Chapter Three: Archer

Chapter Three

Archer

I pull the blankets up over Quinn’s shoulders, tucking her back in after I get out of bed. She fell asleep quickly, thanks to the Benadryl, and right now she looks peaceful and relaxed. I stand there for a moment looking down at her and feeling so much.

I’m in love with her. Head over heels, crazy, stupid love with her. My heart is so full, more so than I ever thought possible. And it’s weird because while I’m standing here feeling all this love for Quinn, a deep-rooted hatred for my brother grows stronger and stronger.

Bending over, I give Quinn a kiss, and turn to leave, silently shutting the door behind me. Grabbing the leftovers from lunch, I go into the living room and sit on the couch.

“Everything good?” Sam asks, turning away from the TV.

“Yeah. She’s sleeping.”

Sam nods, looks back at the TV for half a second, and then at me again. “Your fucking brother?”

“I know. I haven’t seen the asshole in years.”

“What do you think he wanted?”

“I have no fucking clue. He seemed on something?”

“Isn’t he always?” Sam replies. “And yeah. Bloodshot eyes, pale, and angry. Not that it makes it any better, but I don’t think he meant to hurt Quinn.”

“It doesn’t matter. He did hurt her.” I set down my fork and pinch the bridge of my nose, appetite pretty much gone.

“Did Quinn know about him?”

“I’m not sure, actually.” And I’m really not. I avoided Quinn most of the time when I was at the Dawson’s house. I couldn’t get over my attraction to her, and being around her made it worse. We hardly ever talked, but I’m assuming some sort of explanation was given to her about why I hung around so many times.

Dean knows everything, and his parents do too. We’ve talked about it in length, and my own parents have thanked Mr. and Mrs. Dawson over and over for letting me stay with them during the holidays so I didn’t have to spend Christmas watching my brother get his stomach pumped.

“I didn’t bring it up before, but she’ll find out soon enough.”

“Wait, you haven’t told her the guy who hit her with the door is your brother yet?”

Shaking my head, I pick up my fork again. “I started to and our conversation got interrupted. She’s too loopy to talk about anything serious now.” I take a few bites of my pasta and then sigh. “I need to call my parents. Have them come down here and deal with Bobby.”

“Does he have a sponsor to call too?”

“Probably, but what good would that do?” I grumble. “This has been going on for fifteen fucking years. I don’t know how he’s not dead yet.”

“I have a feeling he will be once you get a hold of him.”

“I plan to beat the shit out of him, that’s for sure.” Anger surges through me again. More family drama is the last thing Quinn needs. Dean and Kara are still being immature over the due date being so close to their wedding as if Quinn did it on purpose to steal the spotlight.

The rest of her family is back to being supportive but still concerned how Quinn and I are going to make this work since we not only don’t live together but live four hours apart. The rational part of me says I should be concerned too, but for some reason, I’m not.

We’ll make things work.

I’ve never wanted anything more, and while I’ve never been one to leave shit to faith and trust it’ll all work out, I just have this feeling deep in my gut that it will. I’d be surprised if I’m not offered the job at the hospital at Eastwood. It’s still a few hours from Chicago, but it’s closer than I am now.

Forcing myself to finish my food, I get up, put my dishes away, and pull out my phone, needing to call my mom. Sam says he’s going to take a shower since he hasn’t yet after the gym, which is true, but I know he’s giving me space. He might come off as full of himself at times, but he’s a good friend.

Mom answers after one ring. She must be sitting around waiting for the phone to ring with news about Bobby. I doubt she’s slept much if at all. Doesn’t he care what he’s done to our family? What he puts our mother through?

“Hey, Archie,” she says and just from those two words I can tell she’s tired. “How are you?”

“Bobby was here,” I say, cutting to the chase. “A few hours ago.”

“What? Here? The hospital?” she stammers.

“He came by my apartment. I wasn’t home. Sam was, and my girlfriend was here. Bobby—”

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Mom, I do.” And she’s pregnant. “I was hoping we all could get together soon, actually.”

“It must be serious!” Mom exclaims. “Tell me all about her!” She’s taking the conversation in the opposite direction of where it needs to go, but I know she needs a bit of good news and some cheering up.

“You already know her,” I start, a smile growing on my face just by thinking of Quinn.

“I do?”

“Yeah. You’ve met her once or twice, and you know her family well.”

“Don’t make me play a guessing game, Archie! Who is she?”

“Quinn.”

“Quinn?” Mom echoes.

“Quinn Dawson. Dean’s sister.”

Mom audibly inhales. “I always liked her. Isn’t she, um, a little young?”

“She’s twenty-six.”

“Oh, four years isn’t bad at all. I was thinking she was much younger for some reason. Your father is three years older than me. Is Dean okay with this?”

I laugh. “Not at all.” There’s more to it, but I’ll tell her that in person. “So about Bobby…”

“Right. Tell me what happened.”

