaware of the thoughts racing through his head while she sinks onto his length, taking no time to prep herself. No, she is the room, the heart of it, a presence whose heartbeat seems to define Quinn’s own, one that keeps his pumping. Her mouth falls open as she takes him, all of him, and her chest shudders.

“Bea,” Quinn hears himself whisper. His hands come to her hips and encourage her to move, gently rocking her body back and forth.

The fire kisses the edges of her features, softening them. Her eyes are closed, but Quinn knows that behind them resides a shimmering, inviting pool of everything except longevity. 

Bea’s expression shifts subtly as the flame wavers. She’s made of the same fragile dance between light and shadow, rolling her hips and moaning quietly as her pleasure builds. The fire plays on her lips, drawing out the faintest curve, and Quinn thinks for a moment that he can see the words that he wants to hear falling from them. 

She’s everything. He wants her to stay.

“Touch me, Q,” Bea requests quietly. She places a hand on his stomach, leaning forward and changing the angle of the place where they meet so that Quinn’s cock can brush against her sweet spot more often than not. She runs her fingers through her hair, bunching a mess of the strands on the top of her head and then letting them fall back into place like a waterfall, using that hand to trace his lips before returning it to her own body. She cups her chest, rolling her head onto her shoulders and keening in the back of her throat, only loud enough for Quinn to hear.

Quinn springs into action. Fuck, he’d do anything she asks.

His right hand stays on Bea’s hip, helping her move her hips. Quinn thrusts shallowly into her heat, relishing in the way her walls drag over the bare skin of his cock. He’s always loved this, being bare inside his partner, but every time feels like the first time with Bea. Maybe that’s because, despite how often he finds himself inside of her, he’s the first of Bea’s boyfriends to get to this level with her. He’s special. He’s been craving that his whole life, needing a place where he can stand out and excel and prove that he’s worth something, and he knows that he’s found that with Bea. They connect in a way that Quinn has never experienced before, even though he’s done this before. In a shorter time than all of his other meaningful relationships, Bea managed to make Quinn feel fulfilled.

His left hand shifts between her legs, above the space where his cock is stuffed inside of her cunt. The pads of his fingertips brush over her clit, feeling the slippery bundle slide against his hand when she moves.

Bea makes a noise akin to a hiccup when he first makes contact with her, rocking her hips faster. 

Quinn inches his hand forward and presses against Bea, curling his digits slightly to flick over her clit. It isn’t long before his fingers are covered in her juices, making it even harder to barrage Bea with pleasure. Quinn continues his movements, hoping it’s enough, and by the sounds of Bea’s low moans, it is. 

“Always– oh– always so good, baby,” Bea breathes out. Her jaw goes slack when Quinn thrusts inside, reacting to her words. Her eyes close and her head tips forward, hair falling into her face. This is the only time that Quinn wishes it wasn’t loose, when it hides her beautiful features. “Y’make me feel so good.”

“Made for me,” Quinn chokes out, the friction between her warm, hot inner walls and the skin of his cock making him breathless. “Sweetheart, fuck, you’re made for me. This pussy– made for me.”

Bea’s entrance flexes around Quinn’s base when he says that. She slows her rocking to a stop and stares at him. “Quinn,” she mumbles, eyes raking over his face. 

Quinn shifts beneath Bea, displacing her on his lap. He can’t have this conversation right now. He shouldn’t have said that. “Just– I–”

Bea presses a hand to his mouth, silencing Quinn. She takes a deep breath, but then she nods. She clears her throat and rolls her hips. “Made for you,” she repeats. She opens her mouth to say something else, but falters.

A breath whooshes from Quinn’s chest, his fingers digging into Bea’s side. “Bea,” Quinn pleads. His cock is throbbing inside of her, orgasm in sight. 

“I know, Q. I know,” Bea replies. She looks up, where the ceiling glows from the candlelight. She lifts herself and sinks back down, working up to the same pace as before. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Quinn groans, circling his fingers over her clit.

Bea whines, squeezing her eyes shut. She reaches forward and cups Quinn’s face in her palms, planting a kiss on his lips, then both of his cheeks. She returns to his lips, hums and pants leaking from her mouth as Quinn uses the newfound leverage to buck his hips up, thrusting his cock deep inside her entrance. He knows the path of her kisses– his bottom lip, the freckle on his right cheek, the scar on his left, and a ‘real’ kiss. When she comes, she’ll kiss the curve of his nose and over both of his eyelids, as always.

“I love you,” he repeats under his breath. He helps raise Bea’s body, then bring her down on his cock. “Are you close?”

“Very,” Bea says. “I need– oh my God.” She collapses forward on a hard snap of Quinn’s hips, her elbows hinging on Quinn’s shoulders.

“What, baby, what do you need?” Quinn asks, looking through his eyelashes at Bea. Her hair creates a curtain on his left. Quinn brushes it out of the way.

“You know,” Bea answers, grinding against Quinn desperately. Her voice breaks a bit and Quinn remembers the first time they were in this position… what got her over the edge then.

He nods and pulls Bea down, having slid a hand to her ribcage. Quinn sucks a small blemish onto the soft skin just beneath her left tit, then kisses up to her nipple. He closes his lips around her front, scraping his teeth along her sensitive skin before sucking.

Bea squeaks, her mouth probably pressed into a thin line to keep herself from wailing. 

Quinn brings his fingertips to the small of her back and nudges her forward, still using his other hand to pet over Bea’s clit. 

Her hands work their way into his hair and tighten on the locks, tugging the strands harshly. Bea arches her back, pushing her chest into his mouth, and her hips flounder, falling out of their rhythm. “Oh, Quinn,” Bea sighs.

“Come,” Quinn encourages, his words muffled against her tit. He switches nipples, flicking his tongue over the bud.

Bea’s legs shake where they bracket Quinn’s thighs, which would be a great signal that her climax is cresting if it weren’t for the deathgrip her pussy has on his cock. It tenses more and more with each wave that jolts through her body and, really, Quinn might only have himself to blame, considering the way his fingers are flying over her clit. 

Her constriction against his member prompts Quinn to come, his seed flowing from his cock and painting her walls. She’s stuffed to the brim and Quinn continues to fuck up into Bea a bit, feeling the aftershocks pulse through his body. She takes it like a champ and Quinn only stops thrusting into her when Bea’s hands tilt his chin up and her lips fall on the bridge of his nose.

Quinn closes his eyes instinctively, waiting for her next two kisses to fall, and Bea breathes out a tiny giggle. She pecks both of his eyelids gently, guiding him away from her chest and up to her lips. “Did you like the candle?” She asks quietly before pecking his lips. “I thought I’d leave it here, if you want to keep it.”

Quinn slides his hands up her waist and rolls them over until Bea is on her back and he’s hovering above her. “It’s a nice candle, baby. It made you look really pretty in the light.”

Bea admires him fondly, reaching up to trace one of his eyebrows. “Good. I bought a different one to bring home and put in our room in Litchton. It’s supposed to be all earthy. I thought you might like that, too.”

She doesn’t know that he has a candle in Vancouver just like that– earthy green and smelling like a rainforest. Somehow, though, she knows his taste, even without talking about it. Quinn drops a kiss on her lips.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he says.

“Do what?” Bea asks, furrowing her brow in confusion. She pushes her hand further, into Quinn’s hair, and scratches his scalp absentmindedly while she waits for his answer.

“Be so perfect all the time,” Quinn replies. “You always know the exact right thing. How do you do that?”

Bea scrunches her nose playfully. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’re actually a robot that I designed. All of this is a mirage and all of your memories are fake–”

Quinn cuts her off by biting over her neck and pinching her sides, tickling her, which makes Bea squeal and laugh aloud. 

“Quinn!” she exclaims. “Cut it out!”

“Quiet, baby,” Quinn replies. He smooths a kiss across her lips, feeling Bea melt into him. “You’ll wake the parents.”

“I don’t want to move to Litchton!” Luke screams at them when they break the news to the kids, his sweet face twisting with betrayal and anger. He startles his brothers and makes Daphne cry from his outburst before storming up to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Bea pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath to steel herself before her face reveals her frustration. She welcomes Daphne into her lap as the girl continues to cry, rubbing her back soothingly. Bea shares a look with the man beside her and patiently answers Patrick’s many questions: “When?” “How?” and the everlasting, constantly repeating “Why? Why? Why?”

If there’s one thing that Luke took from both of his parents when he was born and perfected, it’s stubbornness. The worst part is that he always takes it out on Bea – she’s the one who’s around all the time, she doesn’t have the special novelty of being their traveling dad whose mere presence is a treat.

Luke gives her the cold shoulder for weeks; answering her with one word when she asks him a question, glaring at her when she tries to peek at his homework, taking any excuse to run ahead of her when they’re out in public or at one of Q’s final games. Retirement is hard enough without a petulant 7-year-old letting you know exactly how your smart financial decision – that is for the good of the entire family – bothers them.

Bea hears his grievances and reasons not to leave when he preaches them to his siblings in the car, sees him cry and hug his best friend and swear he’ll never forget him when they say goodbye, and feels his anger as the end of the month draws near. School ends, then hockey season. They pack up the house and ship box after box to North Carolina. When Bea has the kids fastened in their car seats to drive to the airport and she tells them to say goodbye to the house, all Luke does is cross his arms and dig his chin into his chest.

“I’m worried about him,” Bea says one night in the new house, her whisper all too echoey with the vast emptiness around them. It feels like they’ve been unpacking for weeks, but at the same time, they’ve gotten nothing done. It isn’t homely yet, despite Bea’s best efforts.

“He’ll be fine,” her husband responds with a kiss to her forehead. 

Even once he retires, he isn’t around as often as he’d like to be. There are interviews and guest analyst spots on broadcasts for the draft, filming for sponsorships and events for the organization he and his brothers had started together after Jack’s retirement.

At the beginning of the move, Bea is alone with the kids on their big farm, where they can run and play to their heart’s content. She’s covered in piles of laundry and stacks of dirty dishes, which is hard but manageable after all these years. The best part of the move, apart from seeing the babies adjust to the town that she loved so much and left almost a decade ago, is seeing Honey every day. She brings the kids over and Bea always feels lighter. 

Caleb tries to keep up with Patrick and Honey’s little Hayden tries to keep up with him, and Daphne does her best to run along with all of the boys, but rarely makes it a few feet before stumbling and picking herself up. It’s the picture of toddling – legs moving faster than her balance can follow. Sabrina is still tiny and cute with a new baby smell on the crown of her peach-fuzzy head, so she stays tucked in Honey’s baby wrap, babbling absently to the air and playing with Honey’s hair.

Luke begrudgingly gives Bea the silent treatment the first week in their new house, even more annoyed now that their move actually came to fruition. There must have been some part of him that was still in denial up until they arrived in Litchton and stayed. He flinches away at church on Sunday when she tries to fix his hair. She knows that what he needs is space and time to process the change, but it still stings. It’s a lot for a little boy to leave the only home he’s ever known. Bea understands. Litchton isn’t home to Luke yet – Minnesota is. And it’s hours and hundreds of miles away.

Life gets easier as summer in Litchton peaks, but Luke still misses Minnesota. It’s evident everywhere. He scowls at the size of the ice rink the Hughes and Zegras families started in Litchton for summer league before he was born. He shows off to the beginner skaters, darts around them and hogs the puck so much that it’s no longer fun for anyone. 

On the bright side, his coach tells Bea and Quinn that Luke can move up into the older, more advanced age group if he wishes. Bea briefly wonders if that means they’re rewarding poor behavior, but he jumps up and down in excitement when they bring it up to him, so she lets it go. This could be the thing that makes Litchton better.

But it’s not. He just starts getting rough at home. The boys wrestle more often and Luke is always the instigator, knowing that he’s got the older brother advantage of size and speed and skill. Even Daph isn’t immune to his attitude – he pushes her away and gets up and leaves when she goes to sit with him and scowls when Bea tells him to include her.

