Quinn raises an eyebrow. “You lost him?”
“I’m not his keeper.”
“He needs you to be,” she mumbles. “Do you need me to triangulate his phone again?”
“Nah, I installed a tracking app he hasn’t noticed yet. He went home with some girls last night and I’m guessing he’s still sleeping it off somewhere.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how you guys can look so alike but be so different.”
Logan shrugs. “Beats me. I got all the smarts, and he got all the…you know, there’s nothing he has that I don’t.”
Quinn laughs and moves her gaze from Logan to the buildings surrounding us. I remember Dean saying he was worried about Quinn when she first took her job in Chicago. The rest of her family was here in Eastwood and she moved away, though it’s not like anyone could blame her. This is a small town and she has an advanced degree in computer science. There’s nothing here for her.
Quinn’s hand lands on her stomach and she grimaces. Shit, she’s probably feeling sick again.
“You okay, sis?” Logan asks.
“Yeah, I’ve been so stressed from work it’s making me sick,” she says, waving her hand in the air. A long list of terminal illnesses rush through my head, and I have to force myself not to diagnose Quinn. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s fine.
She has to be fine.
We say bye to Logan and move onto the next stop, and Quinn picks out two bouquets of yellow and white flowers. After that, we go to the vet to pick up medication for Rufus, and lastly, the post office to get a book of stamps.
We leave the post office in silence, and I hate how tense things are. They don’t have to be like this. I want to go back to that Friday night when Quinn and I were walking along the river.
“Quinn,” I start, mentally yelling at myself to man the fuck up and just tell her how I feel.
“Archer.” She unlocks her car and opens her door. I wait until we’re both in and buckled to start talking.
“I’m sorry.”
She puts the SUV in reverse and flicks her eyes to me. “For what?”
“For not calling you. I should have called or texted or…or…something. Things are complicated, and Dean’s been a good friend to me. He’s like a brother and I…” I let out my breath, shaking my head. “It’s not a good enough excuse, I know. But I am sorry.”
Quinn bites her lip, looking out at the road as she leaves the parking space. Her brows come together, and I wish so badly to know what she’s thinking.
“Complicated. Right.” She turns down the main road out of town. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure,” I say honestly.
She tightens her grip on the wheel. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”
“No. Do you regret it?”
Her lips press into a thin line and she shakes her head. Before she can answer, her phone rings. Connected to the Bluetooth in her car, the call comes up over the speakers. It’s someone from work, asking Quinn about coding. Her words are technical and lost on me, but I’d be lying if I said hearing her talk like that didn’t turn me on. The phone call goes on until we arrive back at the Dawsons’ farm, and even though we left our conversation in a very precarious place, going back would be even more awkward.
“Should I take the chicken feed into the barn?” I ask, getting out of the SUV.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She gets the other items and heads inside without me. Dean and Kara are here, everyone is in the usual meeting place: the kitchen. Quinn is leaning against the counter snacking on pretzels, Dean looks like he’s close to being bored to death, and Kara and Mrs. Dawson are bent over an iPad, intently looking at something.
“Thank the Lord,” Dean says when he sees me. “We got important video gaming to do.”
Kara looks away from the iPad, giving Dean a glare. He holds up his hands in defeat and sits back down.
“What’s going on?” I ask, coming over to the island.
“I’m trying to narrow down poses for these engagement pictures.” Kara shakes her head at whatever she’s seeing. “What about this one?”
“It’s nice,” Mrs. Dawson says.
“Just nice?”
“Yes, it’s too tame.”
Dean raises his eyes. “See what I’ve been dealing with? This has been going on all day. It’s just a photo.”
“An engagement photo,” Kara counters. “We’re only doing this once, babe. Come on.”
Dean caves, eyes sparkling as he looks at his fiancée. “I know.” He slides the iPad in front of him and scrolls. “I like this one.”
“No,” Kara and Mrs. Dawson say at the same time. Kara takes the iPad back, tapping her chin. “I like the ones where you can see the ring, but they look so unnatural with the hand turned out.”