I reiterate what Quinn and Sam told me, and she has no idea if he’ll try to contact me again or if he’ll move on. Where to, no one knows. Bobby is unpredictable when he’s using. She also has no idea why he showed up or what he wants. Making amends with those he hurt is part of recovery, but he’s far from recovering. Showing up makes no sense. Nevertheless, she and my dad are making the drive down here and will arrive around midnight tonight.

After I get off the phone with my mom, I arrange a hotel for them and then go back into my room, stripping down to just my boxers, and get in bed with Quinn.

“Archer?” she mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

“I’m here, babe.”

Her eyes fall shut and her lips curve into a smile. “Good.”

*

“Arch,” Quinn whispers, hand landing on my shoulder. “You’re having a bad dream.”

I blink and sit up, confused for a brief moment. The room is pitch black, I’m hot and sweaty, and my head hurts. But Quinn is here next to me, and everything is okay.

“Archer?”

“I’m awake.” I run my hands over my face and exhale, reaching for my phone to check the time. It’s one-thirty in the morning. I don’t remember what time I laid down, but I’m surprised I slept for so long. I don’t sleep well when I’m stressed, and given everything that happened, I’m pretty fucking stressed.

Quinn makes all the difference.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember.” The details from my dream at right there at the surface, but I don’t want to recall them. “I think it was about something bad happening to you and the baby.”

Quinn takes my hand and puts it on her stomach and leans back against the pillows. “We’re okay.”

“How’s your wrist?”

“It hurts but not as bad as before. Sleeping and not moving it helped.”

“I’ll get you Tylenol. Are you hungry? We slept through dinner.”

“I am. That’s actually why I woke up,” she says with a laugh. “I’m starving.”

I turn on the bedside lamp, blinking as my eyes adjust. “Are you craving anything?”

“I really want the pinwheels my mom makes for parties.” She stretches out and gets out of bed. “But mac and cheese sounds good too.”

“That I can do.” I kiss her forehead and get out of bed, putting on pajama pants. Quinn uses the bathroom while I go into the kitchen, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. I flick on the burner and grab a box of macaroni and cheese from the cabinet. Quinn comes into the kitchen with a sour look on her face.

“Feeling sick?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m debating if I should take a pill or not.”

“You should,” I encourage. “They’re safe, babe, and you need to be able to keep food down.”

“I know.” She looks at the pot on the stove. “It’s so weird to be hungry and nauseous at the same time.”

“That would be.”

“I’ll take a pill.” Turning away, she goes into the living room to get her purse, returning with a bottle of Zofran. Putting one under her tongue, she sits at the kitchen table and waits for me.

I add the macaroni to the water and join Quinn at the table. “Babe,” I start, reaching across the table and taking her hands. “I need to talk to you about the guy who was at the door.”

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” Quinn asks. “I’m trying not to be freaked out about it. You make me feel safe, but if we talk about it, I’ll get scared. The police didn’t find him.”

Well, shit. I don’t want to put it off. Quinn needs to know about Bobby, about the fucked up uncle our child is related to. But I don’t want to upset her, and I can’t promise she’ll be safe if Bobby comes back. He’s a dumbass, the most selfish person I know, but he’s not violent.

Unless he’s using.

Then who the fuck knows what he’s capable of.

“In the morning,” I repeat. “Yeah.”

“So my mom called yesterday and wants to talk about the baby shower already.”

“She’s so excited for this,” I say with a smile.

“Oh, she’s going to love it. And since she’s the mom of the mom, she’ll head everything up and go crazy with party planning.”

“When do you have showers?”

“From what I read online, you can have it any time, really, but most people wait until the third trimester.” Quinn laces her fingers through mine and leans back. The color is coming back to her cheeks from the medicine kicking in. It’d be awful to feel like you’re on the verge of throwing up constantly like that. “I was wondering,” she starts, flicking her eyes to mine. “Do you want to find out if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Yes. As soon as possible. The new chromosome testing they do now can determine the sex of the baby as early as ten weeks.”

“Chromosome testing?”

I nod. “It’s impressive, really. You only give blood, not amniotic fluid, and a slew of chromosomal defects are checked for, and they can look at the DNA and see if you’re carrying a male or female.”

Her lips part, but Quinn doesn’t say anything. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her brows start to furrow. “Sounds expensive,” she finally says.

“Some insurance companies cover it. If not, I’ll gladly pay for it.”

“But what if something is wrong and our baby has a defect?”

“The chances are low, but it’d give us time to prepare if something was wrong,” I tell her.

“Would you still want the baby if there was something wrong with it?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Honestly, Quinn, I don’t think anything is wrong at all. I’m impatient and want to know what we’re having.”

She starts to smile and looks back at me. “I’ll ask about it when I get home. It would be nice to know that early what we’re having.” She takes one hand from mine and moves her hair over her shoulder. “We could pick out a name.”

Now I smile. It might be silly to let that have such an impact on me, but it does. Picking out names, planning the baby shower…it feels right.

Like we’re a family.