End Game

by Emily Goodwin

“Unfortunately, that’s the case many times. And you’re more likely to have issues with it later on.”

  “Great,” she mumbles. “I already have wrist pain.” Her eyes fall shut and her jaw tenses. I move a pillow under her arm, propping up her injured wrist. She rests her other hand on her stomach and lets out a deep sigh.

  When she opens her eyes, she reaches over and takes my hand.

  “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” she asks, tears filling her green eyes again.

  The words die in my throat, but I force a smile and squeeze her hand. As a doctor, I never promise false hope, never give an overly optimistic answer when I don’t know what the fate will be. But for Quinn, I know I have to lie.

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, Arch.” She squeezes my hand back. “Did they pull you out of surgery?”

  “No. I just haven’t changed yet.” I smile and playfully nudge her, hoping to make her laugh. “Why, are you getting turned on from my ‘doctor clothes’ as you call them?”

  She doesn’t laugh, but her lips do curve up into a smile. “A little. You can play doctor for me tonight.”

  “I don’t have to play, baby.” I lean down, putting my lips to hers. Just then, the curtain is pulled back. Thinking it’s Sam, I don’t move away from Quinn just yet.

  “Ms. Dawson?” the nurse says, clearing her throat. I move back and see Elena, the nurse I hooked up with a few times, standing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes widen when she sees me. We ended things on good terms, or at least I thought so. Our relationship was never serious, and we were both clear about keeping things casual from the start.

  “Dr. Jones,” she stammers, eyes flitting from me to Quinn.

  “He’s the father,” Quinn says quickly as if she’s afraid I’ll get in trouble for canoodling a patient or something.

  Elena smiles. “I assumed so. Congratulations, Dr. Jones. I didn’t know you were having a baby.”

  “Thank you,” I say and put my hand over Quinn’s belly. Quinn tenses and I know exactly what’s she’s thinking: congrats might not be in order if things…nope. I’m not letting myself finish that thought.

  “Do you want him to come with you for the ultrasound?” Elena asks.

  “Yes,” Quinn says right away and gets up. Holding her left wrist against her body, we follow Elena into another room, and the ultrasound tech is already waiting for us. Quinn gets onto the bed, folds the waist of her shorts down, and raises her shirt a bit, exposing her belly. She has some bruising under her belly button, and I swear to God I’m going to kill Bobby.

  “I bruise easily,” Quinn tells me when she sees the concern on my face. “I always have.”

  I can only nod, too upset to open my mouth. Taking Quinn’s hand, I move aside, anxiously looking at the screen next to Quinn. Unlike the OB’s office, this room isn’t set up with a big TV for us to look at. This is the ER, and ultrasounds done in here have an entirely different story most of the time.

  The tech goes over Quinn’s information with her and then dims the lights. “How far along are you?” she asks and puts the jelly on Quinn’s stomach.

  “Eight weeks.” Quinn’s hand shakes. I grip it tighter. Using my free hand, I smooth her hair back, not taking my eyes off the screen.

  “And you were hit in the stomach?”

  “Yes. By a doorknob.”

  “Are you having any pain?”

  “I felt some really sharp shooting pains and then felt crampy. It went away though.”

  I didn’t know Quinn was feeling any pain at all. Getting hit in the stomach in the first trimester isn’t usually a cause for concern…unless it’s followed by pain or bleeding.

  A few seconds tick by and black and white shapes come in and out of focus. And then I see it, a second before the tech stops moving the transducer around. The outline of what looks like a tiny gummy bear, with a fast-beating heart.

  “Baby looks good and has a strong heartbeat,” the tech says, and turns her screen so we can see better. She points to each little body part and lets us watch that beautiful tiny heart beating for another few seconds. Then she turns the sound on, and Quinn finally relaxes.

  The tech prints out some pictures and gives Quinn paper towels to wipe the jelly from her skin. She leaves, saying the doctor will be in shortly. Annoyed no one has done anything for Quinn’s injured wrist yet, I leave for a few moments and come back with supplies to ice and splint it.