“They do,” Quinn agrees, breaking a pretzel in half. “A girl from my office got married last year and she had really cute engagement photos with her hand on her fiancée’s cheek. It showed the ring and wasn’t hokey.”
“Oh, I like that idea!”
“I don’t,” Dean says. “The guy’s supposed to cup your cheek. Not the other way around.” All the women in the room roll their eyes.
“What about the pose with your hands together,” Quinn suggests and tries to demonstrate with her own hands.
“Show me with Archer,” Kara says, and no one else blinks an eye. I stiffen and Quinn almost chokes on her pretzels. If either of us balks, it’ll look like something is going on. And it is, it so is. But right now, we need to suck it up.
Quinn puts the pretzels down and hesitantly steps forward. She holds up her left hand and motions for me to hold up my right. She puts our hands together, barely interlocking our fingers.
“I like the hand holding, it’s really sweet, but you’re just standing there,” Mrs. Dawson says, really getting into this. “Quinn, step in closer. Archer, put your other hand on her waist.”
I swallow hard, praying I can control the reaction from my body, and raise my left arm. Quinn inhales, breasts rising and falling under her t-shirt, and inches closer. She slowly lets out her breath and I put my hand on her hip. The moment my hand flattens against her, she shivers.
“Now look into each others’ eyes,” Kara instructs, getting up to take our picture. “Act like you love each other.”
Quinn’s eyes widen and color rushes to her cheeks. This might be awkward for her, above her acting ability, but for me, all I have to do is look at her and not hold back.
All I have to do is look at her the way I’ve wanted to for the last twelve years.
Closing her eyes, Quinn tips her head up. Her lips part ever so slightly, and the world starts to spin. Then she opens her eyes and everything stops.
“Do something with your hand,” Kara tells Quinn. She licks her lips, nodding, and brings her arm up, resting her hand on my chest. I tighten my hold on her waist, bending my fingers in, and shuffle closer. My heart is racing, blood rushing through every part of me.
“Perfect,” Kara says, snapping a photo. “Thanks, guys.”
It takes another second for us to break apart, and taking my hand off Quinn’s waist turns out to be harder than I thought. And finally taking my hand off of hers proves to be almost impossible.
Quinn steps away, lips parted, but with an unreadable expression in her eyes. Messing with her hair, she says she’s going to go upstairs to get ready for dinner, whatever that means.
Dean’s able to get away from the engagement photo planning, and we go into the living room. Mr. Dawson and Jackson are in there, and Jackson wants me to play cars with him again. I sit on the floor, pushing the cars around and making them talk in silly voices.
Sometime later, Weston arrives, and all the guys go outside with a beer in hand to talk and bullshit while Mr. Dawson grills barbecue chicken. I lean against the patio table, thinking this is how family should be.
How mine could have been.
But it will never be, because my bro
ther is a deadbeat and there’s no chance of him cleaning up his act enough to last more than a couple of weeks. I’ve had dinner with my parents, of course, but it’s obvious the reason why Bobby isn’t there. It’s not like he’s working or busy with his own family.
I look around at Mr. Dawson, Dean, Weston, and Jackson, and vow that when the time comes and I have my own family, we will be like this.
No matter what.
Quinn pushes her food around on her plate, taking little bites here and there and only when someone is looking. She still doesn’t feel well but is trying to hide it. I’ll ask her about it later and make sure she’s okay.
“How’s life at the hospital?” Mr. Dawson asks. “You’re at the biggest one in Indy, right?”
“Yes, I am. And it’s hectic and busy, but I really enjoy it.”
Owen takes a drink of beer and raises his eyebrows. “Do doctors hook up with hot nurses in break rooms like they do on TV?”
I laugh. “Not that I know of.”
“But Archer was seeing a hot nurse for a while,” Dean interjects, and I internally wince. “Whatever happened to her?”
