Luke Hughes | Baby Bump

The Hughes family lake house had always been loud in a way Luke secretly loved.

Not arena loud. Not media loud. Not the kind of loud that came with skates cutting ice, cameras clicking, reporters waiting around stalls, or Jack yelling something across the locker room just to be annoying.

This was different.

This was screen doors slamming. Someone laughing down by the dock. His dad calling from the porch about the grill. Quinn’s voice carrying low over the yard, dry and amused. Jack chirping someone from outside like he had never once learned how to use an indoor volume.

It should have felt normal.

It usually did.

But all Luke could think about was {{user}} upstairs.

She’s fine. She said she was fine.

He stood near the kitchen island with a half-empty glass of water in one hand, not listening to a single word Jack was saying from across the room. Something about boat keys. Or sunscreen. Or maybe how Luke had been “weird as hell” since they got there.

Luke blinked, forcing himself back into the room.

“What?” he asked.

Jack narrowed his eyes at him. “Dude.”

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at the stairs for, like, five minutes.”

Luke’s jaw tightened.

“I haven’t.”

“You absolutely have.”

“I’m getting towels,” Luke said, even though nobody had asked him to get towels.

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Yeah? Towels are upstairs now?”

Luke gave him a flat look and set his glass down a little too hard.

Act normal. Jesus Christ, just act normal for ten minutes.

That had been the plan from the second he and {{user}} pulled into the gravel driveway. Smile. Hug his mom. Let his dad clap him on the shoulder. Let Jack make some dumb joke. Let Quinn ask how training was going. Get through dinner. Get through one weekend.

Then maybe, if {{user}} wanted to, they could tell them.

Or maybe they would wait.

Luke did not care when they told everyone, not really. He cared that {{user}} felt ready. He cared that she was not overwhelmed. He cared that his family did not find out because he slipped up, hovered too much, answered for her too quickly, or stared at her stomach like an idiot whenever he thought nobody was looking.

Which he had already done. Several times.

She had gone upstairs to change before dinner, and he had told himself not to follow her. She did not need him trailing after her every time she left the room. She was pregnant, not helpless. She had already reminded him of that with the kind of look that made him shut up immediately.

Still, the second she disappeared up the stairs, he felt the absence of her beside him like someone had taken his balance.

She’s probably tired. She should sit before dinner. Did she drink enough water? She looked pale when she came in from the dock. Maybe I should—

“Luke?”

His mom’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Ellen stood near the back hallway with a stack of folded towels in her arms, looking between him and the stairs.

“I’m going to put these in the guest room,” she said. “Can you grab the extra ones from the dryer after?”

Luke straightened too fast.

“The guest room?”

Ellen gave him a small, confused smile. “Yes?”

His stomach dropped.

“Wait—Mom, I can take them.”

“It’s fine, honey. I’m already going up.”

“No, I—”

But she was already halfway to the stairs.

Luke moved before he could think. Jack’s teasing expression sharpened behind him, but Luke barely registered it. He crossed the kitchen fast, nearly bumping into the side of the island.

“Mom,” he called, trying not to sound panicked and failing completely.

Ellen paused on the stairs, one hand on the railing. “Luke?”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing useful came out.

Say something. Say literally anything normal.

“I think...” He swallowed. “I think {{user}}’s changing.”

Ellen’s eyebrows lifted.

For one second, Luke thought he had caught it in time.

Then, from upstairs, came the faint sound of a door opening.

Not slamming. Not dramatic. Just the soft click of an old lake-house bedroom door giving way before anyone inside had time to answer.

Luke froze.

The whole house seemed to narrow into that one sound.

Fuck.

He was up the stairs before Jack could say his name.

“Mom,” Luke said again, sharper this time.

By the time he reached the hall, Ellen was standing just outside the guest room, one hand still on the doorknob and the towels tucked against her chest.

Her face had changed.

Not angry. Not shocked in a loud way. Not even upset.

Just still.

Too still.

Luke’s chest went tight.

The bedroom door was open only partway. He could not see much from the hall, and he did not try to. He stepped forward quickly, placing himself near the gap with his eyes fixed firmly on his mother’s face instead.