One particularly feisty day, Luke knocks Patrick’s two front teeth out and Bea sends him to his room until dinner as punishment. He tells her he hates her. Quinn threatens to withdraw him from the hockey team if he ever talks to her like that again.

Quinn leaves again and Luke isn’t really speaking. To anyone, but mostly Bea. It’s like they’re back to square one. She’s never felt like a worse mother. At the same time, and she hates herself for thinking this as soon as it dawns on her, he’s never felt like a worse kid. She doesn’t know what to do.

On any given day, Bea will wake up to multiple tangled little bodies in the big bed with her. Growing up, when she tried to covertly sneak between her parents, they would gently send her back to her own bed, but Bea doesn’t mind having the babies around. Sleeping alone has never been her thing. Plus, she likes to see their serene faces as they sleep. Patrick’s mouth hangs open slightly like Quinn’s does when he sleeps and he drools on her arm – which, thankfully, Quinn doesn’t do. Caleb’s eyebrows tighten and relax as he dreams, thinking hard even when unconscious. Daphne always finds a nook to curl into, usually tucked near Bea’s armpit. She sleeps with her thumb in her mouth and, when Quinn is home, her other fist in his hair. Sometimes, more than one shows up and they all squeeze together in a big lump.

Luke has always been different. Bea can’t remember the last time he slept in bed with them. It must have been around when he started kindergarten, so years have passed. That, combined with their current circumstance, makes his appearance at Bea’s bedside one summer night all the more unexpected.

“Mommy,” comes the whisper from the darkness, accompanied by a sharp poke to Bea’s arm. “Mom.”

She startles awake, blinking drowsiness away. Bea sits halfway up and reaches for the hand that poked her, still trying to adjust to the darkness and see who woke her up. Luke never calls her Mommy anymore – outgrew it around the same time he stopped sleeping in their bed – so that throws her off. “Hm?” Bea asks. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I had a bad dream,” Luke answers in a wobbling voice. He’s climbing into bed before she can move over, settling in her lap like he used to when he was small.

Bea does her best to cradle him in her arms, her cheek pressed against his ticklish, wild brown bedhead. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Luke shakes his head and hides in her collarbone.

Bea rubs his back and presses a kiss to the side of his head.

“I want to sleep with you tonight,” Luke mumbles bashfully. “But you can't tell Dad.”

“Why can’t I tell Dad?” Bea asks, wishing she could let her amusement slip into her voice. Luke tells Quinn everything. But she doesn’t want to seem like she’s laughing at him. It’s serious to him, not telling Quinn that he slept in the bed with Bea because he had a bad dream.

“Because I’m strong,” Luke replies, sitting back on Bea’s lap and fixing her with a ‘Duh, Mom!’ look. “And I’m big and big boys don’t sleep in the big bed.”

“Who told you that?” Bea shifts him to her side and invites him under the covers, hoping it wasn’t her husband. 

“Phenix,” Luke says. After mentioning his best friend from home, a deep frown etches on his face. “Only his baby sister gets to sleep in the big bed and that’s only when she’s napping.”

“Well, Daddy’s a big boy and he sleeps in the big bed,” Bea points out.

“That’s different,” Luke says. “He’s a grown-up.”

“Luke,” Bea says in a serious voice, tapping his nose with the tip of her finger. He shakes his head like she’s little more than a fly bothering him, but snuggles closer. “You can come sleep in the big bed whenever you want to. Even when you’re 70 and I’m a hundred and you’ve got kids and grandkids of your own. We’ll get a huge bed where everyone can fit.”

“Like the Grinch.”

Bea nods. There’s a page in one of their storybooks, her childhood version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, where several Who children sleep in one long bed before Cindy Lou interrupts Mr. Grinch’s plot. Luke loved that book when she read it to him on Christmas Eve after she let him stay up later than all of his other siblings.

“Do you think Santa knows we moved?” Luke wonders, a bit distressed. “What if he takes our presents to the old house?”

“Santa knows we moved,” Bea tells him. “He’s magic. Plus, if he doesn’t know yet, you can tell him when we write our Santa letters. Are you really thinking about Christmas already? Shouldn’t you be more worried about The Great Pumpkin? Halloween is closer.”

“Mo-om,” Luke groans. “Everyone knows The Great Pumpkin isn’t real.”

Bea gasps. “What do you mean The Great Pumpkin isn’t real?”

Luke giggles in the back of his throat and explains, “It’s a cartoon, Mom. That guy is as real as Mickey Mouse.”

“You met Mickey!” Bea exclaims in a low voice. “I have a picture!”

“That’s different,” Luke says again, more exasperated this time than the last. He’s grinning and he’s got a gap between his two front teeth and he looks more and more like Quinn every day but he has Bea’s nose, dotted by summer freckles and a pink glow. “That’s just a guy in a costume.”

“You’re breaking my heart,” Bea teases. “What’s next, you’re going to tell me the Tooth Fairy isn’t real?”

It’s a risky question to ask a 7-year-old who hasn’t lost all of their baby teeth.

Luke furrows his eyebrows, suddenly serious. “No, she’s real. Patrick just got a dollar for his buck teeth.”

“He doesn’t have buck teeth. He has regular teeth.”

“He does too have buck teeth. He got a buck for his teeth. Buck teeth.”

Bea laughs and wraps her arm around Luke, laying a kiss on his forehead. “You’re funny, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Luke replies gently. It’s as good as a ‘Goodnight’ and a few minutes pass in silence before he adds, “I’m sorry I said I hate you. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, Lu.”

“Well, I meant it a little.”

Bea pinches her lips to hide a smile and pulls him closer to her chest. He reaches up and absentmindedly traces her nose in the dark. “Oh, yeah?”

He likes to do this. Talk and backtrack and tell the truth, especially if it means he can stay awake a few minutes longer. 

“But not a lot. Because the house tried to eat me.”

“The house tried to eat you?”

Luke yawns around his words. “Yeah. In my dream.”

“Your bad dream?”

He nods, closing his eyes and laying his head on Bea’s pillow, like they’re supposed to share. “I wanted to go home, but now I don’t.”

“Because the house tried to eat you,” Bea repeats. She tries to think of how Luke thought of that. He hasn’t seen Monster House. Neither has Bea, not since she was about thirteen years old. And that was – oh, good God, was that 23 years ago? She’s getting old.

“Mhm. And you saved me.”

A pang hits Bea’s heart. She buries her nose in his unruly hair and breathes in the smell of his shampoo. 

“I’ll always save you, baby,” she murmurs. 

Nobody else slips into the big bed that night. It’s just Bea and Luke, his thin arms hugging her neck and his light snores filling her ear until she falls asleep too. She wakes early in the morning before Luke does and sees that he moved all the way across the bed, onto Quinn’s side, and his foot sticks out from under the covers. She always does the same thing. 

Bea feels remarkably like a cat who is napping in a sunlit window. The moonlight doesn’t actually warm her all that much, but the red wine in her stomach and Quinn’s body heat does. They’re stargazing, but Bea has curled up into Quinn’s side and started to breathe him in. It would probably be expensive and unrealistic– try impossible– to bottle him up like a perfume, but with her nose pressed into the side of his chest, she would like nothing more.

Not only is he keeping her warm and smelling good, but he’s also so fun to touch. Quinn’s bicep is acting like a pillow for Bea, her knee is thrown over his leg, and her hand is on his stomach. Bea could fall asleep right here, on the ground, so long as Quinn is touching her.

Her fingers are a little bit cold, though. It’s the middle of summer, but since the sun has set, there’s a slight chill in the air. She’s already wearing Quinn’s Palm Angels Creative Services sweatshirt, which is big on Quinn and massive on Bea, but she’s cold.

There is a solution– the human hand-warmer beside her.

Just as Bea is snaking her hand under Quinn’s t-shirt and flattening her palm over his happy trail, she’s wrenched out of the moment by Honey’s cross voice.

“Stop that,” Honey chides.

She’s probably talking to Jack or Cole, or even Trevor, so Bea doesn’t pay her any mind. She continues her motion, finding the slight dip of Quinn’s v-line and tracing it.

“Seriously, Bea, stop it or go,” Honey adds, indignant.

Now it’s clear that she’s directing her complaints at Bea. Ugh. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t have Quinn underneath her, with these lovehandles that she just wants to bite and pinch and love on.

Quinn shifts underneath her and catches Bea’s hand, halting her movements. “We’ll go to bed,” Quinn decides for them, holding Bea’s hand and dragging her up to a seated position. “C’mon, Bea.”

Bea groans, scrunching up her face. Moving is so hard. She raises her arms petulantly and blinks up at Quinn, doe-eyed.

He chuckles and shakes his head at Bea, smiling down and gathering her up in his arms. “Needy girl, did all that wine stop your legs from working?” He teases good-naturedly.

Bea’s stomach flutters. “I would just rather cuddle you,” Bea replies. She snuggles closer to Quinn and buries her nose in his chest, inhaling deeply and obviously and making Quinn laugh.

“Seemed like you wanted more than a cuddle, baby,” Quinn says knowingly. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling like I want my boyfriend to touch me,” Bea sings, flattening her palms on Quinn’s chest and dragging them down his torso seductively once he sets her down, her feet against the ground so she's standing, but there's still very little space between them. His nostrils flare a little bit at his title, which is still fresh enough that it evokes a reaction from Quinn.

Jack and Honey can share looks all they want, but Bea and Quinn should be allowed to soak up the honeymoon phase as long as they’d like. It’ll all end at the end of August anyway, so what’s a month of mushy, over-the-top PDA?

“Oh, yeah?” Quinn asks. “What should your boyfriend do to you? He’s not going to fuck you in the hammock, F-Y-I.”

Bea frowns and digs her fingers into Quinn’s waistband, inching them down. “Why not?”

Quinn looks at her, unimpressed. “Because the hammock will flip over and we’ll fall out if I fuck you the way I want to fuck you.”

Bea hums. That sounds enticing. “Maybe we should sneak into Honey’s room,” Bea jokes. She wiggles her eyebrows and laughs. “You can fuck me to your heart’s content.”

Quinn looks off to the side, back toward the group, chuckling with Bea. “I think if we fuck in Honey’s bed, then she and Trevor will fuck in our bed.”

“Hm, good point,” Bea says. “We don’t want that. Not Trevor, at least.”

“Exactly.” Quinn pecks her forehead. “But, the sooner you get in the hammock, the sooner I can make you come on my fingers. Does that sound okay?”

“Better than okay,” Bea agrees. She hops into the hammock and tries to keep the swinging fabric steady for Quinn. Once he collapses on top of Bea’s body, she kisses his temple. “Once you make me come, I’ll get my hand on you, too.”

“So generous,” Quinn murmurs. He seals his mouth over hers and coats her tongue with his taste.

He tastes just the same as she does, probably. Her tastebuds are coated with red wine and Quinn’s kisses are slow, tinged with sensuality. Bea could kiss him all day and all night, if she’s being honest. Given how little time they have, she never wants to part from Quinn.

The pads of his fingers inch between her legs, rubbing Bea’s core over her shorts. “You wanna take these off?” He asks.

Bea nods. “Mhm,” she agrees. “I kind of like the idea of being exposed like this.”

Quinn groans, swooping in to kiss her again. “Fuck, I love you,” he tells Bea.

He’s been saying that a lot lately. It’s not like she told him to stop, but she also hasn’t said it back. It makes her… anxious, maybe, to hear Quinn say that he loves her? Not always in a bad way– in moments like this, it makes her giggle and remember that they’re a great match, but other times it just reminds her that things are going to be really difficult at the end of August. The real reason that Bea doesn’t stop Quinn from saying he loves her, though, is because he always says it so earnestly. He truly means it and she doesn’t want to stop him from saying what he means. She doesn’t want to silence him.

Luckily, he’s kissing her again, so she doesn’t have to reply. He usually does that. He’ll smother her lips before she can think of a response to his statement. Bea suspects that he knows that she’s not quite there yet and that’s why he doesn’t give her a chance to hesitate.

