Chapter Seventeen: Quinn

Chapter Seventeen

Quinn

Archer doesn’t need to say it for me to know: his mom calling at dawn can’t be a good thing. He sits up and takes the phone from me.

“Are you going to call her back?”

“I will later. You should go back to sleep so you’re not tired. I fucked you hard before we went to bed. Didn’t you say I wore you out?”

He’s trying to lighten the mood, I know. And he really did wear me out. How he functions so well on so little sleep is beyond me. While I appreciate his efforts to downplay this for my sake, I know he shouldn’t.

“Something could be wrong with—”

“I’ll call her later. Lay down and I’ll rub your back.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. Because now I’m worried.”

Archer lets out a sigh. “I didn’t want him to take up any of your time or energy, Quinn.”

“Yeah, but he is and he will. He’s your brother, Archer. He’s messed up and made bad choices, but you said it yourself. He can’t help it and has a disease.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“I know it’s not. And I don’t want to worry, but I do. I worry for you.”

Archer looks up at me, dark circles under his eyes. This beautiful man needs a break.

“I’m fine.”

“Arch,” I say gently. “You know what I mean. He’s your brother and no matter how mad you are at him, I know you care deep down.”

He nods. “I’ll call her back.”

I adjust my pillow and lean back against the headboard, putting one hand on Archer’s thigh.

“Hey, Mom,” he says into the phone. “Yeah, I was sleeping. It’s okay. What’s—” He pauses for a few seconds. “Again?” His eyes fall shut and he shakes his head. “I’m in Chicago with Quinn. I’ll call Sam and let him know. Thanks. Mom, no. It’s not your fault.”

I swallow hard, not sure if the lump rising in my throat is morning sickness or a sick feeling knowing what Archer and his parents have to go through over and over again.

“Call me if you hear anything.” He hangs up and tosses the phone onto the mattress. “Bobby left rehab again. My mom thought he might come to Indy and see me again.”

“Oh, wow. Is he allowed to do that?”

“Leave rehab?”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t court ordered or anything, so yeah, he can leave of his own free will. He needs to go to court ordered rehab,” Archer grumbles. He brings his hands to his head, rubbing his temples and leans back. “It’s fine, Quinn. Please don’t worry. You have enough going on and you don’t need to be stressed.”

“I know,” I say softly. “I care about you, Archer. I love you. Your family is going to be mine too—in a sense I mean. Since Emma will go to family events on your side as well as mine.”

Fuck. I’m making things awkward, which is something I’m good at. I didn’t mean to insinuate that Emma will be at his family events because we’re splitting custody or whatever.

“And I’ll be there too,” I add. And I really do hope I am there with Archer. I’m so in love with him. I can’t imagine ever not being in love with this man.

“Yeah. You’re right.” His eyes fall shut. “I should call Sam and let him know there’s a chance Bobby heads south again.”

I sit up, intending on grabbing Archer’s phone for him. But the sick feeling comes back and I clamp my hand over my mouth, scrambling out of bed just in time to throw up in the toilet. Archer hurries in after me, gathering my hair and holding it out of the way.

“It came out my nose,” I groan, taking the towel Archer hands me. “I’m in the second trimester. Is this ever going to stop?”

“Yes. I’m sure it will.” He smooths my hair back. “There’s barf in your hair. I’ll start the shower.”

“Call Sam first.”

Archer’s face tightens, and he shakes his head. “It can wait. It takes hours to drive down from Michigan to Indy. Bobby doesn’t have money or up-to-date ID to buy plane tickets.”

“Okay.”

Archer pulls me to my feet and starts the shower, getting fresh towels from the linen closet. I rinse out my mouth and strip out of my clothes. I’m up several hours before I need to get up for work, and I know I’ll be tired later. But I can tough it out for Archer.

Archer washes my hair, and while a wash-the-vomit-out-of-your-hair is anything but sexy, there’s a certain intimacy between us right now. I close my eyes and tip my head up, rinsing my hair. We finish showering in silence, and while I’m getting dressed, Archer says he’s going to make breakfast.

I put clean pajamas back on, brush and dry my hair, and go into the kitchen to find Archer sitting on the floor petting the cats. He’s holding a piece of bacon and they’re swarming him, meowing and rubbing against him in hopes for more.

“Eggs and bacon? You spoil me, Arch.”

He looks up, breaking off another piece of bacon for Luna. “You deserve it. And I’ve never seen cats beg like this.”

“Oh, they’re terrible. Neville wasn’t that bad until he moved in with us. The girls are a bad influence,” I laugh. “They never got over being alley cats, I think. They act like they have to eat everything or they’ll starve to death.”