“Uh, it was never much of a thing,” I deadpan, going for my beer.
“Keeping it casual.” Owen nods in approval. “A guy after my own heart.”
Quinn looks up at her brother, green eyes full of fire. “Aren’t you getting too old for casual relationships?”
The venom in her voice is directed at me, not Owen. He shrugs her off. “I’ll keep it casual as long as I want. Relationships are nothing but drama.” He turns to Kara, who’s sitting on his other side. “But not yours.”
“Thanks,” she says dryly. “One day you’ll meet a girl who’ll change your mind.”
Owen smirks. “She’ll have to be really good at—”
Logan elbows him hard in the gut, shutting him up. I try to catch Quinn’s eye, but she’s staring hard at her plate.
“What about you, sis?” Logan asks, and I see him slowly shift his gaze from me to her and back again. “Is there a special someone in your life?”
“He’s far from special,” Quinn says with a sweet smile. “Though he could have been, but what’s done is done, right?”
Her answer only makes sense to me, leaving the rest of the table left wondering. I take a quick look around and feel a lump rise in my throat. Quinn is obviously upset. I hurt her, made her think that weekend was nothing more than dirty sex, and probably fucking blew it.
I’m in love with this woman and I’m pretty sure she never wants to talk to me again.
If the Dawsons knew I was the reason for Quinn’s pain…if they knew what I did to her, and what she did to me—three times—they’d line up to beat me up. I can hold my own against Dean. And probably Owen. Logan would give me a run for my money and Weston served two tours in Afghanistan and is a cop. He’d beat the shit out of me.
My only hope would be Quinn, yelling and screaming at them to stop. Though by the look she just gave me, she’d be on the sidelines cheering them on.
“Oh, Archer!” Mrs. Dawson exclaims. “I didn’t even ask you about the interview. How do you feel it went?”
“Great,” I say honestly. “The chief surgeon is a big Purdue fan. I think it helped I did my pre-med studies there.”
“I knew you’d do great.” Mrs. Dawson beams. “If you do get the job, you’re welcome to stay here.”
“That’s very generous, but I can’t—”
“Nonsense! We have this big old house full of empty rooms.” Mrs. Dawson looks pointedly at Dean as she speaks. She doesn’t need to actually say the words for everyone to know what she’s talking about: she wants more grandchildren. Her eyes narrow ever so slightly and the temperature shifts down a few degrees. Dean and Kara haven’t picked a wedding date yet, which puts more grandchildren farther and farther out of the picture. “We’d be happy to have you until you find something permanent. You can save some money on rent that way too,” she adds. “I know how overworked and underpaid resident doctors are.” She playfully elbows Mr. Dawson. “I learned that from those romance doctor shows you say are good for nothing.”
“They are good for nothing,” Mr. Dawson teases, trying his best to convince everyone he really thinks so.
“He watches them too,” Mrs. Dawson whisper-talks. “But really, honey, our door is always open.”
I can’t help but smile at her offer, the generosity of the whole goddamn Dawson clan never failing to surprise me. My phone rings and I reach into my pocket to pull it out and silence it. It’s my weekend off, dammit, and I’m not in town to fill in tonight.
But it’s not the hospital calling. It’s my mom.
19
quinn
Archer’s face falls when he looks at his phone. Then his eyes narrow ever so slightly with fear.
“Sorry,” he says, and stands. “It’s my mother. I have to take this.”
“Go ahead, honey,” Mom says, not catching the worry in Archer’s face like I do. My anger goes out the window, and I’m concerned for him now. He mentioned having a sick family member. What if they couldn’t fight their illness anymore?
I set my fork down, reaching for my water, and peer into the kitchen, trying to get a read on Archer’s face. His back is to me, but his hand lands on his neck. Shit. Something is wrong.
“Quinn?” Dad says in a tone that lets me know it wasn’t the first time he said my name. “Earth to Quinn.”
“Yeah, sorry. What?”
Everyone laughs. “I asked you how’s work going on the Batmobile.” He winks and Wes stifles a laugh.
