End Game

by Emily Goodwin

  “We can go out.”

  “Later. I’m tired too. And I think I felt Emma moving again.”

  “I love you, Quinn,” I whisper, tipping my head up just enough to kiss her. And then I let my eyes fall shut again. Two hours later, I wake up, hot and sweaty. Quinn sleeps with a lot of blankets, and I don’t know how she doesn’t swelter in her sleep. I kick off the comforter and roll over, feeling relief from the ceiling fan above us, and close my eyes again.

  Quinn rolls over, hand landing on my chest. “Archer?” she grumbles. “Are you awake?”

  “Kind of,” I say, slitting my eyes open. “Are you?”

  “No.”

  Silently laughing, I take her hand and rub circles in her palm until we both fall back asleep, not waking until one of the cats jumps onto the nightstand and knocks Quinn’s water bottle over. I startle awake, and Quinn feebly swats at Luna. This must happen often.

  “Rise and shine, babe,” I say to her with a smile.

  “Morning,” she says back, rolling over and wrapping her arms around me. “I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”

  “You needed it.”

  “So did you.”

  “Yeah. It feels good to lay down and do nothing. I’m aware of how lame I am, so no need to point it out.”

  Quinn laughs. “I sat in my comfy office chair all day and I still like to lay down and do nothing.”

  “My mom called,” I start. “Bobby got arrested.”

  Quinn opens her eyes and pushes up on her elbow. “Shit.”

  “It’s okay. It’s a good thing, actually. He was with some loser who was cooking meth in his garage. It could have been a lot worse.”

  “He’s okay?”

  “For now.”

  She runs her hands through her hair and sits up. I realize for the first time that she’s only wearing a camisole and white underwear. Whatever she has to say might be lost on me.

  “I was thinking about what I said earlier, about how Bobby is family and you’ll always care and all that.”

  “Yeah?” My eyes dart to her nipples.

  “It’s okay to cut off toxic family members, and if you think Bobby is toxic, then I support you in cutting him off.”

  “He’s more than toxic. He’s a festering pile of—” I stop, seeing Quinn’s face. “He’s still my brother, I know. And yes, I’ll be upset when the day comes and he finally kicks it. But only for my parents.”

  Quinn’s frown deepens. “If that’s how you really feel, then okay.”

  I sigh. “It’s not. I wish it was though.”

  She nestles her head back against my chest. “I did tell you I like honest-Archer best.”

  “I feel like an asshole when I’m honest about Bobby,” I admit. “I do care about him because he’s my brother, and he wasn’t always a piece of shit. I’ll be sad when he dies, but sometimes I wish it’d just happen already.” I’ve never spoken these words out loud before. I’ve barely let myself even think them. “Every time my phone rings I wonder if it’s the call. And if it’s not his death my mom’s calling about, then it’s something he did. He’s killing himself and there’s no way around that. But he’s going to take someone down with him too. Maybe it’s driving under the influence or selling laced weed to kids. All Bobby does is destroy, and waiting for the end is worse than going through the final never-ending chapter.”

  “That makes sense,” Quinn says quietly. “Living with the fear of never knowing what’s going to happen would make me anxious.”

  “In a perfect world, he’d recover. But the world isn’t perfect, and I know the odds of someone coming back from something like this.”

  “It’s not impossible,” Quinn adds, tracing her fingers up and down my chest. She flattens her hand and slowly drags it down, fingertips slipping under the band on my boxers. “Instead of going out for dinner, I was thinking I could cook for you and then maybe we could go out for dessert.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Have you had The Cheesecake Factory cheesecake before?”

  “I have not. I’m guessing it’s good?”

  “It’s so good.” She pushes herself up, kissing me before getting out of bed. “Do you like chicken enchiladas?”

  “There’s not much I don’t like. I’m easy like that.”

  “You are easy, Dr. Jones. I got in your pants on our first date, remember?”