“Mom,” he said low. “Can you—”

Ellen blinked, as if she had just remembered where she was. “I’m sorry,” she said immediately, her voice soft and apologetic. “I didn’t realize— I should have knocked.”

Luke reached for the door and pulled it mostly closed, giving {{user}} privacy without fully shutting himself out of the moment.

His heart was pounding stupidly hard.

She saw. She definitely saw.

Ellen’s gaze flicked from the door to him.

And there it was.

The question.

Not spoken yet. Not forced. But sitting right in her eyes, gentle and stunned and motherly in the worst possible way because Ellen Hughes knew her sons too well. She knew nervousness. She knew bad excuses. She knew Luke’s face when he was trying to hold something together with both hands and failing.

Luke rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Mom,” he said quietly.

Ellen’s expression softened. “Luke.”

That was all she said.

His name.

Somehow that made it worse.

He looked toward the door, then back at her, lowering his voice even more.

“Don’t,” he said, not harshly, but fast. Too fast. “Please don’t say anything downstairs.”

Ellen’s lips parted slightly.

Luke could feel himself unraveling.

“It’s not—” He stopped, exhaled, tried again. “It’s not that we weren’t going to tell you. We just... we haven’t figured out how yet.”

Great. Great job. So normal. Very calm. Definitely not obviously about a baby.

His mom’s eyes grew glossy.

Luke’s stomach twisted.

“Mom,” he warned, almost helplessly.

“I’m not saying anything,” Ellen whispered.

Her voice was careful now. Not because she was upset, but because she understood enough to be gentle. That made Luke’s throat feel tight.

From downstairs, Jack called, “Everything good up there?”

Luke closed his eyes for half a second.

I’m going to kill him.

Ellen looked toward the stairs, then back to Luke.

For once, she did not answer for him.

Luke turned his head toward the staircase and forced his voice to sound even. “Yeah. We’re good.”

A pause.

Then Jack, suspiciously: “You sound weird.”

Luke’s jaw clenched. “Shut up, Jack.”

Ellen’s mouth twitched despite herself.

For one breath, it almost felt normal again.

Then Luke heard the smallest movement behind the door, and all the humor went out of him. His attention snapped back immediately, protective and worried before he could stop it.

He turned slightly, keeping his body angled toward the room.

“{{user}}?” he said, voice softer now. “You okay?”

Please be okay. Please don’t be scared. Please don’t think I’m mad. I’m not mad. I just—fuck, I wanted this to be on your terms.

He glanced at his mom again, quieter this time.

“She gets to decide,” Luke said. “Okay? Not me. Not you. Not anyone downstairs.”

Ellen nodded instantly.

“Of course,” she said.

And that almost broke him too, because she meant it.

Luke swallowed hard, one hand still resting against the doorframe. Downstairs, his family kept moving around, unaware that everything had just shifted upstairs in the narrow hallway outside the guest room.

His mother knew.

Not all of it, maybe. Not the details. Not how many weeks. Not how scared he had been when {{user}} first told him. Not how he had held her afterward and stared at the ceiling over her head, terrified and happy and too young and too in love to know which feeling was supposed to win.

But she knew enough.

Luke looked toward the cracked door again, voice low enough that only {{user}} could hear him.

“Baby,” he murmured, forgetting for a second that his mom was still standing there. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

The second morning at the Hughes family lake house started with coffee, eggs, and Luke already knowing something was wrong.

He noticed it before anyone else did.

{{user}} stood near the kitchen island with a glass of water in her hand, her face just a little too pale, her body too still. The smell of breakfast filled the kitchen—eggs in the pan, butter on toast, coffee brewing near the window—and Luke watched her swallow like she was trying not to react.

Shit. The eggs.

He moved closer without thinking.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

{{user}} glanced at him.

That look said enough.

Right. Stop hovering. Be normal.

Luke nodded once like he understood, then immediately reached for her glass, refilled it at the sink, and set it back in front of her.

Across the kitchen, Jim looked over from the stove.

Luke froze.

Great. Super normal.

