Mess You Made

42.

Malibu.

I've driven along FDR drive a million times over my life but never in a Maserati. I never would've imagined Hudson Tempest would be in the driver's seat.

It's oddly not so tense. We're both just silent. He's silent, and I tend to be silent unless provoked not to be so we're both dead silent and I think we prefer it that way. I've just kept my gaze on the East River as he drives.

The car's beautiful on the inside. Carbon-fibre and Alcantra surfaces. 10 inch TFT screen, mainly black, the Maserati logo on the centre of the wheel that Hudson palms as he changes lane, and I remember that night Miguel knew all about car logo's.

I tense slightly when a ringtone breaks the long silence, carrying through the car as the screen lights up. Hudson extends a hand, clicking something, and then a soft voice rings through the interior.

"Baby." Val's voice is softer than I remember because she sounds fatigued, sleepy. Like she's about to fall asleep.

Hudson's eyes fall to the screen and his brows pinch, "Not asleep yet?"

"No." She murmurs, half-asleep, and then she sounds like she turns on her side as the bedsheets rustle, "Waiting on you. Both of us."

Hudson runs a hand over his jaw, "He's still awake?"

"Fed him, and he doesn't want to go back down. Are you coming?"

"Yeah. On my way, angel."

And then it sounds like she's shifting the phone, and Val's voice is so quiet, so tired, washed with tenderness as she seems to speak to her baby, "He's coming back to you, daddy's on his way, huh? Promise." The phone shifts again, and she asks Hudson, "Can you hear him?"

It takes just a moment before the soft sound of breathing comes through the speakers. Shallow, gentle little puffs of air, like she's holding the phone to Elijah's face. A baby's breaths. I look over at Hudson. His hands seem to slacken against the wheel, his gaze on the road. A calmness washed over his eyes that I don't think he'd ever allow anyone to see, but he can't seem to help it.

"I'm coming home." He says to him, his voice quietened, "Keeping mom awake for me, Elijah?"

Then, these tiny noises through the phone, like he's squirming around or stretching. It's hard to hide a bit of a smile, the way the speakers make Elijah's noises reverberate around us.

As lights cast over his face in the dark of the car, Hudson's lips turn upwards, "Good boy."

The phone shifts again, Val's voice, "Are you driving her home?"

I tense. I presume she's referring to me and I'm not sure if she knows I can hear her.

Hudson nods, "As you said."

As she said?

She tampers down a yawn, "Make sure she gets inside safe, Hudson, it's late. And just— ask her."

Hudson's brows furrow, "Ask her what?"

"If she's okay, before she goes. Least you can do, it's late, baby, she probably needs to go to school tomorrow. She stayed with our Miguel, and I don't know how long she was there for but probably a few hours. That's a lot of hours, don't you think?"

"Hm." He muses, just listening to her.

She breathes out, voice cracks, "They're only babies."

I slide my gaze to the screen, confused as my brows pinch. I'm like two years younger than her.

"Val." Hudson says carefully, "He's okay."

She breathes in, voice cracks again, "Babies, Hud. She's just a baby too." She yawns again, voice lethargic, "Well, neither of them certainly look like babies, they're miles taller than me. And she's like a model." She pauses, "Metaphorical babies. Does that make sense?"