Chapter Twenty-seven: Archer

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Archer

“All things considered, that went as well as I thought it would.” I put my arm around Quinn and push off the ground, sending the glider back. It’s getting late, and everyone but Weston and Jackson have left already. Wes is working the night shift tonight, so Jackson is staying here with Quinn’s parents.

Quinn rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes. She looks exhausted. Physically, I know she will be for the rest of the first trimester at least. Emotionally, she’s spent.

And I still think she’s one of the fucking strongest people I know.

“Yeah. Only my dad and Dean want to take you out back and cut off your testicles. But don’t worry, I won’t let that happen. I happen to like them. Well, more so what they’re attached to.”

I laugh and press my lips against the top of Quinn’s head. “Thanks for looking out for my balls.” The sound of katydids and crickets echo through the yard, reverberating off the tall corn that surrounds us. The sounds of a country summer night surround us, and it takes me back to the time I spent with the Dawsons in the summer.

The first time I saw Quinn was when we were moving into our dorm. She was wearing a tight black dress that hugged her curves and showed off her tits. She was in the middle of an argument with her father about the dress being inappropriate when I walked into the dorm with a box full of stuff. I could tell right away she wasn’t in college, but I pegged her to be sixteen, maybe even seventeen.

She was beautiful, and with her ample breasts and supple ass to match, she looked more mature than she was. I became nonverbal at the sight of her, trying to surreptitiously watch her move about the tiny room and hoped the dress would ride up on her ass a little bit more than it already was.

And then Dean came in, carrying a box of his own supplies, and introduced me to his dad and his baby sister.

Who was fourteen.

I felt dirty for weeks, but hey, I didn’t know. I was a horny eighteen-year-old then, and Quinn didn’t look her age at the time.

That summer, Bobby went to his first rehab center, and I stayed with the Dawsons for most of June. Quinn was fifteen then, but still too young. And I was still too attracted to her.

I shift my weight, allowing Quinn to lean back on me more. She tucks her feet up under herself and turns in.

“Are you cold?” I ask, feeling goosebumps break out along her arms.

“Yeah. A little.”

“Do you want to go in?”

“No, it’s nice out here. I can tough it out. Which really means I’m too lazy to go inside and get a blanket.”

Chuckling, I take my arms from around her and get up. “I’ll get you one.”

“Don’t get murdered in there.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The back door we came out of leads into the kitchen, and the lights are off. The dogs are outside with us, and only Carlos follows me in, probably cold too, and slips inside when I open the sliding glass door. I pause when I step in, listening to see if anyone is up. Quinn and I came outside right as Weston was putting Jackson down to sleep, so the house should be pretty quiet regardless.

I go into the living room and take a blanket off the back of the couch. A light turns on upstairs, and Weston’s voice echoes over the stairs.

“I’d put it off if I were them too,” Weston says to someone. “Can you blame them? Look at how everyone reacted tonight.”

“It wasn’t our finest moment,” Mrs. Dawson replies with a heavy sigh. “We’re worried. Being a single parent isn’t easy, as you know.”

“I do. And I know getting married first and then having kids might sound like the right way to do things, but look how that turned out for me.”

“I know, it just came as such a shock.”

“Archer seems to really care about her.”

“He does. He’s always been good to her, he’s been good to all of us. I’ve always liked him and thought of him like a fifth son.” The floorboards in the hall upstairs creak.

“Then get Dad to stop being a jerk. Telling the family life-altering news isn’t easy. I put off telling you guys about Daisy for over a week.”

“He’s worried right now. And shocked. Very shocked. And Dean…I’ll call him. He owes both Quinn and Archer an apology.” The light above the stairs turns on. “I did say I wanted more grandchildren. I didn’t think it would happen this way, but when does life go according to plan?”

At least Weston’s on our side. With his military training and no-nonsense attitude, I haven’t seen this version of Wes very often. With an eight-year age gap between him and Quinn, he’s always had a strong sense of responsibility over her and was the most overprotective of his little sister, with Dean coming in at a close second.