He’s so… good. If Bea was to make him in the Sims, she’d almost certainly put “Good” as one of his three personality traits.

She loses her shorts and Quinn shifts her panties to the side, baring Bea’s pussy to the summer air. He intertwines their legs, able to press his rapidly fattening length against the top part of her thigh. As one of his hands slips between her folds, prodding at her entrance, his other cups the back of her neck and keeps their lips slotted together.

His tongue fills her mouth again as two of his fingers bluntly push into her heat. He’s only just started to thrust them in and out when–

“Hey,” Honey’s soft voice hisses, sounding like she’s already grinding her teeth together and grimacing at the idea of interrupting.

Bea barely holds back a snort when Quinn flinches away from her. This isn’t the first time Honey has interrupted her in the middle of something– after all, they did live together for a year. There were only so many times that Honey was willing to be sexiled from the house that she was paying to own.

Quinn’s face goes from a ‘deer-in-headlights” expression to one that is more calm. He turns back to Bea, looking down at her. “Do you want a blanket?”

Bea sits up, leaning on her elbows to do so. She looks over the edge of the hammock at Honey. “You can just drop it there,” she says. Then, she grins, seeking to make Honey just a bit more uncomfortable with her next words. She always makes the funniest face when she doesn’t want to hear something about Bea’s sex life. “Quinn’ll come get it in a second. His hands are a little busy right now.” For good measure, she clenches down on his fingers, which surprises Quinn and makes him blush.

The blanket hits the ground with a muted thump. “I didn’t need to know that.” Honey deadpans before turning on her heel and walking away. “Have a good night!” She wishes in false cheer.

Bea thinks quick on her feet. “Just trying to cross something off my Rice Purity Test,” she calls after Honey, laughing to herself. Honey flips her off without looking back, which effectively ends their conversation. Bea lifts her arms and curls them around Quinn’s neck, bringing him back down to kiss her lips.

“Are you actually?” Quinn asks between kisses. “For the Rice Purity Test?”

“Nah,” Bea says. “I think my score is low enough. Plus, I’ve had sex outside before. It just wasn’t quite like this.” She tilts her head up and pecks his lips again. “But, I have crossed a few items off because of you. Kissing for more than two hours consecutively? That was all you, Q.”

“What’s your score?” Quinn inquires, sounding interested.

“Uh, 40, last I checked,” Bea says. “Definitely not too shabby, but not too slutty.”

Quinn has begun moving his fingers again, bringing waves of pleasure with his movements. “Definitely not slutty.”

“What’s yours?” Bea asks.

“42, but I guess I’m knocking off ‘public sex’ and ‘outdoor sex’ right now,” Quinn teases. “So we’re the same. Not slutty at all.”

Bea giggles. “Hmm, if you’re good, I’ll give you the $5 bill in my wallet and we can both get down to 39?”

Quinn snorts out a laugh into her mouth and brings his thumb to her clit. “Quiet, you. You get to come free of charge today.”

“Oh, thank you, Quinn Hughes,” Bea simpers before locking lips with Quinn and keeping him close.

Their kisses are as sloppy as his crude thrusts, sounding similar as well. Their lips smack quietly as they come together and part, breathing into each others’ mouths before diving in for another round. Quinn’s fingers move in and out of Bea at a leisurely pace, savoring her slick and working in tandem with his circling thumb.

It’s only once Bea shoves her hand into Quinn’s shorts that he starts to speed up. It’s a race against each other, with Bea stripping Quinn’s cock until his hips are twisting away from her grip and Quinn pulsing his fingertips against Bea’s g-spot in a way that has her whimpering against his tongue.

Quinn pushes a third finger past Bea’s entrance, doing everything he can to bring her to the peak before he comes in her hand. His effort is for naught– when Bea twists her fingers in his hair and tugs slightly, causing that burning ache in Quinn’s scalp that he likes so much while he eats her out, he shudders on top of her and begins to spill in her hand.

Bea catches what she can, doing her best to make sure there will be no cumstain on Quinn’s shorts when they rise and greet the others in the morning.

When he finishes quivering under her touch, Bea draws her hand from his shorts and brings her hand to her mouth.

Quinn draws back and, eyes hooded, watches her lick his cum from her palm and fingers. He looks slightly more drunk than he was originally, intoxicated by the view in front of him.

Bea smirks as she sucks, taking her time with Quinn’s cum.

Quinn grips the back of her neck and draws Bea forward, trapping her hand between their bodies and crashing his lips against her own. He’s greedy and insatiable, pressing his hips and softening cock against her thigh as he thrusts his fingers inside of her.

“Wish I could get my mouth on you,” Quinn tells her quietly, but rushed like the world will end if he doesn’t say it. “I’d suck your clit ‘til you’re coming all over my face, baby. Nothing in the world tastes better than you.”

“Shit,” Bea replies, blinking hard at his words. Her hips jump under his touch, thighs shaking with his insistent bullying of her inner walls. “Y’re gonna make me come, Q.”

“The whole point,” Quinn says with a little laugh. “I want you to. Come on my fingers, Sweet Bea. Make a mess for me, give me something to lick up just like you did.”

Bea moans into his mouth when he kisses her a final time, the seal inside of Bea snapping and allowing endless shocks to overtake her body. He fingers her through her climax, laying kiss after kiss on her lips.

When she comes down, he withdraws his fingers and makes good on his promise. Quinn overexaggerates his satisfied hums and even rubs his stomach like her cum is the tastiest thing in the world, which has Bea throwing her head back in laughter and popping him good-naturedly on the head. She also tells him that he’s acting weird, which is when he chills out a bit.

Bea almost doesn’t want to leave Quinn’s bed when she hears the front door creak open, signaling the brothers’s return from Las Vegas. It’s warm in here and the pillow smells like Quinn. Her t-shirt will have to do. It’s Quinn’s old yellow Michigan t-shirt, which falls big on her but not big enough to cover her behind. The hardwood floor is cold as she makes her way out of bed and throws the sheets back into place, tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs without making the floor creak too much. Bea undoes the messy braid on the back of her head, knowing how Quinn likes it when her hair is loose for him to play with. She shakes out her hair as she creeps down the stairs, the whispers of the brothers getting louder with each step.

“Jack, the door–” Luke hisses just before the front door bangs shut.

Bea stifles a giggle by pressing her fingers over her lips, still hiding in the shadows of the staircase. 

The boys stand in almost identical poses, shoulders tense and heads ducked. They’re waiting for one of their housemates to wake up and get mad at them for making so much noise. They’re lucky– Cole’s been dead to the world since about 10:30 and Trevor went to bed around 11 after he talked with Honey. Bea doesn’t know exactly what happened, since Honey is still so unsure about this Trevor thing, with good reason, but she knows that Honey had to remind him to think before he speaks. Bea is so glad she doesn’t have that problem– Quinn loves to think before he speaks. The other boys are less thoughtful, but she’s never had to chew them out for saying something stupid.

“Close one, eh?” Jack whispers, although he’s bad at whispering, so his voice just seems softer than normal.

Bea steps out of the shadows, staying close to the wall like it’ll camouflage her bright yellow shirt. 

“Bea,” Quinn breathes out, noticing her immediately. He sets his suitcase down next to him, a smile growing on his face when he recognizes her outfit.

“You’re late,” Bea whispers, matching his grin. “You said 1:30.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, but he doesn’t seem all that sorry.

“There was a crash on 77,” Luke adds. “Pretty bad. Probably better that it happened in the middle of the night, since there weren’t as many cars on the road.”

Bea hums. “That’s sad.”

“Have you been up this whole time?” Jack asks. “It’s late.”

Bea shakes her head. “Slept a little bit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack grins. “Whose bed?”

Stupid. Bea snorts, taking a few more steps until she’s in front of him. She lifts her hand and squishes his cheeks between her fingers. “Not yours,” she says. “G’night, Jacky.”

He makes a kissing noise at her, then steps back and bumps into the table in the hall. “Oops,” he mumbles. “Night, Bea.”

Luke echoes a goodnight and pats Bea on the back, holding both his and Quinn’s suitcases in his hands. The brothers squeeze past her, leaving Quinn and Bea in the dark alone.

She grins at him, bouncing a little bit on her tiptoes out of excitement. She’s missed him. Quinn smiles back, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He’s the first to step forward, sweeping her up into his arms in a tight hug. He buries his face in her neck, letting his arms push her shirt up so that he can touch the smooth expanse of her back. Bea wraps her arms over his shoulders and plays with his hair, breathing him in. He smells a little bit like airport, but the scent of his sandalwood shampoo is stronger than ever. 

“You shower this morning?” Bea asks, pinching the close-cut strands on the back of his head between her fingers. 

“God, I knew you were going to comment on that,” Quinn groans, pulling away from her. His hands rest on Bea’s waist, pinkies brushing the band of her cheeky underwear. “I was on a plane for like five hours, babe.”

Bea’s stomach twists at the pet name, her cheeks turning a little red and her mouth widening somehow further. She admires Quinn for a moment, eyes cataloging how his face looks sharper with his stubble only just growing back. Her eyes pass over the scar on his cheek. Honey only just noticed it the other night. It’s one of Bea’s favorite things about his face– tied for first with, well, everything else. 

She realizes that she’s gone too long without replying, mostly because the edges of Quinn’s lips are tilting upward in an amused way.

“Hey, winner,” Bea greets, tilting her head to kiss him hello. “Missed you.”

Quinn breathes out a tiny laugh, kissing her again like a reply. “I missed you, too. Was thinking about you the whole time.”

Bea faux-gasps. “You were thinking about me, but you didn’t even thank me in your speech?”

Quinn chuckles, a little louder this time. His thumb runs along her hip, petting the skin there. It makes Bea’s sides feel warm, like the friction is sending shocks through her body. “Oh, come on. How would that have sounded?”

“‘And thank you to Bea McLean, the best person I’ve ever met’...?” Bea teases, blinking at Quinn. “Obviously. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Quinn shakes his head, still smiling fondly. He rolls his eyes a little bit, but he concedes. “I’ll work it in next time.”

“I’m expecting it. First back-to-back Norris winner since Nicklas Lindstrom, yeah?”

“Lidstrom, baby,” Quinn corrects. He pulls Bea close again, hugging her for the second time. His hands rub up and down her back again and Bea swears that she can feel his fingerprints as he moves. “You tired?”

“I slept a little. Are you tired?”

“Had a coffee at the airport ‘cause I’m stupid,” Quinn replies. His voice turns sarcastic, overly dramatic and trying to get her sympathy. “And the boys were draining me, they’re so annoying.”

Bea pats his chest. “You love them,” she reminds him.

Quinn’s easy to break. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re pretty great.” He pauses, eyes flickering over her face akin to how she surveyed him earlier. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Movie will put me to sleep. We can play a round of pool, if you want. Keep your winning streak going,” Bea teases. 

“You just want to bend over in front of me,” Quinn bites back, laughing. His hands go to her behind, covering Bea’s cheeks with his palms. “Distract me with your panties.”

“It would be more distracting if I wasn’t wearing them,” Bea points out, wiggling back into Quinn’s touch. 

“I think you’re already distracting enough in my Michigan shirt,” Quinn says. “C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You can fill me in on the past couple days while you lose.”

He’s got that playful tone in his voice again, the one that Bea loves. It’s so domestic, the way that she and Quinn talk to each other. They’ve got a vibe about them, something that fits like a puzzle piece, but Bea is getting too far ahead of herself. It’s not even July. They’re just having fun, by her own design. So what if he calls her ‘baby’ and it makes her stomach flip-flop every time?

They’re still trying to be quiet as they head down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind them. Quinn racks the balls and Bea chooses her usual stick– she only knows which one it is because it’s got a chip about ⅓ of the way down the shaft– and starts to tell him what he missed. 

“Honey tried to ban Trevor from the store because he’s bad at being a person,” Bea starts. “I don’t know the drama, but apparently he doesn’t think.”