  “I never realized how handy it’d be to date a doctor,” she says with a small smile as I finish wrapping her wrist. I sit in the bed with her, wrapping my arms around her slender waist.

  “The guy who tried to break in,” I start, working hard to keep my voice steady. Quinn turns to me, eyes meeting mine. And then Dr. Taylor knocks on the door, coming in a second later. She goes over the ultrasound—everything is normal.

  “Are you still feeling pain?” she asks Quinn, looking at her chart on the computer screen.

  “Not right now. I felt it most when I was moving.”

  “Did it feel like period cramps?”

  Quinn shakes her head. “Not at first. It was more sharp, like something was being pulled. Then it cramped and went away after a minute. I felt it again when I was getting in the car to come here.”

  “Are you bleeding or spotting?”

  “No.”

  “The first trimester is full of aches, pains, and cramps. Everything looks good, so I feel confident saying those cramps are normal and you’re currently just more aware of them. And the sharp, pulling pain sounds like round ligament pain to me.”

  “Isn’t it early for that?” I interject.

  “Textbook-wise, yes,” she tells me. “But I’ve had enough patients experience it I know some unlucky women start feeling the aches and pains from the start.” She looks back at Quinn’s chart. “Do you normally have high blood pressure?”

  I almost get up to peer over Dr. Taylor’s shoulder. Quinn doesn’t have high blood pressure. If anything, she’s on the low side, and I should—I need to stop. I’m not here as Quinn’s doctor, but as her boyfriend and the father of her child.

  “No,” Quinn answers. “I think it’s from the stress.”

  “Me too,” Dr. Taylor says and turns to the computer, putting in an order. “I’m going to get you a dose of Benadryl.” She flicks her eyes to me. “Sounds weird, I know, but I’ve been giving this to my pregnant patients for years. It’ll lower your blood pressure and will help you sleep when you get home. Rest will help you feel better. Being stressed and tense will make you all the more aware of those aches and pains.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn says with a nod and finally relaxes a bit.

  “Take it easy, and follow up with your regular OB at home. And congratulations, both of you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, getting up to shake her hand. Elena comes in right after Dr. Taylor leaves, with water and medication in hand.

  “Are you sure this is okay for our baby?” Quinn asks me quietly before she pops the pill in her mouth.

  “Yes,” I assure her and she takes the Benadryl.

  “This makes me loopy,” she says after taking a drink of water.

  “I remember,” I say with a chuckle. “I think you were like sixteen or seventeen when you got poison oak all over your arms. Your mom gave you Benadryl and it was like you were drunk. Dean and I might have used you for our entertainment, and for that, I’m sorry.”

  “Oh my God! I almost forgot about that.” Quinn shakes her head, laughing. “It was terrible. My goat got out hours before I had to load him up to take to the county fair. He was a muddy mess and I was covered in a rash.”

  Elena looks away from the computer for a second, eyeing us both. “Sounds like you two have known each other a long time?”

  She’s a good nurse and a decent human being. She’s not going to say anything or cause a scene, but I can sense the jealousy. Quinn turns her head to me, eyes sparkling. It makes my heart speed up.

  “I’ve known Archer since
I was fourteen,” she says. “He was my brother’s college roommate.”

  “Aww, that’s so sweet,” Elena says with a fake smile. “Okay…you’re almost ready for discharge. You can return back to normal activities. If you experience any more abnormal pain or bleeding, come back to the ER.”

  “Thank you.” Quinn lets out a sigh of relief, and when Elena leaves to grab the discharge papers for Quinn to sign, I turn to her.

  “I need to tell you something,” I rush out.

  “What is it?”

  “I went out with that nurse a few times.”

  “Oh. I thought she looked a little too surprised to find out you’re having a baby.”

  “You’re not upset?”

  “Why would I be? I’ve dated other people too, Archer. And you met Jacob already, who’s my ex.”

  “Right. She wasn’t really my girlfriend, just—”

  “Spare me the details.” She takes my hand. “You’re mine now, Archer Jones.”

  I smile. She has no idea that I’ve always been hers.