I take the blanket and go back into the kitchen, hurrying back out to Quinn. I wrap the blanket around her shoulders, running my fingers through her hair.

“What if Dean kicks you out of the wedding?” she asks softly.

“Then he kicks me out of the wedding. Nothing is more important to me than this baby, Quinn. If being with you pisses Dean off that much, then fuck him.”

She sits up. “You’d choose me over him?”

“I’d choose you over anything.” It kills me not to tell her I love her. She’s not ready to hear it, and definitely not ready to say it back.

The sliding glass door opens, and Mrs. Dawson steps out onto the deck. “I just put on a pot of coffee and got out a plate of cookies. Do you two want any?”

“She’s giving you an olive branch,” I whisper to Quinn. We get up and go inside, joining Mrs. Dawson in the kitchen.

“Are you still drinking coffee?” she asks Quinn.

“Yeah. Just half a cup in the morning though.” Quinn sits at the counter, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. “I’ve been exhausted since day one.”

“And you’ve had morning sickness?”

Quinn nods. “That was the telltale symptom that made me realize something wasn’t right.”

I stand behind Quinn, rubbing her shoulders. She folds her arms on the counter and rests her head on top.

“I was the same way with you.” Mrs. Dawson puts a kettle on the stove to boil and pulls out a bag of loose-leaf peppermint tea. “I didn’t have a single symptom with any of the boys. But I swear I started throwing up the day I conceived you.” She looks at Quinn with a smile on her face. “I knew right away I was having a girl. As much as I love my boys, I was so excited to have a little princess. Little did I know you’d be just as rough—and probably twice as tough—as all four of those boys combined.”

Quinn looks up, blinking from the bright lights, and pulls the stool out next to her for me to sit down.

“I kind of want a girl,” she says, and my heart does a weird skip-a-beat thing. We haven’t talked about the baby like this before.

Like we’re a couple about to start our family.

“What about you?”

“I don’t think I care,” I tell her. “If it is a girl, I hope she’s just like you.”

“And if it’s a boy, I really hope he takes after you and not my brothers.” She smiles, and I lace my fingers through hers. “You don’t have any weird family names that have to be passed down, do you?”

“Nope. We’re good to pick anything.”

Mrs. Dawson puts a plate of cookies in front of us and comes around the counter to hug Quinn.

“You never did show me that video.”

*

“Archer, can I have a word?” Mr. Dawson steps out of his office. It’s Friday afternoon and I’m getting ready to head out. Quinn is staying for dinner, and then is leaving too. It kills me thinking about her driving back up to Chicago alone and I hate that we’re headed in separate directions.

“Yes, sir,” I say and stand from the couch where Quinn and I were sitting.

“Close the door,” Mr. Dawson says when I get into his office. “Quinn is my only daughter. My youngest. My baby. She’ll always be those things to me, do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Now, I know this wasn’t planned, but I expect you to be there for her. No matter what.”

“I plan to. I care about her more than anything, and now that she’s carrying my baby, she’s my priority.”

Mr. Dawson rubs his chin and nods. “Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Does she love you?”

“Not yet.”

Mr. Dawson’s frown slowly turns. He steps around his desk and gives me a pat on the back. “Being a father is one of the most difficult things you’ll ever do, but it’s also the most rewarding. You don’t know love until you’ve held your own child in your arms.”

I nod. “I’ve heard that before, and I’m looking forward to the day when I can hold our child.”

“Now…speaking of that day. What are your plans for the future? Have you and Quinn discussed it at all?”

“Not in full detail.”

“March seems far away, but there’s a lot to get squared away before then, and once Quinn hits the seventh month, she might not be up for any of those big discussions. And there’s a chance the baby could come early.”

“I’ve thought about it,” I tell him. “There are a lot of great hospitals in the Chicago area I’d be honored to work for.”

