“Really?”
“Really.” I shift my weight. “I, uh, miss being able to go to Walmart at night. There isn’t one close to me downtown.”
Archer’s watching, not buying what I’m saying, but I know he won’t question me.
“We’ll go with you,” Dean says. “This controller is shit and I need a new one.” He holds up the PlayStation controller in his hand and makes a move to stand up.
“Actually,” I blurt. “I feel sick again.” I really do. I almost trip going down the rest of the stairs in my haste to get into the bathroom. I open the lid just in time and bring up the little food that’s left in my stomach into the toilet, throat burning. I slump onto the floor, feeling instant relief after throwing up.
“Quinn?” Archer’s voice comes from the doorway.
I look up at him, and my heart skips a beat.
“Are you okay? It sounded like you threw up again.”
“I did,” I admit. “I’m not sure I’m okay, actually.”
“Maybe going out shopping at eleven at night isn’t a good idea.”
“I know.”
Archer reaches for me and I stand up quickly, trying to purposely avoid his touch. I don’t think I’m strong enough to resist him at the moment, and after our close encounter in the kitchen earlier, I won’t be able to hold out. The movement makes my head spin, and the next thing I know, Archer has his arm around me. He closes the toilet lid and has me sit down.
With furrowed brows, he looks at me. “I think you should let me examine you.”
I swallow the lump of vomit rising in my throat. Nerves shoot through me and I try to find the right words to say. Archer, examining me. Removing my clothes and putting his hands all over my body. “I think that was part of the problem in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” Archer crouches down and rests his hand on my knee. I’m half-tempted to push it off and half-tempted to slide it up farther. “Quinn, we never got to finish our conversation from earlier, and I know now’s not the best time and all, but if I keep waiting for the right time I’m worried I’ll never find it.”
His fingers gently press into my leg. “When I said I was sorry, I meant it. I never wanted to hurt you. And I don’t want to you regret that weekend, because I don’t. The only thing I regret is not telling you how much I enjoyed being with you.”
His words come out jumbled, but I know he means them. If I weren’t internally freaking out over the possibility I’m carrying his baby, they’d have more sentiment.
“So what were you going to the store for?” he asks after a beat passes and I don’t say anything.
“Feminine products.”
“Oh. Do you want me to go get you some?”
I open my eyes. “You’d go out and get me tampons?”
“Sure. Just tell me what to get. Dean wants to go out anyway. I don’t mind grabbing them.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Archer,” I start, mind going a mile a minute. “But that’s actually not what I need.”
Archer looks at me in question. “Are you trying to sneak out and meet someone?”
“No, not at all.” I sigh, debating if I should just tell him. This concerns him as well. Biting my lip, I get up and close the door.
“What’s going on Quinn? You’re kind of freaking me out, and I don’t get freaked out easily.”
I nod, nervously twisting my hair in my fingers. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything until I know for sure. If the test comes back negative, I’ll feel silly for getting him worked up over nothing. Though, it’d be nice to not be alone in this right now.
And mostly, I don’t want to lie to Archer.
“I’m not really sure,” I start, swallowing hard. “You know I’ve been sick.”
“Yeah, twice now.”
I nod. “I’ve also been exhausted, craving foods I don’t normally eat, and have had cramps like my period is going to start, but it hasn’t. And it should have over a week ago.”
Archer blinks. “Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you have to say? You’re a doctor! Don’t these symptoms add up to you?”
Archer, who’s still crouched down on the floor where he was before, stands. His hand goes to his chin as he thinks. He looks at me, lowers his eyes to my abdomen, and looks into my eyes again. “You were going to get a pregnancy test.”
“Yes.” As soon as the word slips from my lips, panic sets in. Archer takes my hand.
“Quinn.” Hearing him say my name calms me. “Look at me.”
I turn my head up and look into his deep, dark eyes. It feels so good to have his hand around mine. I want him to pull me close and hug me, to lay me down and kiss me. I’m so scared right now. I don’t want to think. Just feel.
“We’ll get through whatever happens. Together.”
Tears well in my eyes and I nod. “Thanks.” I exhale heavily. “I don’t know though. Not yet. It could all be from stress, right?”
“When was the date of your last period?” Archer asks, going into doctor mode.
“Sixteen days before we, uh…”
“Hooked up.”
“Sure.” I frown. It sounds so casual that way, which is all it was to him.
He nods the way TV doctors do when they’re thinking. “That puts you at a typical time for ovulating.”
“Right.”
“It’s going to be—” He cuts off when Dean calls his name. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says quickly. “I’ll get the test. Lay down. If you’re not pregnant, you have a bug or something and should rest.”
He looks at me, and this time his eyes are filled with longing, reminding me of the way he looked at me when we were walking along the river. I want him to look at me like that again, but because he wants me, not because I might be having his baby.
I turn on the faucet again and rinse my face with cold water, then go into the kitchen to grab a ginger ale before heading upstairs. There’s no way I’m going to fall asleep before Archer gets back. And how the heck is he going to get away with buying a pregnancy test without Dean seeing?