“Have they fucked yet?” Quinn asks, rounding the table and stationing himself to break the rack. Bea never breaks when they play. She’s not very good at hitting one ball, much less strategically breaking up a group of fifteen. “Or are they still stuck on him fingering her in the back room?”

“They’re still stuck. She likes him so much, though, she just won’t admit it,” Bea continues. She looks at the table. Quinn made one of the stripes in off of his break– 14 maybe– so he’s trying to pick his second ball now.

“She’ll get there. It’s kind of like a tree falling, isn’t it,” Quinn says. He lines up the 11-ball with the pocket and knocks it in, then purposefully bumps off the wall in a meaningless shot so that Bea has a chance. “Takes a while, but once she’s down, she’s down.”

Hmm. “I’ve never thought of it like that,” Bea tells him. “That’s smart, Q. You’re right.” She eyes the 5-ball, since it’s kind of in the way of all of the ones she wants to get to. Might as well move it. Bea crosses the table and shoots it off to the other side of the table. A problem for later.

“You can’t try to lose on purpose,” Quinn chides.

“I’m not trying to lose on purpose, I just wanted to get that one out of the way,” Bea argues back. 

Quinn rolls his eyes and sighs. “You should’ve shot at the 7.”

Bea side eyes him. “Don’t tell me what I should’ve done. Mansplainer.”

Quinn shrugs. “Just trying to help.” He focuses on his next shot. “What’d you do after we left?”

“Worked. I dragged Honey here to watch the Awards, we played Uno– I won, by the way, and I’ll school you next time we play–” Quinn interrupts her with a laugh, narrowly missing a pocket when the ball bounces off the corner edge. “I called you after you won, and then we broke out the hot tub earlier today.”

That catches Quinn’s interest. “Oh, yeah?” He asks. “You took a dip? Did Cole try anything stupid?”

Bea hears the insinuation immediately. “No, Cole and I didn’t hook up while you were gone,” she says with a tinge of fake exasperation in her voice. “I told you over the phone on Thursday, I only have sex with men who have won the James Norris trophy.”

Quinn laughs aloud, throwing his head back. “How long is that going to last?” He teases. “Just so I can know when I’m back to graciously sharing you with the other boys.”

Bea groans. When they’re alone, Quinn always flaunts how he was the first and how he’s her favorite. He gets a kick out of acting like he’s special and Bea pretends to hate it. He is special, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I can still go up to Jack’s bed now, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Bea leans over to shoot at one of her solids. It bounces off a wall and changes directions. “That’s all that happened this weekend, really. Tell me about Vegas. Lose any money?”

“Tons,” Quinn confirms, but the cheeky grin on his face tells her that he’s stretching the truth. He starts to talk about how he and his brothers snuck Luke into the casino with a well-placed bribe to the doorman and autographs for his kids. The stories from the weekend pile up as Quinn and Bea mill around the table, taking shots and sinking them in Quinn’s case, missing them in Bea’s. He tells her about the people he saw, the things he did, the interviews he had, that he got an offer to be on the cover of NHL 25 but he’s going to hold out until they let him bring Jack and Luke with him, and that he’s happy he got to see his mom and dad. He officially tells Bea that they’re coming for Fourth of July, although that surprise had already been spoiled by Trevor on Thursday. 

Quinn wins– of course. Bea wasn’t going to win this game unless he intentionally threw it, like her first time playing him. They’re past the intentional throws now. Bea goes to update the board– honor code is highly valued in this house– and Quinn pockets the rest of the balls so that everything is nice and clean for tomorrow. There’s no sense in leaving them out. She can hear Quinn sneaking up behind her.

“You look good in my shirt, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing Bea’s shoulder. “I gotta get you in Michigan gear more often.”

“You know, if they ever play Carolina again, you’ll have to pry my UNC gear from my cold, dead body,” Bea says, reaching a hand around and threading her fingers through Quinn’s hair again.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I pried the clothes off this body,” Quinn says, self-satisfied smirk evident in his voice. He turns Bea in his grip so that she’s facing him. He kisses her, more than a greeting peck this time. “You tired yet?”

Once again, Bea can see right through his question. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting for my winner to get home.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Quinn praises, voice low. He captures Bea’s lips again, moving against her in the comfortable way that they’ve adopted in the weeks since they’ve been seeing each other. 

Bea lets Quinn lead this time, his hands guiding her closer. He’s got a palm under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, and the other cradles her face gently, like something precious. Bea knows that it’s a casual thing, but she likes to lose herself in moments like this. Quinn is just so… all-consuming. He’s like a really loud and unexpected clap of thunder, one that rumbles on for longer than you expect. His touch makes Bea jump, sometimes.

Her hands explore him a bit, like she doesn’t get to touch him all the time. The difference is that Bea finds something new every time and she never tires of getting her hands on Quinn. She knows that he tends to be insecure when it comes to his build, which comes from years of being an awkward teen with a nose that seemed too big for his face and acne that riddled his forehead, but Bea can’t imagine Quinn as anything other than perfect.

He’d be slightly more perfect if he had a bedroom to himself. 

“I feel bad kicking Luke out,” Bea whispers to Quinn when they break for air. “You guys got in so late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn replies. He brings his hands to the backs of Bea’s thighs and lifts her up, guiding her legs around his waist. “We don’t need a bed.”

Bea makes a face. “We stay fuckin’ in the bed, Q.” Lord knows she’s not against having sex in an odd place– the back of Griffin’s patrol car, for one– but she and Quinn haven’t really branched out yet. “I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

“What can I say,” Quinn teases. “You bring something out in me. Let’s try something new.” He nips at her bottom lip, then drags his tongue against the area he bit. “It’ll be fun.”

Bea giggles. He gets so flirty and touchy, sometimes. “What are you thinking, Crazy?” She teases him right back with the nickname, bringing her index finger to the curve of his nose. It really is the perfect size and shape– so appealing. 

She’s distracted by a memory, from the second time they hooked up. Quinn had told her that he didn’t get to do everything he wanted the first time, and when she asked what he meant, he’d licked his first two fingers and slid the wet digits against the fabric of her underwear. She’d gotten much more wet when he made his way between her legs with his mouth, kissing and licking over her folds and entrance as the fabric molded to her anatomy. It was only then that he’d removed the panties and gotten his mouth on her properly– the vision often comes to her when she’s trying to sleep at home, alone. His nose had been so nice then, bumping against her clit as he’d ravished her.

Bea’s stomach grows a little warmer at the reminder. 

“I want you right here,” Quinn says, breaking her from the spell. He sits Bea down on the edge of the pool table, the cool wood of the edges pressing against her thighs while the felt of the table scrapes against the hem of her shirt. He stands between her legs and places a hand behind her head, kissing her and leaning forward so that she’ll lay back. Once Bea is laying down, flat underneath Quinn, he pushes her shirt up and takes it off. 

The felt of the table feels weird under her bare skin, but it’s not bad. The bite of the ridge of the table is worse against her thighs, but Bea doesn’t speak up about it because Quinn’s removing his shirt.

The moonlight from outside makes him seem paler than he is, but it creates a beautiful series of shadows across his body that emphasize his muscles. His arms seem like they’re bulging more, his chest has more definition, and his jawline– oh, his jawline. Bea didn’t realize just how much his long hair hid that from her.

“I like your haircut,” Bea says, not realizing how silly and belated it sounds when she’s almost entirely naked on the pool table below him. 

Quinn chuckles, smiling at her. One side of his lips lifts higher than the other, which is how she knows that he’s blushing, even when the moonlight hides it. “Thanks, baby,” he says softly, leaning down again to find her lips. His cock, still trapped by his pants, fits perfectly against the place where she wants him most. 

She grinds up against him, drawing a low moan from the back of Quinn’s throat. He placates her with kiss after kiss down her neck and between her tits, as far down as he can go while he keeps his pelvis in line with her own. He’s fiddling with his zipper with one hand, kneading Bea’s right breast with his left hand. The skin of his fingertips is a little dry, but his thumb catches her nipple just right and Bea keens, her vision getting a little darker.

“Missed me that much, hm?” Quinn teases in his low voice. “Two days I’m gone, baby, and you’re this needy? What am I going to do with you when I’m gone for a week, or two?”

Bea reaches to his hair and brings his lips to hers, to silence him. She’s beyond talking and beyond teasing. She wants him inside, like, yesterday. 

“Relax, I’m coming,” Quinn assures Bea, mumbling his words against her lips. He finally takes his hand from her breast to shove his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them so he can move better. He drags his tip through her folds, her wetness gathering along his skin. “Did you mean it?” He asks. “What you said on the phone?”

Bea pauses, wracking her brain. She said a lot of things on the phone to Quinn. She meant them all. She’s about to say yes, just so he can get on with it, but then she spots the way he’s biting his lower lip and his eyes have turned hungry. They’re trained on the place where he’s nudging his tip against her clit, slit bubbling out precum and dripping on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“What part?” Bea asks, captivated by the look on Quinn’s face. 

His eyes rise to hers and he looks positively intoxicated by whatever he’s thinking. Bea’s skin crawls a little, but not in a bad way. In an excited way– whatever Quinn’s referring to, he wants badly. Bea wants to see him give into that.

“That you’d reward me for winning,” he prompts, eyes darting from her gaze to her lips, which have parted in recognition. “By letting me fuck you bare.” His jaw clenches a bit once he says it, but Bea reads him. He’s not sure what she’ll say and he seems cautious to show his deeper thoughts on that, but his caution is betraying him anyway. Bea knows Quinn. She speaks his language, reads his tics, and understands him. He wants this.

“Norris winners get to come inside me,” Bea says, repeating the exact words that she whispered into the speaker while he stroked himself in the Las Vegas hotel bathroom. It was his tipping point, and now she understands why. “Since you won, you get to feel all of me.” Her throat seems drier than before when she swallows. Bea’s never had that before– she’s thought about it, hence why she brought it up to Quinn in the first place. It’s why she gets the shot every three months instead of relying on condoms– in case, one day, there was a man that she wanted in the most intimate way. That day is today. “Fuck me, Quinn.”

His mouth is insistent when it joins hers, tongue dragging over her own and filling the space between her lips. “Baby,” Quinn groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Preferably not right now,” Bea jokes, lifting her hips to remind him of the task at hand. 

Quinn laughs at the joke, smiling into his next kiss. “You’re so perfect,” he says. “Can’t believe I met you.”

Bea feels his words on her heart like a prick of a rose’s thorn. A little bit of herself seeps out, flooding her chest and making her eyebrows furrow with the sudden rush of emotion. “Quinn,” Bea says, feeling like she’s whining a little bit.

“Okay, okay, I won’t say it anymore,” he says, returning his focus to the space between her legs. He wastes another few seconds, entranced by his tip going through her folds, before he lines himself up and starts to shift forward. He moans quietly at the feeling, just expelling the breath from his lungs.

Bea’s surprised by the feeling too– at least, she thinks Quinn’s feeling some sort of surprise. He’s certainly relishing in the experience, trying to catalog how she feels around him with the way his eyes have drifted shut and his mouth has fallen open. She closes her eyes to do the same– and finds that it’s not that different, all in all. She just feels closer to him.

“Please, move,” Bea whispers, resting her hand on Quinn’s bicep, giving it a squeeze to prompt him. Well, that, and she wanted to feel the muscle beneath it. The moonlight had her wondering if it was really that much more defined. 

“Gimme a sec,” Quinn grits out, taking a breath. “You just feel so–” He exhales a sharp breath. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Another thorn to the chest– Bea has to breathe in deep to steel herself. This doesn’t feel like just fucking anymore.

She’s able to put that aside when Quinn starts to drag himself out of her heat, then push back in. His hair is tickling her nose with the way that his head has fallen forward in pleasure, so Bea pushes it out of the way with her palm. Quinn’s forehead has started to bead with sweat, but only barely. His eyes catch hers.

His eye contact has always made the hair on her arms stand up, increasing her pleasure tenfold. He’s so attentive to her needs, crowding into her space and touching her tits and sides in the way that makes her feel like a lighting rod gearing up for a strike. 