“Dad,” I scold. “I told you I can’t talk about it in front of others.”
Mom shakes her head, and I look past her into the kitchen again. Archer is off the phone now, but still looks stressed. Wanting to put everything behind us and start again, every fiber of my being aches to go to him and ask what’s wrong and tell him I’ll help however I can.
When he comes back to the table, I look at him, trying to meet his eye, but he keeps his gaze turned down on his plate, eating in silence for a few minutes until Dean brings up stories from their college days.
After dinner, we go outside for drinks and dessert. Weston and Jackson leave first since it’s already past Jackson’s bedtime. Logan and Owen are the next to leave, and Kara’s having a girls’ night at her house and invites me to come.
I’m feeling sick again and all I want to do is curl up in bed and watch a movie. And talk to Archer. The nausea gets worse and worse as the night goes on, and when I go upstairs to bed, Dean and Archer move into the living room to play video games. I shower, put on my pajamas, and crash into bed. I doze off and on for a while, eventually getting up to dig a mint out of my purse to try and settle my stomach that won’t stop swirling.
I sit back in bed, feeling a little better with the mint in my mouth. Something is off, and I know it. I don’t have a fever, and I don’t feel like I have the flu. Plus, I’m not nauseous all day. It’s just off and on.
Rufus jumps up next to me, resting his head on my stomach. I run my fingers over the sleek fur on his ears, hoping I feel better in the morning so I can hang out with Jamie for a bit before I have to leave. A good night’s sleep should do the trick.
Still, something nags at me in the back of my mind. Why am I so nauseous? Maybe from eating too much dessert? I binge on junk food every now and then and it never hits me like that. And eggs? Since when do I like—
“Oh my God.” I sit up so fast it freaks out Rufus. In a mad scramble, I grab my phone, pulling up my calendar. I don’t track my period, but I remember the last time I had it because I was in a meeting with a bigwig from Microsoft and felt it start. I was wearing a cream-colored pencil skirt that day, so of course it’s seared into my mind. I made it out with no bloodstains, but still, it was a close call and I missed half of what was being said because I couldn’t stop thinking about the bloodbath happening in my undies.
I flip through my calendar and find the
date. Then I count forward. I should have gotten my period by now. I think I might throw up again.
I’ve been nauseous all week.
My boobs hurt and I’ve had cramps like my period was going to start.
But it didn’t.
I’m exhausted.
And I threw up last night.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe. Rufus whines, nudging his nose against my hand. I slide my arms around him, trying to get my heart to stop racing.
Archer and I had sex roughly two weeks after my period started. Two out of the three times, he came inside of me. I didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t the first time I’d had unprotected sex. The odds are against me. It can take people years to get pregnant when they’re trying.
But it can also happen in one shot.
Or twice, in my case. Though I don’t know if that’s my case. It could be really bad PMS. Yeah, that’s what it is. I’m tired from work. Sick from stress. And I’m craving eggs because my body is low on…on…what the hell are in eggs?
In the back of my mind, I know it’s more. And there’s only one way to find out, and lucky for me, there’s a Walmart close by that’s open twenty-four hours. I get out of bed, not bothering with clothes. I do put on a bra though, partly because my tank top is white and partly because my boobs hurt.
It’s late, and I don’t expect Mom or Dad to be up anymore, or at least not in the living room. I can sneak out and back in half an hour. Maybe less. Quietly, I slip down the stairs, purse over my shoulder and keys in my hand.
“Are you going somewhere?” Dean’s voice comes from the living room. Dammit. He and Archer are still playing video games, and if I’d come down a minute earlier, he probably wouldn’t have looked up from the screen and noticed me.
“Yeah, I just felt like going out.”
Dean cocks an eyebrow. “In your pajamas? And I thought you said you felt sick after dinner.”
“These PJs are comfy. And I feel better now,” I lie. The nausea comes back with a vengeance. I just need to make it outside before I barf again.
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