“I do. Being a surgical resident is more of a lifestyle than a job,” I tell her seriously. “I won’t always be this busy, I promise.” I wonder if she’s thinking about how hard it’ll be for me to be involved in Emma’s life. If we’re apart, it will be hard. I won’t lie to her or myself. It’s hard enough seeing Quinn for a day at a time.
“Good. You deserve more time to yourself. What’s your schedule like when you get home?”
“I’m on-call this weekend, which means I’ll be in removing infected organs for sure. And then I have shifts Monday through Thursday.”
Quinn takes my hand. “Come back to bed. Sleep while you have the chance.”
“I do get to sleep while you’re at work today.”
“That is true. And I hope you do sleep. I worry about you driving all the way back to Indy.”
I worry too, but I’m not going to tell Quinn that. Though when I do leave, I’ll be well-rested at least. I drank so much coffee on the way here my stomach hurt. But I needed it to stay awake.
We get back into bed, and Quinn snuggles up with her head on my chest.
“Pretty soon I won’t be able to do this,” she says.
“Emma will be in the way.”
“I can still sleep on my back, right? My OB said it’s okay until twenty weeks, but should I stop sooner just in case?”
“Twenty weeks is standard. If it makes you feel better—mentally, I mean—you can stop sooner. You’re not abnormally large or anything, so I’m not worried about pressure on the vena cava—the blood vessel that can get constricted.”
“Okay, good. You’re like my personal walking-talking version of Web MD.”
I laugh. “I glad I spent eight years in college and another six as a resident to be as qualified as Web MD.”
“Well, that was silly. Clearly you only needed a couple of nights to look through that website before you could diagnose anyone complaining of a headache with either the Black Plague or a tumor.”
Laughing again, I kiss the top of her head and run my fingers up and down her arm until she falls back asleep. I start to drift off too, thinking of us living together as a family. The ring her grandmother gave me is in my bag, but since we just told each other we love each other, I think it’s best to wait.
Until the next time we spend a weekend together, that is.
I rest my hand on Quinn’s belly and fall asleep, dreaming about Quinn and Emma. Things start off normal and good like it should be in a dream, but then quickly shifts to weird as fuck. Emma is really a puppy, and I have to go back to med school because it was discovered I somehow missed a class.
“Archer,” Quinn says, waking me up. I blink, shaking off the weirdness but not looking into it too much. Dreams don’t mean shit. She reaches over me and picks up my phone from the nightstand. It’s on silent and vibrates one last time before the call goes to voicemail.
Quinn’s face tightens when she looks at the name on the screen. “It was your mom.”
17
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? Y
ou 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?”