Jim’s eyebrows lifted. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke said too fast. “She’s just—”

He stopped himself.

{{user}} was pregnant. Not sick in the way his family thought. Not hungover, not tired from the lake, not just having an off morning.

Pregnant.

And nobody knew.

Not his mom. Not his dad. Not Jack. Not Quinn. Nobody.

Luke knew they were supposed to wait. He knew this was not only his news. But watching {{user}} stand there looking nauseous while the whole kitchen smelled like eggs made something anxious crawl up his spine.

I hate this. I hate not being able to say anything.

The screen door opened, and Ellen came in carrying a folded towel over one arm.

“Morning,” she said warmly.

Then her eyes landed on {{user}}.

Her smile softened a little.

Luke saw it immediately.

Don’t notice. Please don’t notice.

Ellen set the towel down near the counter. “You feeling alright, sweetheart?”

Luke’s hand twitched at his side.

Before {{user}} could answer, Jack wandered into the kitchen, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, already smirking.

“Why does Luke look like he’s guarding the president?”

Luke shot him a look. “Shut up.”

Jack’s smirk widened. “See? Weird.”

“I’m not weird.”

“You’ve been weird since we got here.”

Jim turned back to the stove, but Luke could tell he was listening now. Ellen too. That was the problem with his family—they knew him too well. They noticed when his voice changed, when he got tense, when he stood too close to {{user}} like he could block the whole world with his body.

Jim lifted a plate slightly. “{{user}}, you want eggs?”

Luke answered before he could stop himself.

“She’s good.”

The kitchen went quiet.

Idiot.

Luke’s face warmed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to answer for her.”

Jack slowly leaned against the counter. “Oh, this is definitely weird.”

“Jack,” Ellen warned.

Luke ignored him and looked at {{user}}, lowering his voice. “Sorry. I just know you weren’t feeling great.”

Jim’s expression shifted.

“Not feeling great?” he asked.

Luke opened his mouth, then shut it.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it unless she wants to.

Ellen looked between them, her voice softer now. “Maybe some fresh air would help.”

The smell of eggs seemed to hit {{user}} again, and Luke saw the tiny change in her face.

That was enough.

He stepped closer, hand settling carefully at the small of her back.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Porch for a second.”

Jim set the spatula down. “Luke.”

Luke stopped, shoulders tense.

His dad’s voice was gentle, but serious. “Are you two okay?”

For a second, nobody moved.

Luke could feel {{user}} beside him. Could feel Jack watching, Ellen waiting, Jim starting to worry. The secret sat there in the middle of the kitchen, too big to keep hidden and too important to blurt out carelessly.

It’s her call. Not mine. Don’t mess this up.

Luke looked down at {{user}}, his thumb brushing once against her back.

“We’re okay,” he said quietly. Then, after a beat, “I just don’t want everyone staring at her.”

Jack’s smirk faded.

Ellen’s face softened.

Jim looked from Luke to {{user}}, then slowly moved the pan of eggs farther away from her.

Luke nearly laughed, but his chest felt too tight.

Ellen stepped closer, careful and kind. “You don’t have to eat, honey. I can make toast. Tea. Whatever sounds better.”

Jack’s eyes flicked to {{user}}, then back to Luke.

Something clicked in his face.

“Oh,” Jack said softly.

Luke’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t.”

Jack held his hands up. “I didn’t.”

“You were about to.”

“I won’t,” Jack said, quieter this time.

That shut Luke up.

The kitchen settled into a strange, fragile silence. Not normal anymore. Not exactly ruined either.

Luke looked back at {{user}}, his expression softening despite how fast his heart was beating. He leaned closer, voice low enough for only her.

“Your call,” he murmured. “Always. I’m right here.”

The lake house was finally quiet.

Most of Luke’s family had drifted outside toward the dock, leaving the kitchen warm with leftover dinner, open windows, and the soft sound of water moving beyond the porch.

Luke stood beside {{user}} near the counter, one hand resting lightly at her lower back.

Don’t hover. Don’t make it obvious.

He failed almost immediately, glancing down at her stomach before looking back at her face.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You okay?”