Quinn breaks first. “Bea,” he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth against her neck. He leaves a wet spot there, which dries in the cool, early morning air. His hand moves from her side to her thigh, spreading her legs further so that he can inch closer. He seems determined to be as close to her as he can, touching her in every way. 

“I know,” Bea replies. “Harder, Quinn. Take it. Make me come. Need you to feel my pussy when it comes on your bare cock.”

His moan is choked but loud when she says that. Quinn’s hips start to move the way she’s used to– harder, faster, determined. He’s louder like this, or maybe it’s the silence of the basement and the night that surrounds them playing tricks on Bea’s mind. It’s just– his breath is warmer and she feels like she can feel him moving in her bones. This is more.

Quinn brings his thumb to her mouth, which Bea takes greedily. She knows his moves– he wants her to get him all wet so that he can touch her somewhere she needs. She swirls her tongue around the digit, leaving as much saliva as she can on his thumb before he pulls it from her mouth with a pop. 

His hand drifts to her boobs again, finding one of her nipples and pinching it with his slick finger. He tugs a little, which prompts Bea’s spine to arch like her body is begging him to do it again. Quinn does, but he switches nipples, wiggling his hand between their bodies and taking hold of her. He kisses her again, distracting her from the mixture of pain and pleasure. All the while, he’s bucking into her desperately, displacing her on the pool table. 

Her thigh starts to spasm under his hand, twitching because she’s close. Bea wraps her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, a mirror image of the hug she gave him at the beginning of their night. He’s not the only one who wants to be close.

“Fuck, Quinn, keep going,” Bea pleads, shifting as best she can to remove the pressure of the edge of the pool table from her body. It’s a dull ache, distracting her from Quinn’s cock and the way it moves in her cunt. His tip meets the cartilage of her cervix relentlessly, turning her vision spotty with the sensation. It feels so wet with him unprotected inside of her, leaking and mixing with her own slick. 

He shifts so that he’s hovering just a few inches above her body, hands going from her thigh and her breast to both of her hips. He grips her skin, biting his lower lip to stifle his grunts. His eyes have grown focused, narrowing the way they do when he evaluates a shot on this very table or when he tries to dance between the boys on the hockey rink outside to score. He pulls her back into him, all while thrusting his hips forward, and Bea’s falling into an unfamiliar space where only Quinn has ever placed her. 

“Fuck,” Bea whines, reaching for Quinn and coming up with nothing, so she clutches at the pocket of the pool table instead. She holds the wood between her fingers, sure that she’ll either warp the table or break her fingers from the force of her grip. “‘M coming, Q.”

“Good girl,” Quinn says through his teeth, his voice gravelly. “Let me feel it.”

Bea lets out a short cry, legs still shaking beneath Quinn. The bruising pain of the edge of the table is nothing now, not when there’s a chill making its way from the depths of her stomach to the tight coil in her stomach. 

“So perfect,” Quinn says again, praising Bea as she starts to come undone on his cock.

“You,” Bea corrects, breathless and reaching for Quinn again. She finds his forearm this time, circling her fingers around his wrist. She squeezes, trying to get her point across. He can say it all he wants, but she’s going to make sure she says it back, because he is. 

Her touch sends Quinn over the edge, which only intensifies the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Bea keens lowly in the back of her throat as Quinn’s jaw drops once again, eyes falling shut as his seed flows from his cock and paints her walls. The sensation surprises Bea, much like her original reaction to his raw form, and she constricts against him by accident. That spurs Quinn on, making him choke and plaster himself against her body as his cock releases the last of his cum.

His hips twitch inside of her after he’s done and Quinn has to clear his throat and shake his head to come back to himself. Bea pets his hair through it, focused on the feeling of his freshly cut ends between her fingers. 

“You should know that I really liked that,” Quinn says first.

Bea giggles, tugging his hair. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Quinn bites the side of Bea’s neck to chastise her for teasing him. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I think I’m about to leak all over the pool table in your rented house if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon,” Bea replies. “Chop chop, babydoll.”

Quinn groans with the effort, but he lifts Bea from the pool table and awkwardly walks toward the basement’s bathroom, settling her on the already-lifted toilet seat– perks of living with a bunch of fucking boys, Bea thinks– and then he starts to wash his hands.

“Tired yet?” Quinn asks for a third time, looking over at Bea and grinning as he continues to rub the suds all over his hands and wrists. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Bea makes a face. “Are you trying to wash me off or something? Damn, Q, it’s been twenty seconds,” she replies instead, pretending to be offended and hurt. She doesn’t actually want to start watching a movie at 3 a.m. and Quinn should feel similarly. She wants to go to bed with him.

Quinn looks down at her vagina, very obviously, and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, I just came in you, so I feel like that’s hard to wash away.” He rinses his hands and towels them off. “So no movie?”

“Oh my God, get out of the bathroom so I can pee,” Bea exclaims, starting to laugh a bit. “You’re so weird. No movie.”

“Episode of Love Island?” Quinn asks. “Any drama I missed between Leah and Rob?”

Bea points an accusing finger at him. “I knew you enjoyed my trashy shows,” she says. “And all this time you’ve been grumbling about them.”

Quinn shrugs. “No one will believe you,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

Bea purses her lips at him. “Well, good, because that’s my thing with Cole.” Quinn acts like he’s wounded, so Bea sticks her tongue out at him. “Not everything can be about you, Q.”

“I’ll get over it,” Quinn says. “You still like me best.”

Bea matches his previous whisper. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Quinn leaves the bathroom laughing. Bea hopes he goes upstairs to get one of the good blankets for them to share when they inevitably fall asleep on the couch after Quinn turns on a movie that Bea does not see the point in watching.

The background noise does help her sleep, though, and she thinks Quinn knows that.

The boys had made that seem impossible in the early stages of the night. Luke had fought sleep for a while after Bea put him down at seven, getting up from his “big-boy bed” four times before Quinn convinced him to stay down after one last bedtime story. Patrick had gone down in his room at 7:30, but he’d fought that as well. He’d wailed and called for ‘Mama’ for the better part of ten minutes, which almost broke Bea’s heart. Her crying babies are her weakness. Patrick is so young, too. He only just attached “Mama” to Bea. Before now, it was a couple of easy syllables that he could babble and now it's her name. She’d still held fast, though; Bea and Quinn are big supporters of the “cry it out” mindset. If Patrick or Luke are still crying after 15 minutes, though, Bea will go into their room and cuddle them. There have been a couple of times that Quinn has fallen asleep in Luke’s toddler bed when Luke refuses Bea and Bea has had to tiptoe in and wake and extract him from the room without disturbing their firstborn.

Not tonight. The boys had to go to bed at a reasonable time. Bea was itching to share a dessert with Quinn and give him his inappropriate presents (underwear with her face on it and a new boudoir book to replace the one she had made for him ahead of their wedding) before doing, arguably, what they do best.

You wouldn’t have known it was Quinn’s birthday if all you had seen was how he’s been showering Bea with attention ever since they hit the sheets. He’d locked their bedroom door when they stumbled in, a barely noticeable buzz in their veins from the one glass of wine they’d each gulped down over the chocolate dessert once the boys went to bed. He’d undressed Bea in a flurry and laid her on the bed gently before spreading her thighs and licking into her like she was his true dessert. Bea lost track of time once his lips and tongue found her core, coming undone from Quinn’s mouth twice before he’d pulled away and come up to kiss her. Knowing they probably didn’t have much time before one of the kids woke up and bothered them– as they are known to do whenever Bea and Quinn try to engage in anything nefarious, like they have a sixth sense or something– Quinn had slid into Bea and fucked her, nice and slow, until he’d come inside of her with a low groan. He’d rubbed her clit, still buried inside, until she’d seized up and climaxed a third time.

Now, he’s laying behind Bea, his breath coming out in soft pants over her neck. His fingers are tracing the stretch marks that run from Bea’s abdomen to her hips. It used to make Bea squirm when he did this, after Luke was born. She hated them and almost started a fight with Quinn once about how he was always touching them, the part of her body that made Bea most insecure, and he’d blinked in surprise and kissed each one while explaining how gorgeous they were, since each one was a reminder of the baby that they’d made with their love. It was so sweet that Bea almost got sick to her stomach, but she never complained about the stretch marks again. They’ve multiplied since she was pregnant with Patrick, and she’s actually grown to like them too.

It’s been all of three minutes since Quinn came, then Bea followed, and it’s a good thing they finished when they did. There’s a little voice floating through the baby monitor in Patrick’s room, which they installed two weeks ago when they started trying to transition him into his own bedroom, and he’s crying again.

“Start the clock,” Quinn whispers, breathing a laugh into Bea’s skin. His eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling steadily, like he’s already tuckered out. If only it was as easy for the boys to sleep– Bea would live a much less hectic life.

“Do you think we woke him up,” Bea whispers back, her own voice just tired enough that it can’t inflect like a question should. 

“No way, we’re really good at staying quiet now,” Quinn replies. He purses his lips against Bea’s neck, leaving a couple of kisses in the same spot because he doesn’t want to move. His hand comes up to cup Bea’s boob, holding the weight of it for a minute before returning to her side. “You’re still really good at this.” 

“Barely did anything,” Bea notes. Her eyelids are heavy, but her ears are still perked up and listening for Patrick to settle down. 

Quinn hums, a non-answer that satisfies both of them, and they drift between sleep and drowsiness. Bea never really falls asleep and neither does Quinn apparently, because after what feels like only a few minutes, he’s rolling away from Bea. “Gonna go get Peej,” Quinn murmurs. He kisses Bea’s cheek and goes off to find a pair of sweatpants before slipping from the bedroom.

Bea takes the few minutes she has to sit up, shoulders against the headboard, and throw on a shirt and sleepshorts. The shirt is baggy and one of Quinn’s, so old and threadbare and stained with breastmilk and spit-up (no matter how many times Bea tries to wash it) that she might as well throw it away. It’s been a hard transition to get Patrick into his own room– he’s clingier than Luke ever was to either parent, and Patrick much prefers Bea over Quinn. They joke now that it’s probably because Quinn missed the birth– Patrick somehow knows and holds it against him.

Quinn’s footsteps are almost silent as he comes back into their room. Patrick is sniffling around a pacifier, sitting tall in Quinn’s arms and looking for Bea. His eyes are teary but bright when he sees her and he leans forward in Quinn’s arms to reach for her, so much so that Quinn has to adjust his grip and put a hand on Patrick’s chest to keep him from falling out of Quinn’s arms.

Bea takes the boy when Quinn nears the bed and he snuggles against her chest, settling right between her boobs and curling up. It’s comical– both the positioning and how he’s too big to scrunch up like he did as a newborn, but he tries. His paci is bobbing in his mouth and he’s making little sucking noises that are half-annoying and half-precious to Bea.

Quinn comes back into bed and rests his head on Bea’s clavicle, slinging his arm over her stomach. He closes his eyes.

Bea pets Patrick’s back and breathes evenly, feeling him match her movements and start to drift off on his own, without a feeding. She’s grateful. She does not want to have a baby biting her nipple right now.

Patrick’s chubby hand pats Quinn’s head absentmindedly, ruffling the hair that covers his forehead. 

Quinn snuffles out a soft laugh and shifts away, sitting up beside Bea and putting his head next to hers. She leans on him and him on her. Quinn returns the touch to Patrick’s hair, patchy and spotty as it is. It’ll fill out soon. Quinn turns his head and nudges Bea’s cheek with his nose. “I love you,” he says quietly.

“I love you too,” Bea automatically replies at the same volume. She turns and meets Quinn halfway, sharing a chaste kiss. Bea watches Patrick fall asleep for a few minutes, waiting for his eyes to close and his mouth to go slack. The pacifier will drop from his tiny lips any second now.

“He’s getting so big,” Quinn observes. He runs his hand down Patrick’s back and covers Bea’s hand with his palm. Bea hums in agreement, then Quinn speaks again after a brief pause. “I hope we just made another one. I miss having a little guy around.”