  “So now that I know the baby is okay, I can say how much my wrist fucking hurts.” She holds up her arm, wincing. “Are you sure it’s not broken? It feels broken.”

  “You should have said something.”

  She makes a face. “I didn’t want the attention to be taken away from the baby, in case…in case.” Tears fill her eyes and her bottom lip quivers. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she says, trying hard to stop the tears from falling. “Everything is okay.”

  I pull her into my arms. “It was a lot to take in. It’s overwhelming.”

  “Oh my God. Work. How am I going to be able to work? I can hardly move my arm.” And then she bursts into tears, and I don’t think it’s possible to feel any more hatred for my brother than I do right now. “I’m sorry I’m crying,” she sobs. “I don’t usually cry. It’s just…it’s just the hormones.”

  “Babe, it’s okay.” I cradle her against me, being careful not to hurt her wrist. I don’t think it’s broken. She can move it along with all her fingers and the swelling is minimal.

  “I can order you an X-ray still,” I tell her.

  “No,” Quinn mumbles. “I don’t want to expose the baby to anything like that. If it gets worse, I’ll let you know.”

  I brush her hair back and kiss her forehead. “You’re going to be a good mom.”

  Quinn’s bottom lip quivers and more tears pool in her eyes. Elena comes back in, looking alarmed.

  “Are you all right?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” Quinn sniffles. “Everything caught up to me and I was so scared.” She takes my hand and brings it to her stomach. “I really thought we might lose the baby.”

  “He’s safe in there,” I assure Quinn.

  “She’s safe in there, you mean,” she says with a smile. “I agree with my mom on this one. It’s a girl.”

  Quinn looks at the ultrasound pictures, eyes glossing over. We’re headed home, and I steal a glance away from the road to see her beautiful face. Her eyes are brimming with tears.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” I put my hand on her thigh.

  “Nothing.” Tears roll down her cheeks.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I was thinking about bald eagles.”

  “Bald eagles?” I raise an eyebrow. “Bald eagles make you cry?”

  “They used to be endangered. But they’re not anymore. They’re so majestic and beautiful and I’m just so happy they’re not endangered anymore.”

  I don’t mean to laugh, but dammit, she’s so fucking adorable. “Remember how you said it wasn’t fair that I didn’t get to experience drunk-Quinn?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I am now.” I wink and squeeze her thigh.

  She sniffles and laughs, wiping her eyes. “Yeah. I guess so.” Her eyes squeeze shut, and more tears stream out.

  “Stop thinking about eagles, babe,” I try to say seriously but end up laughing. Quinn laughs too, shaking her head. She inhales and looks back down at the ultrasound. She mumbles something about taking a picture of the baby to send to her mom and fumbles with her purse until she finds her cell.

  When we get back to my apartment, I get out and immediately lock the doors to the Jeep and look around for my pathetic excuse for a brother. Not seeing him, I unlock the door and help Quinn out.

  “You were supposed to leave tonight,” I remind her when we get through the door. Sam’s already here, and I lock the deadbolt behind us.

  “I’ll stay tonight,” she mumbles, eyelids heavy.

  “Do you need to call about your flight?”

  “No. I never scheduled a return flight. I was going to today. The driver…no, the flyer…the…the…”

  “Pilot.”

  “Yeah. That guy. He was going to pick me up whenever I was ready.” She scrunches up her nose. “I sound like a rich asshole, don’t I?”

  “You’re basically Bruce Wayne when he’s trying to convince the world he’s still a billionaire playboy and not a superhero.”

  “Damn,” she says, not missing a beat. “Hopefully I’m giving more of a Christian Bale performance over Ben Affleck.”

  “It’s Oscar-worthy.” I hook my arm around her, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. After all she’s been through today, I know she’s exhausted. We get settled into bed, and I pull the blankets up around her shoulders. Resting her head on my chest, I run my fingers through her hair.

  The words I’ve been wanting to say bubble up inside me but are quickly squashed down by the memories of my brother. I’ll have to face him eventually, and worse, I’ll have to explain everything to Quinn. I look down at her beautiful face, eyes closed but still a bit swollen from crying. There is no one else for me but her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.

  3

  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.