Mr. Dawson’s thin smile grows, and he lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear. I don’t doubt you,” he says, words sounding forced. Thinking back to Weston and his mother’s conversation last night, I’m pretty sure what’s to come next was scripted by Mrs. Dawson.

He lets out his breath, giving up on what he was supposed to say. “Don’t hurt Quinn.”

“I won’t. All I want is to make her happy.”

Mr. Dawson sets his jaw and nods. “I’ll hold you to it. We all will.”

“I expect you to, sir.”

His smile turns genuine this time, and he waves his hand at the door. “Drive safe, Archer. I assume we’ll see you again soon.”

I go back to Quinn, who’s anxiously waiting for me back on the couch.

“What was that about?” she asks. “Did he yell at you?”

“No. He’s being a good dad, that’s all. Wants to make sure I’m here for you.”

She smiles and loops her arms around my shoulders. “You are.”

And I always will be.

*

“Dean still hasn’t talked to you?” Quinn asks, moving around her kitchen. It’s Monday evening and I just got out of a long surgery. I’m sitting in the break room with my dinner, resting my feet while I can.

We’re FaceTiming, and I miss her like crazy. “No. I texted him this morning, but he doesn’t always reply right away anyway.”

“He’s being a drama queen over this, way more than me, and I’m the pregnant one.”

I laugh. “He’s always been dramatic.”

Quinn shakes her head. “Try growing up with him.” She sets the phone down for a moment to feed the cats. “The smell of cat food is killing me today.” Covering her nose, she goes into the living room and sits on the couch. I’d do anything to be there next to her.

“You work this weekend, right?” she asks.

“I have scheduled procedures for Saturday and I’m on call Sunday.”

“So there’s a chance you could be home Sunday?”

“A small one, but yes.”

She bites her lip and smiles. “I can come visit you.”

“That’s a long drive.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Do you not want to put your hands on these?” She lifts her shirt, revealing her perfect round tits.

“You’re fucking killing me, Quinn. Yes, I want to see you, but I don’t want to make you drive.”

“You’re not making me. I’m offering. And I have access to a private jet that can fly me there in like an hour.”

“Really?”

“Perks of building the Batmobile.” She flashes a smile. “You look hot in your doctor clothes, by the way.”

“They’re called scrubs,” I say with a chuckle. “Would you leave Friday night?”

“Yeah, probably around six or seven my time.”

“That seems so far away now.”

“It does.” She sits up, grimacing, and reaches for something in front of her. I get another good view of her tits, though this time she didn’t do it on purpose. Sipping a ginger ale, she leans back on the couch.

And then I’m paged for surgery.

“I have to go.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. Someone needs an emergency gallbladder removal. It’s the second one I’ve done today.”

“Go save lives, Dr. Jones. I’m probably going to go to bed.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow then. Take care, Quinn.”

We hang up and I take a few quick bites of my sandwich, use the bathroom, and head to the OR. My patient is in bad shape, having refused to listen to his general practitioner’s advice for several weeks now, and going under is going to take a toll on his body.

The surgery takes longer than normal, but he pulls through. Though as soon as I get into the recovery room to talk to him, I can tell I’ll be seeing him again soon. There’s nothing that irritates me more than someone who refuses to listen to post-op instructions and ends up back in a few days to get re-stitched.

I have a missed call, and I assume it’s from Quinn, calling to say goodnight or something like that. It’s from my mother, and for some reason, I already know it’s bad news.

I move by a window in the hall to get better reception, and put the phone to my ear. I meant to call her today and talk to her, maybe even invite them down from Michigan to meet Quinn and I in Chicago for dinner.

My parents will be surprised to find out I not only have a girlfriend, but a pregnant one at that, but I don’t expect their reaction to be anything like the Dawsons’. My parents have been desensitized to shocking information, and being told Quinn is having my baby is nothing compared to getting a call that Bobby has been arrested for the fifth time.

“Archie,” Mom’s voice comes through my voicemail. “Call me when you can. Bobby relapsed, and I don’t know where he is.”