Bea sighs and rolls her eyes. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re irresistible,” Quinn chirps back with a goofy smile. “And that pregnant glow?” He holds a hand to his chest. “God, baby, it’s a wonder I’ve restrained myself this long.”

Bea laughs. “Shut up,” she says. “Stop speaking things into existence. I’m still getting adjusted to two.”

sunday, june 4, 2034 2:02 P.M.

The past week has been a really nice escape in the wake of everything that happened. Mimi and Poppop flew up to Vancouver last Sunday, the day after the news broke, and returned to Charlotte with Luke and Patrick on the plane. Bea was hesitant to let her parents take her three year old and 14-month-old to Charlotte for a week, but it’s not like she can fly from Vancouver to Charlotte with them. She hasn’t been allowed to do that since April, since international flights don’t allow pregnant women over 28 weeks to board. Bea is at a healthy 35-weeks when the road trip starts. The drive is 43 hours, funnily enough, and Bea makes a point to point it out to Quinn.

She and Quinn get to have a whole week to themselves. They spend the majority of those days in the car, sure, but they spend each night in a new hotel, in a new city, and mostly in a new state. They spend two nights in Montana because it’s such a large place and it’s so pretty, but Bea is grateful to eventually get through the midwest. They stop in Nashville on the sixth day to get lunch and walk around for a bit. It’s Bea’s favorite road city of Quinn’s, although she hasn’t gotten to travel with him as much as she’d like. This week makes up for it.

One night on the road trip, Bea spends the whole night asleep on one side. Usually she tosses and turns. When she wakes, Bea's ear hurts from being pressed against the pillow all night. Quinn can tell that she's uncomfortable, because Bea has never been good at hiding her emotions, and he asks her what's wrong.

With some effort– and a bit of help from Quinn– Bea rolls over and finds herself face to face with her husband. Bea's ear still stings, even though it's free now.

"I miss sleeping on my stomach," Bea laments. Her tone is far too dramatic for the situation at hand, something as trivial as her sleeping position. The admission brings a rush of emotion up her throat and Bea has to swallow back a lump of tears. She continues, lip jutting out miserably, "But if I sleep on my stomach, I'm going to crush the baby." Her mouth wobbles.

Quinn's eyebrows curve down with sympathy written all over his features. His hands come to Bea's cheeks and he kisses the tiny tear that slipped from the corner of her eye. "You are so lovely," Quinn marvels quietly. He draws back and runs his fingers gently over Bea's cheek, his eyes raking over her features like he's never seen her before. She cries a little more.

On the seventh day, as they drive the four and a half hours from Knoxville to Charlotte, Bea isn’t sure how to feel. The closer they get to North Carolina, the closer she is to her babies after she hasn’t seen them for days. She’s got Caleb puttering around in her belly, kicking her insides when Quinn sings along with the radio and pressing on her bladder when he thinks she’s been sitting in the car for too long, but she misses Patrick and Luke. She can’t wait to see them. She’s excited for that, but she’s dreading the whole reason that they’re going to Litchton early this summer. Bea does not want to attend Earl’s funeral. 

Quinn was at home when Bea got the call from Honey last Saturday. Bea had had a hard time stifling her tears in front of the boys, who were just trying to play with their magnetic blocks on the floor. Quinn got out of the shower and Bea waved him over and buried her face in his chest to cry just a little bit before pulling herself together and disappearing into the kitchen to make lunch. By the time she called them into the dining room to eat the mac-n-cheese she prepared, Quinn had booked flights for her parents and started calling hotels to make reservations. His season was over, thank God, so he was free to travel with Bea the whole way to Litchton. She’d cried a little more over that, and then some more in their bed when it really set in that the grumpy old man with a heart of gold who had taken care of her and Honey while they were in their twenties had died. She knew it was coming, of course. He was old and frail and he had had a few bad falls in recent months that didn’t bode well for his health. Still– the fact that he was gone broke her heart. He wouldn’t even get to meet her newest baby. Caleb wouldn’t even know the man who had considered himself Luke and Patrick’s third grandfather.

The boys didn’t come to the funeral. Bea and Quinn left them with Mimi and Poppop, thinking that it might be too difficult to keep them under control while their own emotions were so high. Bea and Quinn sat in a pew with Honey and Trevor and took in the mass and the beautiful eulogy that Earl and Vera’s son gave. After the funeral, they’d gone to the reception in a car together and mingled with the townies. The mood was incredibly subdued, as was to be expected, but everyone seemed delighted to see Bea and put their hands on her belly, which helped lift her mood a little bit. The beautiful thing about funerals in a tiny town is that you all mourn together, yes, but in the end, the reception is a celebration. You get to see old friends and talk to people you’ve never met and share memories of the person that you’re both missing. Bea admits that she misses small town life sometimes when she’s in Vancouver. There’s just no community like the one in Litchton.

Bea is most happy to see her knitting ladies. They’re all still intact, although Earl’s death has her realizing that this could be the last time she sees all of them together. They surround Vera and protect her from vulture-like attendees that are bothering her too much, but they part like a sea for Bea and Quinn. 

The ladies dote on Quinn, touching his beard and his jacket and the collar of his shirt. They coo over Bea equally as much, cupping her face and offering to drag a chair across the room so that she can sit down and get off of her feet. It’s Vera, sweet and tiny-looking Vera in her black dress and old-school flat-brim hat, who asks about the name for their third son.

“Caleb,” Bea reveals with a smile. She and Quinn had decided on that name pretty much right after the doctor had told them the gender of the baby. After two surprises, they were ready for something certain. They’d been perusing the baby-name-books for weeks, pointing out their favorites and narrowing it down to two for a boy: Caleb or Jacob. “He looks more like a Caleb,” Quinn said after the pivotal, gender-revealing scan. Bea agreed.

“Just Caleb?” Scarlett asks. “This little blessing doesn’t have a middle name or nothin’?”

“We haven’t chosen a middle name yet,” Quinn says. His voice is a little choked up and Bea wraps her arm around his bicep, hugging it to her chest. She touches her lips to his shoulder, hoping that the lipstick won’t stain his suit jacket. She doesn’t expect what he says next. “We would be honored, Vera, if you’d allow us to use Earl’s name.”

Bea gasps and feels her eyes well up with tears. She hadn’t even thought of that and Quinn has totally bulldozed her to make this executive decision, but Bea can’t even be mad because it’s perfect. Caleb Earl. Caleb Earl Hughes. It actually rolls off the tongue. It’s like this was meant to happen– without Earl’s passing, they never would have thought to use his name. He was an eternal figure in their lives, one of Bea’s favorite people in the world, but he hadn’t come up during their baby name debates. No middle name had fit right, until now, and Bea is just shocked that they didn’t think of this before.

“Oh, my,” Vera breathes out. She presses the crumpled-up tissue in her hand to each of the corners of her eyes. “You two are fixin’ to make me bawl when I’ve been holding it together so well.” She sniffs and takes Quinn’s hand, squeezing it. “It would be an honor for me if you would use his name.”

sunday, july 9, 2034 7:54 A.M.

Bea hears her shouting toddlers coming down the hall of the maternity ward well before they reach her door. Quinn left to go get them from Honey and Trevor’s about an hour ago– he’d dropped Honey off and exchanged her for his boys, who had certainly done a number on Trevor since they’d woken up around 5:30, wondering why they were in a random, mysterious new bedroom. The answer is: well, you two were asleep when Mama woke up to some gnarly contractions at 1 A.M. You couldn’t just stay at home alone. Trevor had braved the sleeping boys– he was actually more than happy to take care of them while Honey joined Bea and Quinn, finally, in the delivery room. She was a lot braver this time around, but that could partially be attributed to their setting and their doctor: St. John’s Hospital in Litchton, with resident Emma-Kate between Bea’s stirruped ankles.

“Nope, Luke, she’s in here!” Bea hears Quinn call from outside the door. Luke must have gotten excited and kept sprinting down the hall, happy to be free in such a bright building. Time in hospitals is weird, but Bea can’t imagine that the staff are happy to have an energetic three year old roaming their halls before 8 A.M.

Quinn turns the knob on Bea’s door, pushing the door open and holding it so that Luke can wiggle under his arm and enter. 

“Mommy!” Luke exclaims. He’s got a stuffed bear in his hand. He toddles over to her bedside and grabs the sheets, trying to pull himself up, but he’s still too little. 

Bea, although she’s not really supposed to be overexerting herself after delivering a ten pound baby, reaches over the side of the bed and pulls him up. 

Luke sits at her feet and holds the teddy bear up in front of his face with both hands. “Look!”

“Oh, how cute!” Bea exclaims, pinching the bear’s paws. “Did you buy that for your baby brother?”

Luke falters for a second, like he’s suddenly realizing that the toy in his hands isn’t necessarily his toy. 

“I know that baby Caleb got you a present,” Bea bargains, incentivizing her biggest ‘little man.’ That’s what Jim always calls her boys. It feels truer with every day that passes.

‘Baby Caleb’ got both Luke and Patrick a present. For Luke, he got a brand new Luke Hughes jersey from the Devils’ online store, branded with the ‘A’ that Luke has deserved for a long time now. It’s perfect, since Luke has been obsessed with hockey even more now that he has started playing. 

For Patrick, ‘Caleb’ bought a set of wooden, velcro fruits and vegetables that he can practice cutting with a similarly fake wooden knife. Bea used to have one of these playsets when she was a kid and she loved it– she thinks Patrick will love it too, considering how much he loves to sit in his high chair and watch her whip up some food throughout the day.

Luke’s eyes light up at the mention of his own present and he starts looking around the room. He sits up on his knees and shuffles along the pink knit blanket at the base of Bea’s bed, leaning his head over the edge like the present is hiding on the floor and he missed it. 

Quinn passes Patrick to Bea while Luke looks around. He kisses the crown of Bea’s head after he does, then crosses the room to check in on the swaddled figure in the clear bassinet. 

Patrick snuggles into Bea’s neck as soon as he’s in her arms, wiggling happily. He’s improved a lot since six months, not nearly as clingy with Bea now, but he still loves on her as often as she’ll allow. Considering how independent Luke is, Bea lets Patrick cuddle with her and sneak contact naps as often as he wants, even though he’s more than a year old.

“Hi, PJ,” Bea murmurs, turning and kissing his rosy, chunky cheek. “Did you miss Mama?”

“Mommy, where’s my present?” Luke interrupts, sitting back on his heels and pouting at Bea. 

“Lukey, be patient,” Quinn scolds. “Do you want to meet your little brother?”

“No, Daddy, I want my present,” Luke insists. 

Quinn fixes him with a glare, cradling the newborn in his arms. He walks over to the bed and nods his head at Bea’s side. “Sit next to Mommy,” he tells Luke. “Then you can get your present after.”

Luke dutifully shuffles into Bea’s side, leaning into her waist and stretching his legs out along her own. Bea sets Patrick down on her other side after a little detangling, then holds her hands out to take the small, pink baby from Quinn.

“Baby,” Patrick observes, touching Caleb’s cheek once he’s securely in Bea’s arms. Bea stifles an “aww.” He says it like ‘bee-bee.’

“Be gentle,” Bea tells him. “He’s brand new, sweetie. He’s not strong like you yet.”

Patrick’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and he pulls his finger back, clapping his hands together quietly.

“Put your hands out, Lu,” Bea instructs her other son.

Quinn has crossed to the other side of the bed, blocking Luke in. Once Bea puts Caleb along his arms, Quinn will very covertly support Caleb’s head while Luke holds him. It gives off the illusion that Luke is doing all the work– their independent eldest child– while still keeping their youngest safe. Bea is not ashamed to admit that, sometimes, the best part of being a parent is making up a little white lie to make your child feel better. 

Luke holds Caleb for all of two seconds before the newborn’s face contorts in his sleep. That startles Luke and he pushes Caleb away, curling his lip. “I don’t like him,” Luke decides.