Though I guess he could lie and say he’s getting it for someone else. Archer’s smart. He’ll think of something.
Getting into bed, I turn on the TV and make it through half an episode of Charmed before passing out.
I wake up, knowing exactly what’s going on, but still bogged down by my dream that everything is perfect. My bedroom door is cracked open just enough to let the dogs in and out, and Rufus moved from my side to the foot of the bed where he could lay under the fan.
Thirsty, I get up to get a drink, and see a small paper bag with my name on it, scrawled out in messy black letters. It’s folded down and stapled shut.
Curious, I grab it and rip it open. There are two pregnancy tests inside, along with a note from Archer.
Quinn- I wasn’t sure what kind to get, so I got two. I can be with you when you take it if you want. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.
-Archer
I look at the tests and try to decide what to do. If I am pregnant, having Archer there will be reassuring. And if I’m not, we can both celebrate together. I put both boxes back in the bag and slip it in a drawer on the nightstand.
It’s only seven o’clock, and everyone is still sleeping, I’m sure. Getting out of bed, I pad into the hall and pause outside of Archer’s door. My stomach flip-flops, and this time I know it’s from nerves. I slowly open the door, set on slipping in and quietly waking Archer up.
My heart lurches when I see him lying there, reminding me of when he fell asleep on my couch. Back before we fucked things up. Rufus runs past me and jumps onto the bed. Startled, Archer sits up, eyes focusing on me.
“Did you take it?” he asks right away.
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. “Not yet. But I do have to pee.”
He pets Rufus, gently pushing him back so he can get out of bed. He’s only wearing boxers, and the last thing I need right now is to gaze upon his gorgeou
s body.
“Want me to come with you?”
“Not into the bathroom while I’m peeing, but yeah when we look at the tests.”
He’s at my side and we quietly walk back to my room, which shares a jack-and-jill bathroom with what is now Jackson’s room.
“Where’s Dean?”
“Passed out on the couch downstairs,” Archer tells me and stands in silence as I rip open the pregnancy tests. I take them both into the bathroom and close the door. I carefully position them under myself and cap them as soon as I’m done. I flip them both over, not wanting to look. It can take a minute or two before the result pops up anyway.
I extend my hand to Archer, who takes the tests. “It says to wait—”
“You’re pregnant,” he blurts, looking down at the test.
“What?
He holds up the digital test. There’s no mistaking the word pregnant in bold black letters. “It already said it when I looked. And this one—” he holds up the other “—is faint but it’s there. You’re pregnant, Quinn,” he repeats as if he has to say it again to himself. He stares at the test for a minute. “Fuck.” He turns around, gripping the tests in one hand and grabbing the back of his neck with the other.
“I thought you said everything was going to be okay.”
“It is, it is,” he says too quickly, and closes his eyes for a second. “Let’s sit and talk about this.”
I wash my hands and join him on the bed. He puts the pregnancy tests on the nightstand, staring at them like they might spontaneously turn into a baby.
“Based on the time of conception, you’re around five weeks pregnant,” he says, tone level. He’s going into doctor-mode again, and it’s helping me stay calm. “That’s early. I’m, uh, sorry you’re having morning sickness already. Is that the right thing to say?” He snaps back to just Archer. “That I’m sorry?” His hand lands on mine. “I don’t know what to say. About any of this.”
I blink back tears, hand landing on my stomach. “There’s a little baby in there,” I say slowly. “And it’s part of me and it’s part of you.”
Archer turns his head in, fingers slipping between mine. His lips part and lust sweeps through me. Not stopping to think, I lean forward. Archer lets go of my hand and cups my face, tipping my chin up as he kisses me.
Wasting no time, I grab Archer’s sides and pull him onto me. We fall back onto the mattress, with him between my legs. My clit begs to be touched. Now. The need is real, and if Archer doesn’t strip me down and fuck me, there’s going to be trouble.
I curl one leg around him, arching my back and thrusting my hips against his. His cock hardens and he moves his lips from mine to my neck. I stick my hands down the back of his boxers, squeezing his ass.
“Quinn,” he pants. “Are you sure you want this? I mean, I do, but I want to make sure you don’t regret it later.”
Damn him and his chivalry. Letting out a breath, I bring my hands back up his ass, down his sides, and to his chest. My libido is saying yes, but my mind says no.
And my heart…that poor thing doesn’t know what to think.
“It’s not what I want, Archer,” I pant. “I need you.”
That’s all he needs to hear from me. Archer dives back down, kissing me hard as he pulls my shorts down. He moves to the side and slips his hand between my legs. I let out a moan only to clamp my hand over my mouth. Archer circles his finger around my entrance, teasing me.
And then the stairs creak.
My door is open, and you can see right into the room when you stand on the landing. Archer moves off me so fast he falls off the bed. I sit up, not bothering with my shorts and pull the blanket over me and look into the hall, expecting to see Dean or my dad.
It’s Rufus.
“Seriously?” I shake my head. “He does weigh as much as an adult.”
Archer gets back into the bed, but he doesn’t move on top of me. Doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t touch me.
“You’re pregnant,” he says, face paling.