  Laughing, I slap her ass as we get out of bed, catching her around the waist. I pull her in and kiss her neck, dreading leaving already. I go into the living room, cats following, while Quinn uses the bathroom. The cats won’t stop meowing, and I know enough now to know they’re expecting dinner at this time.

  Going to the cabinet where Quinn keeps the cat food, I don’t see Quinn walking out of the bedroom. I close the cabinet and turn. The can of cat food slips from my fingers.

  “Holy shit.” I blink, slowly running my eyes over Quinn. She’s wearing dark purple lingerie and she’s so right about her tits getting bigger. They’re close to spilling out of the thin lace.

  A bit of color rushes to her cheeks, which only adds to the appeal. “I was going to wait until later to put this on, but you keep surprising me. I wanted to surprise you for a change.”

  I take a few seconds to look her up and down again, memorizing every curve of her body. “This is a good surprise.”

  Her shy smile turns coy, and she walks right past me, heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and bends over to get a pot from a cabinet next to the oven.

  “Sit down,” she says, putting the pot on the burner. “Part of your surprise is getting to watch me cook. Well, if that’s something you’d like.” She turns to me, cheeks flushed again. “I’m not very good at this.”

  “You’re perfect.”

  19

  Quinn

  “I think we should make this a regular Friday-night occurrence,” Archer says. We’re sitting on the couch, naked and snuggled together with our feet propped up on the coffee table and plates of food on our laps. “I like eating naked.”

  “I do too, and I have to say I did a good job on these enchiladas.”

  “They taste just like the ones your mom makes,” he tells me, knowing that’s a compliment. My mom is a great cook.

  “The recipe is pretty easy to follow,” I confess. “It’s not like a four-course fancy meal or anything, though I think the preparation gives this meal five stars.”

  “You could have made me Ramen noodles and it would have been five stars.”

  Laughing, I take my last bite and put my plate on the coffee table, reaching over to get my water. Archer gets up to get a second helping, and I shamelessly watch his ass as he walks into the kitchen.

  Once we’re done eating, we lounge around a bit and then get dressed to head out. The weather turned overnight, and the air has a cool crispness in it that always excites me. I love the fall.

  “Are you hungry for dessert yet?” Archer asks me.

  “Oh hell no.” I pat my stomach. “I’m still not used to eating full meals like this.”

  “I’m glad you’re able to again. See?” He gently nudges me. “There is light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Yeah. I’m excited to get to that end too. Who do you think Emma will look like?”

  “I imagine her to look like you.”

  “Me too. And if she were a boy, she’d look like you.”

  “That’s how I imagined it too,” he says with a chuckle. “I hope she has your green eyes.”

  “Is that possible? I don’t remember anything about genes from the bio class I took in high school.”

  “Yeah, it’s possible, but she’s more likely to get brown eyes from me. So, sorry.” He gives me a smile. “I think the percentage is around thirty-eight for green and fifty for brown.”

  “That’s higher than I thought you’d say. I do like having green eyes, but I like yours too. Our child will have dark hair, right? How do dominant genes work?”

  Archer’s eyes light up.
“You really want me to explain it? Because I will.”

  “Sure. But don’t get mad if I don’t follow along.”

  “I’m happy to repeat myself. I told you, biology fascinates me.”

  Archer comes to a sudden stop, staring across the street. We’re making our way down Michigan Avenue on our way to the Cheesecake Factory.

  “See a ghost?” I ask him.

  “That’s Dr. Crawford.”

  “Who?”

  “The trauma surgeon I wanted to talk to at the convention.”

  “Oh! Should we go say hi?”

  He shakes his head, looking almost starstruck. “He probably doesn’t remember me.”

  I look across the street, guessing Dr. Crawford to be the stuffy looking old man walking next to a thin woman in a red coat. “They’re going into Gucci. Let’s go in.”

  “To Gucci?”

  “Yes,” I say with a laugh. “I really like their handbags, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a new one.”

