“She’s not in real labor,” I say, needing to be the one to convince Mrs. Dawson that Quinn’s okay. She believes me over Quinn since I’m a doctor. Years of med school and residency paid off just for this. “But she should rest and drink water.”
“Okay, take care you two. Call me if anything changes.”
Quinn hugs her mother. “I will. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, hun. And you too, Archer.”
Big fluffy flakes of snow fall around us when we step onto the sidewalk. I hold tightly onto Quinn, making sure she doesn’t slip, and get in the car. She sinks into the passenger seat, and I start up the engine, giving it a minute to warm up before leaving. We’re close to home and are inside our little cramped apartment in five minutes. We change into pajamas and settle on the couch. Neville snuggles with Quinn, and Bellatrix rubs against me until I pick her up and pet her.
“Wes is thinking about dropping out again,” Quinn says, reading a text from her phone. She shakes her head. “He’s going to give us all whiplash with this.”
“He needs to run for sheriff,” I agree. “He’ll be great for the job.”
“I know!” Quinn agrees. “I think he’s hesitant about being away from Jackson more than he already is.”
“I understand that.”
Quinn responds to whoever she’s texting and puts her phone on the coffee table. I lean over and kiss her, then run my hands through her hair until she falls asleep.
34
Quinn
I look in the mirror, making sure my hair is okay. It’s the morning of Dean and Kara’s wedding, and I’m not feeling the greatest. I’d say I’m nervous, but I don’t think that’s the case. I got invited back into the wedding party at the last minute, and I really do think Kara feels bad about going psychotic over the details of her wedding.
I wasn’t the only one who felt her wrath, and after her sorority sister threatened to drop out, Kara changed her ways. Still, things are tense between us, and Dean was given shit by Kara for hanging out with Archer. It bothered me, pissed me off even, and then I hit week thirty-nine and stopped caring about pretty much everything except getting this baby out of me.
She’s still in there, chilling with no signs of making her debut into the world. She finally dropped a week ago and hasn’t progressed since then.
“You look beautiful, babe,” Archer says, coming into the room. We’re at the venue, and I just got dressed and ready. He takes me in his arms, not able to hold me close since my giant stomach is in the way.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “You’re a hottie in a suit.”
“I’m looking forward to not being in a suit.” He wiggles his eyebrows and I make a face. For as overactive as my sex drive was in early pregnancy, I haven’t wanted anything else inside me for the last week or two.
“You and me both,” I say. “Though I’m not in a suit. This dress is tight, and my shoes are making my back hurt.”
“I have a few minutes,” he tells me. “Sit and let me rub it.”
“Oh my God, thank you.” I go to the only chair in this little dressing room and lean on the vanity, resting my head on my arms. Archer tries to work out the knots, and a weird, tight feeling comes over my abdomen. It’s not really painful, but it’s definitely weird. We get a few minutes together before we have to go and do pictures. Kara and Dean aren’t seeing each other before the ceremony, but we’re doing bridesmaid photos now to help move things along between the ceremony and reception.
I’m feeling better after having my back rubbed, but start to feel that weird tightening again…and again…and again as time goes on. When we’re done with pictures, the tightening hurts. I pull out my phone and start timing it, sitting on the floor in the back of the dressing room while the guys get their photos done.
I feel it three more times, every twenty minutes or so. Oh no. The ceremony starts in forty-five minutes. I can last that long…I think.
Half an hour and two contractions later, I’m not sure.
We’re called out, and I struggle to hold my flowers and keep a straight face as I fall in line with the other bridesmaids. Going from the dressing room to the ceremony location is difficult, and I fall behind, having to stop and wait for the contraction to pass. I’m not in labor. I can’t be. Not now, not on Dean and Kara’s fucking wedding day.
Saying I have to use the bathroom, I hobble away and grip the windowsill, waiting for another contraction to pass.
“Are you okay, Quinn?” Logan asks, coming out of the bathroom.
Gritting my teeth, I turn to him and force a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Why do you look like you’re about to burst into tears?”
“Weddings make me emotional.” I let out a breath as the pain leaves.
“Sure, they do.” His eyes narrow ever so slightly, not believing a word I’m saying. Owen comes over, flask in hand, and says the ceremony won’t start on time because of some sort of technical difficulty with the lighting.
“You okay, sis?” he asks me, unscrewing the lid of his flask. “You look a little sweaty.”
“Yeah,” I shoot back right away. “It’s hot in here.” I find a bench at the end of the hall and slumped down on it, both hands on my stomach. Owen and Logan whisper-talk, laughing about whatever it is they’re talking about, and I try to relax and convince myself this is just Braxton Hicks. “Can you get me some water?” I ask my brothers, not caring who answers. Logan goes off to get me something to drink, and Owen sits next to me.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Owen asks, tipping his head.
“Yeah, I’m fi—” I cut off when another contraction hits. I bend forward, clutching my stomach. Holy mother of God! That pain is intense. It’s more than just my uterus contracting. It’s as if my whole body is trying to turn inside out.
“Are you in fucking labor?” Owen jumps up, dropping his flask. It clatters to the ground, but luckily the lid is screwed back on.