Bea turns her head to hide the smile she’s biting back. She kind of expected this, but she really thought Patrick would be the one to refuse his younger sibling. Luke is supposed to have practice sharing his parents and toys and life with a little brother, whereas Patrick has only ever had to deal with an older brother, yet he’s holding his hands out to Bea and bouncing in place.

“Hold baby,” Patrick repeats over and over again, opening and closing his palms impatiently. Bea helps him on her own while Quinn lifts Luke from the bed and sets him on the floor, promising that his present is somewhere in this room and he can open it if he finds it. That’ll keep him occupied for at least a few minutes.

Bea pays him no mind. She smiles and replies sweetly, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.” The fact that she wants four– and already checked one off the list– is irrelevant. She actually needs to have that talk with Quinn today, to get ahead of things. She doesn’t want him to feel blindsided when she flirts with Jack, Luke, or Cole. As much as she’s dreading it, Bea knows it has to be done. 

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

Speak of the Devil– Quinn appears at the bottom of the stairs, making his way into the kitchen. “Yeah, I fuck,” he says. He comes over to Bea first, smoothing a hand over her hair and dropping a kiss on the top of her head before he heads toward the kitchen. He shoulders past Trevor to get to the fridge.

Oh, she wishes he hadn’t kissed the top of her head like that. She might’ve miscalculated. He might be attached already. 

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.”

Quinn’s eyes flicker over to Bea again, an amused smile on his face. He shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea verifies with a nod. She’s not quite sure how Quinn managed to peg the town in less than a week, but it probably wasn’t very difficult. Litchton is sleepy and small and isolated– of course everything is closed on Sundays. She adds, “And the church, of course.”

Trevor finds his way to the fridge. 

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Jack asks.

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, turning and clapping Jack on the shoulder. He even squeezes Jack’s muscles just to be a pest. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Well, that and he’s probably wondering if a certain girl will be there. Bea can’t blame him for assuming. The church is a huge thing in this town, it just so happens that Honey is one of the few people in the area that only go when they’re asked to. She has a really complicated relationship with God– Bea knows that better than anyone. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs to change?” She looks over to Quinn, who is grabbing a glass from one of the upper shelves of the cabinets. His t-shirt is riding up, revealing the soft skin of his abdomen. Ugh. Bea can’t believe she has to have this conversation. She hopes, if nothing else, that she doesn’t cry. Quinn can even yell at her– Bea just doesn’t want to cry. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack race upstairs, always competing. Bea can hear them pushing each other until they reach the landing, then slamming their bedroom doors shut.

Bea stands and walks over to the counter, taking a seat on one of the stools. 

Quinn is filling his glass with water, but he meets her eyes when he’s done and smiles. “Good morning, Bea.”

“Good morning, Quinn,” Bea plays along. She’s not sure how to do this. She’s never had to tell someone that she wants to hook up with his two brothers and one of his closest friends before. If only there was a good line that everyone knows– an ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ for Slut Summers. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” Quinn replies, taking a swig of his water. “What’s up?”

“It’s about last night,” Bea says, trying to tiptoe around the subject without digging herself too far into a hole. If she doesn’t bring it up now, she’ll be leading him on. Or, honestly, maybe not– maybe Quinn was looking for a one night stand. If that was the case, why would he kiss her on the head when he came downstairs this morning?

Quinn pulls his eyebrows together, his face growing more serious. “What about last night? It was okay, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, my God, no, you were great,” Bea says. “I wasn’t lying when I said you fuck.”

Quinn’s serious expression softens. “Okay,” he says. “Then what is it?”

“I had a lot of fun,” Bea tells him. “I just– well, I need to be upfront with you.”

Quinn takes another sip of his water and gestures for her to continue.

Bea takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about this summer, okay? I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want, especially when it comes to you guys, and I’ve decided that I’m not looking for anything, like, serious right now.”

The corners of Quinn’s lips turn up. “Okay, so you’re looking for hookups,” he says. “That’s actually what I was going to ask you. I was a little disappointed when you weren’t in bed this morning, I wanted to talk to you about what I want, too.”

“Oh?” Bea asks. That’s promising– he’s smiling about the fact that she wants to hook up, and he was already planning to ask her about it. “Um, I mean– it’s complicated, what I want, so maybe you should go first.”

Because then she can know what he wants and act accordingly… it’s a path that’ll save her from taking the wrong step before things even really start. Bea’s playing it graciously, but really, the offer to let Quinn go first is very selfish. She doesn’t like being selfish, but she really doesn’t want to hurt his feelings right after they slept together and had a great time doing so.

“That’s really kind of you,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “Very thoughtful, Bea. But… you started this thing. I want you to get whatever it is off your mind.”

Damn him for being so logical. Maybe she should’ve stayed in bed and let him talk first, so that she could have an out. There’s so much pressure here, being the one to reveal the dynamic that they want, especially when hers is so… abnormal.

“Okay,” Bea says slowly, trying to find the best words to string together without sounding like a total whore. She doesn’t want Quinn to think she’s disgusting– she’s not sure why he would, or why she cares so much, but she would probably curl up into a ball and die if he started judging her. “Um, for me, this summer is about… experiencing things… with different people.” She speaks slowly, watching his reaction, but his face is impassive. “I don’t want to put all of my eggs in one basket, if you… get what I’m saying.” She presses her lips together in a line and waits.

Quinn raises an eyebrow. When he speaks, he sounds a little surprised, but not angry. “So you want to… see other people?”

Bea nods tentatively. 

“Anyone you have in mind?” Quinn asks. 

Bea’s pretty sure he’s already figured out the people that she wants to see. She bares her teeth to him in an awkward smile, bracing herself for the anger. If it’s coming, it’s coming now.

Quinn sets his glass down on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest, bending down so his elbows rest on the counter. “Like who?” he asks.

Bea licks over her bottom lip and bites it, grimacing slightly. “Litchton isn’t a big town, and there aren’t many attractive men here that I haven’t already considered,” she says. “So… when Honey told me there was a group of guys living here this summer… I thought it might be interesting to… partake.” 

Quinn nods along with her words, but doesn’t speak, seeming to sense that she’s not done.

“And it’s not that I’m not very interested in you, Quinn. You’re– well, you’ve got a magic cock and I am very happy that you were the first one, but I would feel like I missed out if I didn’t explore my options in the house. How many chances does a girl get to have a Slut Summer with a houseful of attractive athletes?” Maybe she goes too far with that last sentence.

“And you want… all of us?” Quinn asks after a beat of silence.

“Not Trevor,” Bea says. “I’m not exactly interested in, uh… all of that.”

She’s lucky, because Quinn laughs softly instead of frowning at her negative perception of one of his best friends. He stands tall and lets his arms fall to his sides, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” Quinn says. “But I don’t want to know anything about what you do with Jack and Luke. They’re my brothers. I don’t want to think about them like that. I already know too much. As long as you keep us separate, it’s fine with me.”

“Really?” Bea asks. “You’re not… angry?”

“Why would I be angry?” Quinn asks. “It’s not like I have a claim on you. We hooked up last night, but that’s it. We had fun. I’m not going to stop you from exploring your options.” He pauses. “Although, I would like to hook up again.”

“Me too,” Bea agrees quickly. “I want– yes, I want to keep hooking up with you. It was really good, Q. I literally thought I was going to squirt or something when I was on top.”

Quinn’s eyes brighten. “Oh, yeah?” He grins crookedly. “Tell me more about that.”

Bea blushes and pushes her index finger against her nose, covering her mouth slightly. “Maybe not right now,” she says. “But I’d be happy to… try and make that happen later, if you want.” She shrugs, pinching her lips together to try and stop a smile from growing on her face. She’s just found something Quinn seems to like. She wants to use that to her advantage.

Quinn nods, looking thoughtful. “I think we could make something like that happen.”

Bea laughs, which makes Quinn laugh, and it takes them a moment to collect themselves. Bea feels loose and relieved, glad that Quinn isn’t screaming at her or judging her or kicking her out of the house and banning her from ever returning.

After they calm down, Bea leans forward a bit. “So, what were you thinking? This morning, I mean. What were you going to ask me?”

“I was going to ask if you were looking for anything serious,” Quinn replies, a little smile still gracing his face. “Without saying too much, I, uh, got out of a relationship recently. She and I were together for a long time and I wanted to let you know that I don’t think I’m ready to, y’know, rush into anything.” 

Well, if that’s not interesting. She’s not going to push, but Bea wants to know more immediately. She loves gossip, loves knowing people’s business, but she’s sure she’ll get plenty of openings to ask Quinn about this relationship over the summer, if he’s willing to share. 

“I want to keep hooking up with you,” Quinn continues. “Because I am ‘very interested’ in you, too. You’re the most interesting thing going on around here, Bea. I think we could be really good friends.”

Bea grins. “I think so, too. You might be hyping me up too much, though. I’m not that interesting.”

Quinn snorts out a laugh. “Whatever you say.”

A quick silence passes between them. Footsteps start to sound overhead– one of the boys must be done changing. 

“Look, I’m really glad you’re not upset,” Bea tells Quinn quickly, before they’re interrupted. “I didn’t want to mess things up so soon.”

“Don’t worry about me, baby,” Quinn teases, using the same tone on the word ‘baby’ as he did the night before. He’s teasing her, messing with her like they know each other well enough to do so. It’s refreshing. “I think if this had happened when I was younger, I wouldn’t have taken it so well. I probably would’ve… I don’t know, agreed? But I would’ve been miserable the whole time?” He laughs, although Bea doesn’t find that very funny, and continues, “But it’s just a summer, right? I don’t mind sharing you with the other guys. I’m just glad you told me. It would be a different story if you started having your Slut Summer without telling any of us.”

“Yeah,” Bea replies, smiling wide. Quinn gets it. He understands. Bea feels a little silly– she was worried for nothing. She nods, hearing someone’s feet pound against the steps, making their way back to the kitchen. “It’s just a summer. Let’s have fun.”

Quinn returns her smile and goes back to his food, just in time for Jack to enter the room at a sprint. He looks around wildly, then raises a fist. “Dude, let’s fucking go, I win!”

––––––––––

He probably talked about this stuff with Liv, though, Bea’s doubt points out, causing her to push her tongue against the roof of her mouth as a distraction from her thoughts.

“What about for a girl?” Bea asks. “What would you name her?”

Quinn blushes a little. “It’s kind of silly,” he says.

Bea repeats his own words from earlier. “I don’t care if you sound silly.”

“I always liked the name Daphne,” Quinn says. “At first, it was because I liked Daphne in Scooby-Doo, but then I thought that when my wife gave birth to the baby, I’d go down to the gift shop in the hospital and buy her a little stuffed duck.” His voice grows quieter. “Because of Daffy Duck. And she’s my little Daphne Duckling.” Quinn hides his face in Bea’s arm, the tips of his ears burning red. 

“Q,” Bea sighs, feeling like her heart is bursting out of her chest. She wants to cry a bit, just because he’s so sweet and thoughtful. He cares so much. She crowds into his space, kissing over his cheek and squeezing his love handles, nudging her knee between his. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” Quinn groans, blushing even more somehow. Bea continues to press kisses over his face. She covers every section of skin with her lips, wishing she could lather her lips in bright red lipstick and smear her mark all over Quinn’s face.

Eventually, he pins her hands to the bed and bites her neck, making her shriek in laughter, and that’s that. Liv and baby talk is put behind them, securely cemented in the past, and Quinn never brings either conversation up again. Bea is grateful that she doesn’t have a constant reminder of his ex-girlfriend or his desire to settle down and find a wife. They’re just having fun– the pressure of being Quinn’s wife and having his babies, and living up to the prior expectations of his model girlfriend is too much for Bea. It’s just a summer fling– something that is getting harder and harder to remember with each kiss Quinn gives her.

sunday, october 14, 2035 7:58 P.M.