  Archer takes my hand as we stop at the crosswalk. “Okay. I guess it won’t hurt to see if he remembers me.”

  “Exactly.” Cars zoom by, and a couple of minutes later we cross and enter the store.

  “Good evening, Ms. Dawson!” one of the clerks says, looking up from behind the counter.

  “How long is a while?” Archer asks, raising his eyebrows. “They know you by name here.”

  “I’m very memorable.”

  He smiles and steals a glance at Dr. Crawford, who’s standing behind his wife looking bored. I walk past the purses and over to the display of belts the doctor’s wife is looking at. Buying a five-hundred-dollar belt to fit my pregnant belly isn’t something I can rationalize, but I could always buy one for later, right? Anything to try and get Archer an in with the doc.

  “I have that one,” I say to whom I assume is Mrs. Crawford. She’s holding a black leather belt with gemstones on the logo. “I always get compliments on it.”

  She runs her fingers over the colored stones. “You don’t think it’s a little young for me?”

  “Not at all! I think it’d look great on you.”

  She smiles. “Thank you for saying that.” Her eyes go to my purse on my shoulder. “I see you have great taste.”

  “It’s more like an addiction,” I laugh, and she does too. I turn away from the belts, lusting over pretty much everything in this store, and see Archer looking at shoes, and probably choking over the price tags.

  “Find what you’re looking for?” he asks, coming over. His hand settles on my hip.

  “I found too much.” I look behind him. “You’d look really good in that suit, you know.”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “Give me a year—or two, probably two—to make more than I do as a resident and then we’ll come back here.”

  “Deal. Are you going to talk to him?”

  “I don’t want to be awkward.”

  “You won’t be.” I step forward. “Actually, I do need a new fancy professional outfit to wear when I go talk with those professors from MIT.”

  “Already?”

  “I’m giving a speech at graduation.” I shake my head. “Unless I chicken out. But that Professor Slughorn guy I told you about has been emailing me about coming in and talking to his class this semester.”

  “You should do it,” Archer encourages. “Like you said, you’re in the minority being a successful woman working in the technology field.”

  “True. And I haven’t been back to MIT since graduation. It’ll be kinda fun to see the campus again.”

  “Excuse me,” Mrs. Crawford says. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but did you say you’re giving a commencement speech at MIT’s graduation ceremony?”

  “She did.” Archer smiles at me. The way he’s looking at me right now makes my heart skip a beat.

  “Our son is graduating high school this year and that’s his top choice.”

  “It’s a great school.”

  “You went there as well?”

  “I did,” I say with a smile. “And I loved it. It opens so many doors and the education is priceless. What’s your son’s area of interest?”

  “Algorithms and code or something like that.”

  “That’s what I do!” I say a little too excitedly. But hey, if Archer looks cute when he talks about genes, maybe I look cute too? “I work at IGH now overseeing software development as well as creating codes for high-profile clients. Having that MIT degree definitely helped me land the job.”

  Mrs. Crawford says, “Barry, this young woman went to MIT. Maybe she has some advice for John.”

  Dr. Crawford comes over, a pleasant smile on his face. “Sorry to bombard you while shopping,” he starts. “We’re more than a little excited. Not to be those parents that brag, but John is a smart boy.”

  “No worries. I don’t run into too many people around here looking to apply to MIT. It’s exciting!”

  “We’re not ashamed to be those parents,” Mrs. Crawford says. “We’re very proud of our son and will take any opportunity we can to help him.”

  Archer tips his head down to me. “I think we’ll be like that too.”

  I put my hand on my stomach. “I think so too.”

  Dr. Crawford’s eyes drop to my middle. “Are you expecting?”

  Mrs. Crawford elbows him sharply in the ribs. “You can’t ask people that!”

  Archer and I laugh. “I am,” I tell him, and Dr. Crawford looks at Archer, and a spark of recognition crosses his face.

  “I know you,” he starts, still staring at Archer.

  “We’ve met before,” Archer starts, “at a conference in June.”

