“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.
Not only do I have to tell my parents I’m pregnant, I have to tell my brothers.
“We’ll figure it out, Quinn. Together.”
I pull the blankets up to my chin and close my eyes. Just last night, I was hell-bent on hating Archer Jones for the rest of my life. Now his baby is growing inside of me, and I’m slipping.
“Archer,” I start, shifting my eyes to his. “I don’t want you to be with me because we’re having a baby.” I say each word slowly and carefully. Inhaling, I sit up and try to gather my composure. “I’m an adult. I made the adult decision to sleep with you that night. Twice. And then again the next day.” Rufus jumps onto the bed again and army crawls his way between Archer and me. I bury my fingers in his thick fur, thankful for the distraction. “And then you went back to Indy, and yeah, I wished you would call, but you didn’t and I got over it, and it’s okay.” I’m rambling again, and there’s no end in sight. “Like I said, you don’t owe me anything. We’re adults and did an adult thing and this happened.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Don’t be with me just because I’m pregnant with your baby.” Dammit. That sounded way more dramatic than I wanted it to.
“I don’t want you to go through this alone.”
“I won’t. I have no doubt you will be an amazing father, but Archer, I’d rather us not be together and raise this kid the best we can as single parents than try to force something that’s not really there.” Each word hurts as I say it, but I have to think about this child first.
This. Child.
/> My child. Archer’s child. Our child.
And now I’m crying again.
Archer takes me in his arms, soothing me by rubbing my back. “It’s going to be okay.”
My mother’s voice floats up the stairs. She’s talking to Dean, chastising him for passing out on the couch and not going upstairs into one of the guest rooms. Archer moves away and wipes a tear from my cheek.
“It’s going to be okay,” he repeats. I want to believe him, but I can tell he doesn’t even believe himself.
20
Archer
The bathroom door closes, and I’m still standing there, looking at the white paint until my vision goes blurry. After I reassured her everything will be okay, she smiled and said she was going to take a shower. But I can’t move. Hell, I can hardly breathe.
Quinn is pregnant with my baby.
I’m trying to let it sink in, but my defenses are up and I can’t think past the fact she’s been feeling sick and it’s partly my fault. Or all my fault? I know it took both of us to create the baby, and it’s not like Quinn wasn’t willing. But…fuck. How could I let this happen?
I’m a doctor. I know how the body works. And yet I had sex three times with Quinn within twenty-four hours and only used a condom once. Though it’s not like I brought any with me Friday night. I didn’t expect to hook up with anyone, and when it finally happened with Quinn, I wasn’t thinking straight.
Rufus tips his head, listening to Mr. And Mrs. Dawson move around the kitchen. Knowing it’s time for breakfast, he lazily pads out of Quinn’s room. Suddenly, sweat breaks out along my forehead and my heart starts to race.
Quinn is pregnant.
I’m going to be a father.
And then it hits me all at once, so hard I have to sink down on Quinn’s bed behind me. We’re not married. We’re not even a couple. Quinn made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to be with me just because we’re having a baby.
But it’s not like I can just stop by after work and help her with the baby. And I don’t want to not be with my own child. I want to be involved. I want to be there for everything. I want to feel the baby kicking. I want to set up the nursery. Cut the cord. Read to the kid as soon as he or she is born. Hold her. Cuddle her. Help Quinn with everything after birth and not have her worry because I’m there for her and for our baby.