“They’re definitely not starving.”

“I know.” I pick up Bellatrix. “They’re all fat.”

Archer breaks up the rest of the bacon and gives it to the cats before getting up. He washes his hands and takes our plates, bringing them into the dining room.

“I rarely eat in here,” I tell him. “It’s nice.”

“This whole place is nice. I still can’t get over the view.”

“That’s what sold me on it. And it’s close to work. Can’t beat that.”

“No, you can’t.”

I put another fork full of eggs in my mouth, watching Archer’s face. Now would be a good time to bring up living arrangements post-baby. We’re talking about my apartment after all. I finish chewing and take a drink of water, trying to plan out in my head what I want to say out loud.

Problem is, I don’t really know what I want, other than us being together. The reality of us having separate and opposite careers screams at me. Archer’s worked so hard to get to where he is, and he wants to keep going to further his career. And I’ve busted my ass to rise up in the company I work for, and have to prove myself over and over that I’m just as smart and capable as the men I work with.

Archer likes his job.

I like my job.

But I love him.

One of us is going to have to compromise.

“Are you feeling sick again?” Archer asks, and I realize that I stopped eating.

“No, just tired. And deep in thought.”

Archer picks up the last piece of his bacon. “About what?”

“If I should go back to work after I have Emma.”

“Oh. I’ve wondered about that too. What do you want to do?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I like my job, but I think I’m going to like being a mom too.”

I always knew I would get married and have kids someday. I tried not to let myself think too far ahead and risk feeling sorry for myself since I had no prospects in sight, but I imagined being home with my children like Mom was home with us. But now I have a job I really enjoy, and I don’t know what to do.

“If it helps,” Archer starts, picking up his coffee. “You don’t have to work. I’m still a resident now, but once I get a job, I’ll make more than enough to support us all.”

I smile, but his words make me realize how much we have to talk about. We never discussed finances or anything serious like that. Though those are topics usually discussed before getting married, when debts and assets combine. Archer and I aren’t getting married, though having his baby is more binding. I can’t divorce him from being Emma’s father.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to support me.”

“I don’t,” he says right away, setting his coffee down. He looks into my eyes and my heart flutters. “I want us to live together,” he says and looks relieved as soon as the words leave his lips. Has he been wanting to say that for a while too?

“You do?”

“Of course. I love you and love waking up next to you. I like making you breakfast and taking a shower with you. And when Emma is born, I want to be there. Yeah, she wasn’t planned, and things aren’t exactly worked out yet, but I love you and I love her, and I want us to be a family.”

“Me too,” I tell him, not sure why I dreaded this conversation as much as I did. We’re at the tip of the iceberg with a lot left to discuss and figure out, but at least I know for sure we’re on the same page.

Archer phone rings, and we both tense. He grabs it, lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s the hospital.”

“On your day off?”

“I never really get time off,” he sighs. “Don’t worry, they can’t make me go in or anything today. I’m already maxed out on hours.” He flashes a smile. “But I did tell the nurses to call me with progress on patients.”

“You’re a good doctor.”

He answers the phone, going over a progress report with a nurse and gives an order for a medication increase.

“So what happens if you’re like out of the country on vacation?” I ask when he hangs up.

“There’s always someone on call. On the weekends it’s usually other residents. I know which surgical resident is on all this weekend.” He makes a face. “That’s why I asked the nurse to call me.”

I laugh. “So this might be a stupid question, but I’m gonna ask it.”

“Shoot.”

“Med school is hard. Like really hard. So how does a not-so-good doctor get to the point of performing surgery?”

Archer laughs. “I’d like to know that myself. Some people are book smart and might do really well in something like family practice but can’t handle the stress and pressure of anything more urgent.”

“Makes sense.”

“And not all med schools are created equal.” He finishes his coffee and yawns. “We have time to lay down. You’ve already showered and eaten breakfast. Want to go back to sleep?”

I take another bite of eggs and nod. Going back to our conversation about living together is ideal too, but we have limited time and that’s a big topic to discuss. Still, I know I’ll be distracted at work and can’t be held responsible for searching for houses for sale in the suburbs.

*

“You’re in a good mood. Did you get laid before you came in or something?” Marissa asks a little too loudly. A few others in the breakroom turn and look at me.