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I…I can’t be. Not today.”
Owen isn’t convinced and doesn’t know what to do. “Why are you acting like someone is stabbing you in the stomach then?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for the pain to pass. Fuck. That was more like fifteen minutes instead of twenty since the last one. “Because that’s what it feels like,” I finally say.
“You’re in labor.”
“Nope. I told you, I’m fine.” I get to my feet, doing my best not to grunt in pain, and pace to the window. “See? Totally fine.”
Logan comes back with water, and I drink half the water bottle, hoping it’ll make these Braxton Hicks contractions stop. Because that’s what they are.
I. Cannot. Be. In. Labor.
Kara finally let me back into the wedding party. She stopped caring if Dean and Archer hung out. We’re moving in the right direction and popping out a baby on the altar as she stands there looking beautiful in all white will only make things worse.
I take a few minutes to let the water hit me, not really knowing if that has any science behind it or if it just makes me feel better, and then get up to use the bathroom. Owen was right about being a little sweaty, and after going pee, I fix my makeup, smooth my hair, and go back into the hall. I’m walking back to the bridesmaids when another contraction hits.
Logan grabs onto me before I fall and leads me back to the bench.
“Are you still going to say you’re not in labor?” Owen asks.
“I’m not,” I groan, pain increasing as I talk. I don’t know how much more pain I can handle. The contraction hits its peak and then slowly fades away.
“Really?” Logan asks, getting his phone out. “Because this looks like labor to me. Have you had any of the other signs?” He pulls up a list on his phone. “Backache, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, bloody mucus—giving birth is fucking disgusting.”
“Get Archer,” I pant, still shaking the pain from the last contraction. My back is killing me. I had stomach issues all nigh
t. I’m in labor.
Owen nods and hurries down the hall, returning a minute later with Archer. He kneels down in front of me, putting his hands on my stomach.
“Are you okay, babe?”
“I’m fine,” I grunt out, focusing on my breathing. “I have to be fine.”
“If you’re in labor, you’re in labor. There’s nothing you can do about that.”
The wedding planner steps out and calls us to line up. We’re ready to go.
“They’ve been happening every fifteen or twenty minutes,” I say. “I can make it.”
“The ceremony is a little over twenty minutes long.”
“Perfect.” I grip Archer’s hand and have him pull me to my feet. His eyes are wide, and he looks at me in disbelief.
“Quinn, you’re in labor.”
“Nah.” I wave my hand in the air. “I’m fine. See?”
“You were up most the night in the bathroom. You felt sick this morning. Those are common labor signs, and now having regular contractions…Emma could be here in a matter of hours.”
“Good thing we have a twenty-minute ceremony.”
“Maybe you should sit this out,” Logan says, terrified the baby is going to just fall out.
“Kara would throw a fit if I dropped out at the last minute.” I hold my flowers up in front of me. “I’m fine. I just need to make it down the aisle, stand at the altar for a few minutes and then writhe in agony as Dean and Kara say their vows.”
No one looks convinced.
“Quinn,” Archer starts but is interrupted by the wedding planner.
“Let’s do this.” I force a smile and get in line with the rest of the bridesmaids. Archer and I aren’t walking together. As the best man, he’s up front and I’m the last bridesmaid to go out. Feeling like a ticking time bomb, I watch the clock, praying I can make it down the aisle.
By some miracle I do, and another contraction hits me as soon as we’re seated. I grip my flowers so tight a few stems break. I look up, seeing Archer watching me from the other side of the chapel. He’s strained and looks about ready to jump and come to me.
I give him a feeble thumbs up, and try to relax the best I can once the pain goes away. We’re halfway through the ceremony. My abdomen tightens, but it’s not as bad as before. Maybe the contractions are fading? Taking slow, steady breaths, I get through the rest of the ceremony with no issues. And then I move onto my feet with the rest of the bridesmaids to walk down the aisle and feel the pain start to come on. I slow, one hand on my stomach, and internalize the pain the best I can. Feeling like I’m going to puke, I’m stuck, rooted in the spot and paralyzed by pain.
All eyes are on Kara, and I’m pretty sure only a few notice me as I hobble down the aisle trying to catch up with the rest of the party. As soon as we’re outside, Archer finds me, taking me in his arms.
“You’re in labor, Quinn.”
“Yeah,” I agree, breath leaving me. I want out of these heels and out of this fucking dress. “I am.”
“You got here just in time,” the nurse says as she inserts an IV into my arm. “There’s a window for an epidural and you’ve almost missed it.”
I look up at Archer, silently yelling. The anesthesiologist has been paged but hasn’t come in yet, and if I miss my chance for pain meds, I’m going to be pissed. We stayed through pictures at the wedding, made it to the cocktail hour where I was able to force down some appetizers. Then the contractions started happening every five minutes.
No one wanted me to stick around. Archer drove me here while my parents stayed for the reception, and my mom has texted for updates constantly. Wedding day or not, this is what we wanted: just Archer in the delivery room with me.
Once the nurse is done, Archer brings a chair to the bedside, taking my hand. He helps me through another contraction. Each one seems to hurt worse than the last and I’m not entirely sure my body can handle this.