  “Dr. Jones from Indianapolis,” Dr. Crawford recalls. “Yes. I do remember you. You made quite an impression on Dr. Miller.”

  “A good one, I hope,” Archer says and we all laugh.

  “Yes, she spoke very highly of you. If I recall correctly, you’re finishing your surgical residency this year and are interested in a trauma fellowship.”

  It’s all I can do not to make a weird squeaking noise of excitement. Archer wants this fellowship so bad. It’ll be long hours, hard work, and functioning on little sleep. But if he’s in Chicago, we can live together. He’ll be crazy busy busting his butt to become a trauma surgeon, but we’ll be able to raise Emma as a family under one roof.

  “Yes, I am interested.”

  “You’re sure you want to do that with a little one on the way?” Dr. Crawford raises his eyebrows. “It’s long hours.”

  “It can’t be worse than what I’m working now, can it?” Archer says back with no hesitation.

  Dr. Crawford laughs. “I don’t miss my days as a resident. Though at least now you’ve been capped on your hours. Back in my time, there were no regulations.”

  “I’ve heard horror stories. The first attending I worked with scared a resident out of the program.”

  “If stories can scare a resident, he has no place in surgery in the first place.”

  “That was my thought too. And all the stories in the world can’t prepare you for that first time shit goes south.”

  Dr. Crawford laughs. “My first day of med school I had two patients die. Completely unrelated and total freak accidents.”

  “That’s one hell of an orientation. One of the first surgeries I observed, the surgeon perforated a bowel. None of us were prepared for that smell.”

  Both Archer and Dr. Crawford laugh, and I find it oddly sexy to hear him telling what I guess would be considered doctor jokes.

  Mrs. Crawford shakes her head and leans into me. “He’ll talk about surgery all day.” She rolls her eyes. “How long ago did you graduate? You look so young.”

  “Four years ago.”

  “And did you start at IGH right away? John has mentioned that company a few times, so I know it must be good. I’m not the best with technology. I have a hard enough time with my cell phone.”

  “I had an internship there and after the year was up, th
ey hired me.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know they offered internships. What are the requirements?”

  “A college degree for a paid internship, but we do have unpaid interns who basically shadow and help with small tasks. It’s not the most fun, but it looks good on a resume or college application. I can give you my email if you’d like and maybe we can set something up.”

  Mrs. Crawford thanks me over and over, and saves my email address in her phone. Archer and Dr. Crawford are still talking about surgery and difficult patients. I get back to shopping, purposely taking my time so Archer has more time to talk with the doc.

  We’re finally on the same page. In love, wanting to raise Emma as a family. I don’t think marriage is that far off, though I still want Archer to take his time and make sure this is really what he wants to do.

  My mind jumps ahead of me, to accompanying Archer to fancy dinners with the Crawfords. We’re married and have at least two kids at home. Mrs. Crawford talks to me about MIT, and Archer and Dr. Crawford compare days in the OR.

  I blink and shake my head. I don’t do fancy dinners like that. I’ll go out on a hot date, don’t get me wrong, but playing the pretentious wife—yeah. That’s not me. I like designer shoes and purses, with the occasional accessory thrown in, but that’s not me and it never will be.

  I’m small town born and raised, coming from a large family who had to cut corners and coupons to get by. My dad’s business didn’t take off until my senior year in high school, and when I sold that app, I had no idea what to do with all the money.

  I paid off my student loans. And Dean’s. And Logan and Owen’s. Weston’s were taken care of thanks to the US Army, but I would have paid those off too. I gave myself an allowance and then stuck half the money in a savings account and had an investor help me with various investments. It’s nice having disposable income, I won’t lie, but the fancy, stuck-up, I’m-better-than-you-because-I-have-money life isn’t for me, and I sure as hell won’t let Emma grow up thinking that.

  Several minutes later, I go to the register and pay for a new pair of shoes. Archer comes up behind me, followed by the Crawfords.