“Yes,” I say, noting the surprise in their eyes. I might be a nerd, but I’m not a prude. Obviously. Though as Marissa pointed out this morning, what I know is my baby looks like I ate too much for breakfast to anyone who doesn’t know me. “Archer is in town. Though it’s more than that.” I add granola to my yogurt and grab another bowl to fill with fruit. There were complaints about our breakfast spread being ‘unhealthy’. Instead of pointing out that everyone in the office should be happy we even provide food in the morning, we simply added healthier options. The company has money for it, after all.

Waiting until we’re in the hall and headed to my office, I look around and make sure no one is in earshot. “Archer told me he loves me and wants to live together so we can raise Emma as a family.”

“That’s great!”

“I know!” I smile, feeling my whole heart swell up inside of me. I focus on the happy, purposely ignoring the fact that wanting something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. We still live miles and miles apart. Archer has no idea where he’s going to end up. He could be in school, so to speak, for another one to three years.

“And we talked about me going back to work after Emma is born.”

Marissa turns to me, face paling. “Are you not coming back?”

“I honestly don’t know. I feel really conflicted.” We go into my office. “I love it here. But I also know I’m going to love being a mom. Archer said he’s happy to provide for us too. I mean, he’ll make a very decent living as a surgeon. It’s not like we couldn’t afford for me to stay home.”

She snickers. “You’d make a good trophy wife.”

“We’re not married.”

“Not yet.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Easy tiger,” I say, holding up my hand. I flip it around. “No ring.”

She laughs. “He’s crazy about you. I could tell just from the two minutes we were together. I bet he’ll put a ring on it before the baby pops out.”

That weird squirmy flutter is back, and I put my hand over my stomach, gently pressing down as if that’ll help me feel Emma moving. “Being crazy about each other isn’t the same thing as having a relationship and getting engaged.”

“I’d ask if you were drunk, but I know how serious you are about avoiding anything bad for the baby.”

I make a face. “Why would you think I’m drunk?”

“Because you’re not making any sense. He’s crazy about you. How is that any different?”

“Because as much as I love Archer—which I really truly do—how can he know this is what he wants?”

“Uh, because he said he fucking loves you.” Marissa takes a bite of her donut. “Stop doubting yourself.”

I nod, putting both hands on my stomach. “I know I am. But I’m trying to be practical. It’s not just my heart on the line here.”

Marissa nods and puts her food on my desk. “Do you think Archer is going to flake out or something?”

“No. I just…” I close my eyes in a long blink. I’ve been keeping this from everyone, even myself, since Archer and I started dating. “I don’t want him to regret this in a year, ya know? I don’t want Emma to think we’re a family and then have us split up.”

“Are you worried you’re going to regret this in a year?”

“No. But I need to be realistic. People who get married just because they’re having a baby together don’t always have the best relationship. We’re not living together. He doesn’t know the bad side of Quinn Dawson yet. While I love to believe I’m perfect, I’m sure there are plenty of little things about me that will annoy him. Like my obsession with cats. Or the way I put off doing laundry until I have to wear bikini bottoms as underwear.”

“Don’t you think he has weird things too?”

“Yes, I’m sure he does. What if they annoy me too much?”

“And what if they don’t? I totally get what you’re saying about people trying to make things work after an accidental pregnancy, but it’s not like you and Archer are some random hookup. You’ve known the guy since you were fucking fourteen years old.”

I take a moment to let that sink in. There’s no one safer than Archer. I might not know the nitty-gritty, but I know him. I’ve known him for years. And he’s known me.

“You’re right.”

“What?”

“You’re right.”

Marissa smiles and I realize she only asked ‘what’ so I’d repeat myself and say she was right twice. Laughing, I shake my head and pick up my yogurt, wanting to eat the granola before it gets soggy.

“Okay, fine. I do trust him. I’m scared things are too good to be true. He seemed really set on being a family and living together, and mentioning how he’d have a job makes me think he’s leaning away from the fellowship and more toward getting his big-boy job. Hopefully here in Chicago or…or…”

“Or?”

“In Eastwood.”

Marissa’s eyes widen. “Eastwood?”

“Don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you. Unless you quit your job, had a beautiful baby and moved to the quintessential town featured in every Hallmark Channel movie.”

I purse my lips, staring at her. “Then I guess you might hate me. Though it’s a small chance. Very small. The hospital in Eastwood is small, and I don’t think Archer would be happy there. And he mentioned a while ago that the smaller the surgical team, the more on-call hours he’ll have. Bigger hospitals have bigger teams and more people to pool from for on-call shifts.”

“That makes sense.”

I nod. “He really likes being a surgeon.”

“I’d hope so, after a million years of school. But he likes you more.”

I smile again. “Yeah. I think so too.”