It’s Quinn’s birthday and for once, everyone is in town. His parents came up to Vancouver to have a big backyard party with their eldest son and his family before the weather turns too cold. Bea’s family is in town for a separate, equally as exciting reason; Bea has framed the party as Quinn’s birthday party, but one of her presents to him is the fact that they’re about to find out the gender of their fourth (and hopefully final) baby. The stars aligned and brought Trevor to Vancouver for a game yesterday evening, which means that Honey came to Vancouver with four-and-a-half month old Hayden in her arms, and Jack and Luke had a game at noon in Seattle, so they were able to drive up for the tail end of this party too. Everyone that Quinn loves is here. 

They enjoyed lunch together in the backyard. They sat on the patio and ate salad with grilled chicken or salmon, thrown together by Quinn because, as much as Bea tries, she’s still not great at cooking meat without butchering it to make sure it’s cooked all the way through. They even have a meat thermometer to help rectify that problem, but Bea gets very paranoid, so she doesn’t trust the device.

Jack and Luke rolled up about two hours ago, having sped up from Seattle in a rented car as soon as their game ended and they’d received permission to go from their coach. They’d been the center of attention for a while, but Bea knows that Quinn doesn’t mind. He’d been the first– well, third– to hug his brothers. The only people that beat him to it were his two younger and quicker sons, Luke and Patrick, each of whom are obsessed with their uncles. They don’t see them nearly enough, so their presence is a sweet treat. Quinn only beat Caleb because he’s still shaky on his feet and opted for crawling.

Little Luke ran to Big Luke first and jumped on him, already talking about his new hockey team, since he moved age groups after last year. He’s asking Big Luke if he can come to a game soon and Luke is promising that he’ll try to come if he can, but he’s not sure because of his hockey team. Jack sweeps up Patrick with a “What’s up, PJ?” He tosses Patrick up into the air and catches him, then ruffles his hair and sets him on his shoulders. Caleb also goes to Jack, pulling himself up into a standing position on his pant leg, and babbling while he reaches up to be carried. 

Now, dinner has passed, and Bea is ready to bring out Quinn’s birthday cake. She baked it herself, but made Honey frost it after reading the little card that Bea’s obstetrician had written after her appointment on Friday.

All of the previous times they’ve been pregnant, Bea and Quinn have either waited to find out the gender or let the OB tell them in the room where Bea is getting her ultrasound. Bea wanted to have a little flair this time, since she’d given up on flair when she’d told Quinn about the pregnancy. With Luke, she’d gotten that ‘Daddy 43’ jersey and he hadn’t understood the meaning until she told him. With Patrick, Luke had worn his ‘Best Big Brother’ shirt that Bea bought in the Food Lion during Quinn’s scrimmage. Quinn hadn’t even read the shirt when Bea asked him what he thought about it– he said “I like the color.” For Caleb, she’d tried the same method again, throwing the ‘Best Big Brother’ shirt on Patrick. Quinn had thought that Bea had just grabbed the shirt from the dresser and hadn’t given it a second thought. It was normal for her boys to share clothes, so he hadn’t made a big deal of it. Bea had actually yelled at him, “Oh my God, Quinn, a shirt is never just a shirt!” and whacked his shoulder. 

This time, Bea decided to give up on the subtlety. She'd handed him the pregnancy test and that was it.

She carries the cake to the patio carefully, candles already flickering and lit. Patrick trails at her side, his fist bunched up in her cute party pants. He rarely leaves Bea’s side, even though she thought he’d outgrow the clinginess by the time he reached his second birthday, but she was wrong. It’s nice to have a little buddy, since she knows that he’ll outgrow her one day and probably get all angsty and mean like most teenage boys are. She remembers those days, of dealing with boys who were dicks, and she’s glad she doesn’t have to do that anymore. Quinn is the greatest husband she could ever ask for, even though it took them a little while longer than it should’ve to get to that point. If they hadn’t wasted those years before Honey and Trevor’s wedding… well, it doesn’t matter. Bea is happy with how things turned out. It had to be this way for her to end up in this exact moment.

Quinn grins at her and passes Caleb to Ellen, who accepts the baby easily. Everyone starts to sing– led by Little Luke, who is louder than everyone else on the patio– and Bea places the cake in front of Quinn. He reads the simple ‘Happy Birthday Daddy!’ that Luke and Patrick helped write in their messy handwriting after Honey was done icing the cake. Bea had to guide Patrick’s hand to write the “Happy” and it was so hard that she gave up after that word. She wrote “Birthday” and Luke wrote “Daddy.” Caleb watched from his high chair.

Bea stands beside Quinn, picking Patrick up and putting him on her hip. Quinn’s arm wraps around her waist and he pulls her close, palm flat against the fabric of her clothes. Luke joins and sits by Quinn’s side, kneeling up in his chair so that he can be the one to blow the candles out instead of the person who is actually celebrating their birthday. Quinn doesn’t mind– he actually encourages Luke to blow out the candles.

“Okay, before you cut the cake,” Bea says to Quinn, handing him the knife in her hands. “I have a surprise for you.”

Quinn knits his eyebrows together. “Oh, you do?” he asks.

Bea can feel the guests around them go still, holding their breath. She bets Honey is pressing her tongue between her teeth and bottom lip, waiting for everyone to know the gender just like she does. Bea’s mom has her camera going already, having never stopped the video after Quinn blew out the candles. 

“So you know how I’m almost twenty weeks?” Bea questions, knowing that Quinn knows as well as she does how far along they are in this pregnancy.

Quinn’s eyes flicker around the patio, surveying the guests for a hint. His eyes narrow when he reaches Honey and she just shrugs, feigning innocence in a very poor way. She’s still terrible at lying, even though she’s been trying to improve at it since she and Bea started sneaking around in high school. 

“Yeah,” Quinn says slowly, suspicious. 

“Well, I thought while everyone was here, you might want to find out if you’re having a boy or a girl,” Bea says. “Although you don’t have much of a choice now. The icing is already inside the cake.”

Quinn’s suspicion disappears. He elbows Luke, who is getting impatient for cake and trying to reach for the knife in Quinn’s hands. “So– this is a gender reveal cake?”

“Consider it another present,” Bea tells him. She smiles wide. “C’mon, Q, cut the cake. Are we having another little boy or a baby girl?”

“What do you think, Luke?” Quinn asks the boy beside him, poising the knife over the cake. “Do you want a brother or a sister?”

“I don’t care, I want cake,” Luke replies. 

Quinn presses his lips together to stop from laughing. Luke has only gotten funnier with age, even though he’s being rude. 

“Lukey, that’s not nice,” Bea chastizes. “Now you have to wait even longer for your piece.”

Luke huffs and pouts, turning his back on Bea and crossing his arms over his chest. Big Luke reaches out and waves him over, inviting the boy to come sit on his lap while they wait.

Quinn carefully cuts the cake, making a neat triangle. He pauses there, looking up at Bea. They share a look, sending a telepathic message to each other containing excitement and complacency. Boy or girl– it doesn't matter. Quinn knows as well as Bea that this is probably their last baby, unless they create an oopsie baby a few years down the line. Hopefully, that won’t happen. Four is going to be a lot, but it’ll be great.

Quinn puts the knife beneath the first slice and sets a plate down, carefully pulling the slice from the baked circle. Everyone holds their breath, except Honey, who already knows, and the babies, who don’t understand what is happening. 

The icing is pink and Bea squeals, bouncing up and down. Patrick starts to laugh because of the movement, the belly-laugh like music to Bea’s ears. Quinn plates the slice and stands, holding the plate above his head for everyone to see, just in case they hadn’t already. With his hand still raised, Quinn tilts his head and captures Bea’s lips in a sweet, celebratory kiss.

Finally, Bea’s got a little girl to play dress-up with and Quinn has a daughter to spoil. Not that they don’t spoil their other kids or play with them– but a girl is something new.

thursday, february 21, 2036 9:43 P.M.

“Good news, the boys are asleep and Mom is all set up in the guest room,” Quinn announces when he enters the hospital room. Bea is reclining in the bed and thumbing through a book while Daphne suckles on her nipple. 

“How’s Luke feeling about Baby Sister’s birthday being the week before his?” Bea asks. She sets her book aside and focuses on her husband. She feels perfectly at peace. They’ve been planning this birth for months, ever since Bea’s due date was set during the February break. Quinn withdrew from all All-Star consideration, despite the fact that the team wanted him to make an appearance at something since he’s their longest-tenured captain and the People’s Princess, practically.

“It’s not his favorite thing in the world, but he’ll get over it. I promised that we’d never make them do a joint birthday and he seemed to like that.” Quinn produces a bag from behind his back and comes up next to the bed. 

Bea scoots over, cradling Daphne’s neck and trying not to jostle her too much as she makes room for Quinn to sit next to her.

“From me,” Quinn says. “The boys are going shopping with Mom before they come to visit tomorrow. I hope Caleb buys a massive pack of diapers so we don’t have to pay for those before Luke’s birthday. Maybe I’ll text Mom and tell her to try and steer him that way.”

“He shouldn’t be too hard to convince,” Bea replies. She leans her temple against Quinn’s shoulder, getting comfortable. 

This is probably the only time in their lives that they’ll get to be alone with Daphne. She’s their fourth child in just under five years– Bea didn’t mean to do four-in-four, but it’s kind of funny that it happened that way. She’ll text Honey later and send that GIF of Sookie from Gilmore Girls telling Lorelai about when Jackson wanted to do four-in-four. 

Daphne Grace Hughes hasn’t met her older brothers yet. For right now, she’s like Bea and Quinn’s only baby. She doesn’t know that there is a whirlwind waiting for her at home– a lavender nursery that the boys helped paint and sweet canvases from each brother in their own art style. Since they’re so young, the art is pretty abstract. Bea will probably hang them in her own bedroom when Daphne decides she doesn’t want them anymore.

She’s already planning her next project– she wants to paint her children’s hands and press their handprints to a canvas, immortalizing how big they were when their family became complete. 

Her venture after that is to start looking for kindergartens for Luke. She fell slightly behind because of the pregnancy, but she expects that she’ll be able to get him in somewhere. There are so many options: public, private, charter, Catholic… it’s endless. She’ll employ the WAGs that already have kids in school to help her out once she makes it to another game.

Quinn sets the gift on Bea’s lap, just past where Daphne lays. Milk has started to run down her chin and she’s not drinking so much anymore, so Bea expects that she’s done. Her eyelids are getting all fluttery and milk-drunk.

“Daph, let’s see what Daddy got you,” Bea whispers gently, removing her daughter from her tit and rubbing her back to spark a burp. “Don’t sleep yet.”

Daphne’s fighting sleep, something that Bea and Quinn have no idea will become her trademark move, and Bea turns her so that she can sit on her lap and rest her head against Bea’s chest. Bea holds her chin with her thumb and finger, so that she doesn’t wiggle away and somehow get hurt in her first three hours of living.

Quinn pulls a stuffed duck from the little bag, pretending to waddle it along Bea’s thighs toward Daphne. “Quack, quack.” His voice is low and, while tinged with a fond hint of baby-talk, completely serious. He nuzzles the duck against Daphne’s little hands, her chunky tummy, and finally boops her nose with the beak. “A little ducky for my Daffy.”

Like the first time Bea heard him speak about this dream of his eleven and a half years ago, she wishes she could shrink him down and put him in her pocket, next to her heart, forever. She likes Quinn as he is, though. Her big strong husband is playing sweetly with their newborn girl, even though she has no idea what’s going on and can’t even see anything in front of her. She won’t really be able to see until the end of July, and even then, she won’t have object permanence. 

But it’s the sweetest little thing. Quinn leans down to kiss Daphne’s head, softly so he doesn’t disturb her, and works the soft fur of the plushie’s wing between her fingers. She clamps down on it, demonstrating her reflex to grab things, and she holds on. Quinn’s hand leaves the duck and curls over the meat of Bea’s thigh. He kisses her temple hard and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her back so that she’s able to rest against his chest. 

“I love you,” Bea murmurs. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply, taking in Quinn’s familiar and comforting scent as it surrounds her.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” Quinn says. “Not just because of her. Like, I love her, and the boys, you know that… but it’s because of you. I didn’t– after I met you, I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. And now we’re here. And I love you.”