After what seems like an hour later, I get my epidural and can relax. Archer makes me comfortable and sits on the couch near my hospital bed. I spend the next few hours dozing on and off. I’m half asleep when my mom calls, and Archer answers and gives her an update. I’m eight centimeters dilated and will be giving birth soon.
His words send a jolt through me and I wake up.
I’m going to have a baby soon. Emma will finally be here.
“Quinn?” Archer hangs up and rushes over. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling pain?”
I shake my head, trying to move my legs. Archer sees and moves to the foot of the bed, moving my feet and fixing the blankets for me. “She’s almost here and I’m scared and excited.”
“Me too,” he says, brushing my hair back. His eyes go to the computer next to me, watching the lines move up and down. “That was a big contraction. I think she’ll be here really soon.”
I smile, putting my hand on my stomach for the last time. “Ready, baby?” I ask. Yawning, my eyes flutter shut, and I lay back, resting until the nurse comes back in.
“You’re crowning,” she tells us and Archer smiles. He’s right there, holding my hand. The nurse leaves to get the doctor, and I know this is it, after half a day of labor, our baby girl will be here.
Several minutes later, my OB and two other nurses come in. Archer holds my hand as I push as hard as I can, over and over until I feel like I physically can’t anymore because my body is about to give up. Sweat rolls down my back and Archer holds my hand tighter.
“You can do this, babe,” he says, stopping to run a cool washcloth over my face.
Nodding, I inhale and push again. I give it all I’ve got, pushing until my head hurts. And then I hear it: a tiny little cry that brings tears to my eyes—and Archer’s.
The doctor quickly checks her over and places her on my chest, covering her with a blanket.
“Oh my God,” I sob, looking down at the crying bundle on my chest.
Archer leans over, smoothing back my hair. His eyes are full of so much love. We gush over Emma, letting the cord pulse before Archer cuts it, and then it’s back to the baby again.
“She’s perfect,” Archer whispers, smiling down at his daughter. He tucks the blanket around her and kisses the top of her head. I have to remind him to take a picture, and we have the nurse take some of the three of us before she takes Emma to get her height and weight.
“Archer,” I say suddenly and his eyes widen, thinking something is wrong. “It’s after midnight.”
The biggest smile comes over his face and he bends to give me a kiss. “You’ll never be able to top this birthday present.”
When the nurse sets Emma back down on my chest and she nuzzles against me, I start crying. Happy tears only, of course, because right here and right now, I have everything I want.
35
Quinn
“I really think you should do it,” I tell Wes, pulling down my shirt so Emma can nurse. “This town needs you.”
Wes gives me a look. “You can only pull that Batman crap on Dean. This town is safe.”
“And it needs to stay safe. Being sheriff is a great way to make sure it stays that way.”
He considers it but shakes his head. “It’s more than just agreeing to run. I need campaign money and someone to watch Jackson during the election and then again when I start working as sheriff. And that’s assuming I even win.”
“I can watch him,” I offer.
“I appreciate the offer, sis, but you have a one-month-old and are building a new house and working. You’re busy.”
Transitioning into parenthood was an adjustment. It’s still an adjustment. Archer took a few days off before going back to work, and I still haven’t fallen into a routine with Emma. But we’re happy and we’re together, and that’s all that matters.
“Jackson’s no trouble at all.”
“He’ll go to school two days a week starting this fall.”
“Oh, right. That’s okay. Emma loves car rides!”
“I can’t make you do that. Jackson is g
ood for you now because he doesn’t stay with you often. I promise you he’s a little shit and will get jealous of the baby. You two have a good relationship now. Let’s keep it that way.”
Frowning, I know his words are true. “What about Mom? She loves watching him.”
“The new hospital project has her really busy.”
“What about a nanny?” I suggest softly. The last time I brought it up, Wes seemed a little offended.
“I’ve thought about it, but anyone who’s good is either still in high school and can’t take Jackson to school or is a lot more than we can afford.”
“Let me do this for you,” I offer. “We can call it your Christmas present if it makes you feel any better.”
“That’s a big thing to offer.” West sits back on the couch. He’s on duty and stopped by to say hi and see his niece. “I can’t accept.”
“You can. Come on, Wes, it’s not like Archer and I don’t have the money. We’d love to do this for you—if that’s what you want. But know we both think you’d make a great sheriff in this county and it’s always good to have an in with someone high up in the law.”
Weston laughs and lets out a breath. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t think, just answer, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to run for sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“Is the only reason you’re not running because you’re worried about Jackson?”
“Yes.”
“See,” I say, readjusting Emma. No one prepared me for the extreme pain of breastfeeding. “Let us do this for you.”
He runs a hand through his dark hair and looks up at me, smiling. “Fine.”
“Yay! This will be great! I know lots of people in Chicago who can recommend a good nanny.”
“Still…a nanny? Sounds too fancy for me.”
“Call her a babysitter then if it makes you feel any better.”
He chuckles. “It kind of does. Let me talk to Nancy about running for real this time and I’ll get back to you. Then if—and only if—there’s no way I can campaign and not risk being late for the preschool pickup line, I’ll let you know about the nanny.”
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