“Yeah. I am.” I fold my hands in my lap and feel like I might pass out. “I’m pregnant and you’re the father.” Slowly, I turn to look at Archer.
His face is pale, and his brown eyes are wide. He swallows hard, and reaches forward, putting his hand on my stomach. “It might be possible to hear a heartbeat already.”
The tears I’m holding back start to fall. “So you want this baby?”
“Quinn,” Archer says, taking my face in both hands this time. “Yes.”
My bottom lip starts to quiver and I burst into tears. Archer pulls me to him, and I bury my face against his shoulder, trying to muffle my sobs. So much rushes through my head right now.
Archer might want this baby, but we’re not together. I’m in Chicago and he’s four hours away in Indy. I have a full-time job that I love. I live in a busy city away from my parents, and—oh my God. My parents are going to kill me.
I’m a grown adult, but still. Are they going to be disappointed?
“Hey,” Archer soothes. “If you don’t want it…it’s your body.”
“I do. I mean I think I do.” I put my hand over my stomach, remembering images friends have shown me of early ultrasounds. The baby looks like a blob and nothing more. So why do I already feel attached to it? It has to be these stupid hormones, which explains my mood swinging rage at Archer.
“Take some time,” Archer says. “We just found out.”
I sit back, wiping my eyes. “You didn’t even question me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t ask if you were the father.”
He tips his head. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes,” I say and start crying again. “I don’t know why I’m crying!”
“It’s okay. This is a shock. We didn’t mean for it to happen. But it did, and we’ll figure it out.” He kisses me again, and something passes through me, making me relax. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we’ll get there.”
I let out a breath. “You sound so sure.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
He smiles. “I thought you liked it when I’m honest.”
“Lie to me. Just this time.”
He caresses my hair and pulls me back to his chest. “I’m positive things will be fine.”
“Thank you.” I close my eyes, listening to his heart beat. There’s so much to do and even more to say. I’m pregnant, but that’s the easy part—and none of this is easy.
What’s going to happen when the kid arrives? We don’t live together. I work full-time. Archer works more than full-time. I don’t want to quit my job, but I don’t want to be away from my kid all day.
I get queasy again, and as relaxing as it is to have Archer rubbing my back, I push him away.
“I think I’m going to throw up again.”
Archer follows me into the bathroom, and gathers my hair into his hand, holding it back as I lean over the toilet. I close my eyes, not sure if I should will myself not to puke or if I should just let it happen so I feel better.
“You said it’s early to have morning sickness,” I grumble, throat feeling thick. “Is that bad?”
“No, not necessarily.”
I turn my head up only to move it back, getting sick. Archer hands me a wad of toilet paper to wipe my mouth with and then helps me up. I rinse my mouth out with water and crawl back into bed. The sick feeling in my stomach is gone. For now.
“But it could be bad?”
“It’s not my area of interest,” he says almost guiltily. “But I wouldn’t say it’s not normal. Nausea during pregnancy tends to peak later on, so I hate to think this could get worse for you.”
“It can get worse?”
“It might not. And there are great anti-nausea medications you can take.”
I put my head in my hands, feeling dizzy. I inhale and get no air. Archer’s hands land on my arms, gently pulling me to him. He doesn’t kiss me, but he keeps
me in his arms and lays back on the bed.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About feeling sick?”
“I guess, but I meant you being pregnant and, uh, all it entails.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “That’s the adult thing to do, right?”
He runs his fingers up and down my arm. “Right.”
I close my eyes, tears rolling down my face. “I’m not ready to be an adult just yet.”
“Neither am I.”
“Quinn,” Archer whispers. I’m not quite asleep, but I’m close to it. Archer rubbed my back for what felt like hours, though it was probably more like twenty minutes. Going into self-preservation mode, I blocked out all thoughts about babies and focused on how good it felt to have Archer touching me.
Which is a different issue altogether.
“Quinn,” he repeats. “Someone is awake downstairs.”
I open my eyes, wishing I could go back to that Friday night. Would I tell Archer to put on a condom or would I shut him down before the sex even started?
“Don’t tell anyone,” I rush out.
“I won’t. Not until you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Archer. I mean, I don’t even know when this…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “…This baby is due.”
“Around March twentieth.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Yeah. Give or take a week. Due weeks are the new due days, I’ve been told.”
“March twentieth. That’s a good date.”
“It’s close to my birthday,” he says and it hits me that I don’t even know when his birthday is. I’ve known Archer for years, but I don’t really know him.
“When is your birthday?”
“March seventeenth,” he answers.
“Mine is—”
“December first,” he finishes. “I remember.”
I tip my head up to look at him, surprised by that. My eyes fill with tears again, but hey, at least I can blame this on the hormones. Though truth be told, I cry when I’m scared and right now I’m fucking terrified.
“I don’t know what to do, Archer,” I whisper.
He sits up, eyes nervously shifting to the open door. Right. He’s worried about Dean seeing him. Oh my God. Dean is going to beat the shit out of Archer when he finds out he knocked me up. And then Logan, Owen, and Weston will all get in line to take a turn throwing punches.
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