Dawson Family Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Emily Goodwin

  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 medi
cine 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.

  4

  Quinn

  Sunlight streams through the living room windows, directly illuminating the front door. I’m on my way to the kitchen to find something to eat, and I stop, looking at the door. Everything that happened yesterday is fresh in my mind, including the fear. I was afraid for myself, but even more afraid for my child, and now I understand why some women refer to themselves as ‘mama bears’ when it comes to protecting their babies.

  The rug I tripped over has been smoothed out again, and I remember it all so well. The look in the guy’s eyes. The desperation and anger in his voice. The way he looked at the shirt, I was wearing and knew it belonged to Archer. I’m certain I’ve never seen that Bobby guy before, but he looked familiar.

  Tearing my eyes away from the door, I continue to the kitchen. It’s seven a.m., and after eating mac and cheese last night, Archer and I watched the final Harry Potter movie before falling back asleep. He’s still sound asleep in bed, and I didn’t want to wake him.

  Trying to avoid a queasy stomach, I’m on the search for crackers. I bend down, looking in the cluttered cabinet filled with nonperishables. The floor creaks behind me and thinking it’s Archer, I spring up, box of crackers in hand.

  But it’s not Archer. It’s Sam, and he’s naked. He freezes, letting out a shriek.

  “Oh my God,” I exclaim and divert my eyes.

  “Quinn, I…I…I thought you were still asleep,” he stammers, bringing his hands down to cover his junk.

  “I was hungry,” I say, trying not to laugh. I fail. I bring my hand to my mouth and turn away.

  “Women don’t usually laugh when they see me naked, you know.”

  I grab a dish towel from the counter to toss to him.

  “That’s not big enough,” he says seriously and side steps away.

  “Oh, please.” I roll my eyes and turn away to open the crackers.

  “Quinn?” Archer calls, voice thick with sleep. He comes into the kitchen, probably making sure I’m okay after hearing Sam yell. “Dude,” he says to Sam. “We talked about this.”

  “I thought you were both still sleeping.”

  “You talked about this?” I ask, looking at Archer. He’s just in his boxers, and there are creases from his pillow on his face. His dark hair is a mess, stubble covers his strong jaw, and he looks so damn sexy without even trying. He makes butterflies flit in my stomach, and with everything we went through yesterday, I feel closer to him. “So this is a regular occurrence?”

  “Yes,” Archer says with a chuckle. “It’s so fun living with him.”

  “Hey,” Sam interjects, walking backward down the hall. “I’m confident in my body.”

  “Trust me, we know.” Archer moves in behind me, arms going to my waist. He kisses my neck and I lean back against him. “I can make you something better than crackers for breakfast if you want.”

  “This is fine for now,” I tell him, spinning around in his arms. “I was going to go back to bed. You should too. You look tired.”

  “I’m all right. Do you want eggs again?”

  “You don’t have to make me anything, babe.” I set the box of crackers down so I can hug him. “Are you working today?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m on call again.”

  “You won’t work so much when you get a new job, right?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  Now’s a perfect time to ask him about where he’s going to apply, to bring up the great hospitals around the Chicago area. If we want to live together, one of us is going to have to move. I guess it could be me, but when he’s actively looking for a new hospital, it makes sense that it’s him, right?

  “It’s morning,” he says before I can go on. “We need to talk about that guy from yesterday.”

  He tenses, ever so slightly, and if I weren’t holding onto him, I wouldn’t have noticed. I do have questions, but I don’t know how Archer will answer. He didn’t see the guy. How’s he going to know anything about him?

  “Okay.” I slide my hands down his arms and step back, grabbing the crackers. “We can talk while we eat. I’ll make you breakfast this morning. I do know how, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His eyes go to my wrist, and he looks guilty, almost as if it’s his fault I got hurt. “But I like making you breakfast.”

  I smile. “I won’t object to that.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Eggs.”

  “You’re getting predictable, Quinn,” he says with a shake of his head. I laugh and open the box of crackers, too hungry to wait to eat. I take a bite out of one and go get my phone. I have a bunch of texts from my mom that I didn’t hear last night since I passed out. She’s excited to see another picture of the baby, but then asks why I got another ultrasound done.

  My lack of response must have worried her, and her last text is a request to call me in the morning. I go to call her back and then remember there’s a time difference between Eastwood and Indy. And they’re an hour behind? No. Ahead. I think? I’m smart, yet figuring out time zones will forever confuse me.

  Either way, it’s early, and Mom’s probably still sleeping or at the very least just starting her day. Taking my phone with me, I go back into the kitchen and check my email, responding to a few, while Archer makes breakfast. Mom texts me, and I exit out of my emails to respond.

  Mom: Are you awake? You’re worrying me, Q

  Me: Yeah, I am. And sorry. I fell asleep early last night. Archer was able to get a doctor-buddy to do another ultrasound so we could see the baby.

  It’s the truth with a few things omitted, but I instantly feel bad for lying. Though I know my mother and know how much she’ll panic if she were to know everything that happened. I could be right in front of her and she still wouldn’t be convinced I’m okay.

  Mom: Oh, that’s good! She’s growing! I started a Pinterest board for the baby shower. Do you want to do a gender reveal? We can do something small for that, if you’d like. Just us and Archer’s family.

  Me: I’ll talk to Archer about it. We’re going to find out what we’re having as soon as we can. Arch said there’s a newer test I can do in like 2 weeks.

  Mom: Two weeks! I’ll start planning! Do you want to have it here? Eastwood is in the middle between you and Archer.

  My chest tightens and a new wave of panic washes over me, one th
at hasn’t quite made it to the shore yet. In two weeks, we could know what we’re having. We’ll pick out a name and can start planning the nursery. But where will it be?

  “Do you want toast?” Archer asks, sliding a plate of eggs in front of me.

  “No, thanks. And thanks for the eggs.”

  He takes a plate for himself and sits across from me. “They’re easy. Someday I’m going to make you a real meal. I’m not the best cook, so don’t have high expectations.”

  I laugh. “I’ll save my high expectations for sex.”

  “You know I aim to please. Multiple times.”

  I push my eggs around on the plate, helping them cool. “So far, so good. Trust me, I’ll let you know if things start to suck in the sack.”

  “They won’t,” he promises. “Though some sucking might happen.”

  Laughing again, I scoop up some eggs and blow on them before putting them in my mouth. Mom sends me another text with pictures of cakes she found on Pinterest for a gender reveal party.

  “How do you feel about having a gender reveal party?” I ask.

  “What is that?” Archer gets up to make a pot of coffee.

  “Basically a party announcing if the baby is a boy or girl. You don’t tell anyone until the end, and you pop a balloon with pink or blue confetti in it or something.”

  “And it’s a thing people do now?”

  “Yeah. If you have a halfway decent Instagram following and you don’t do one, people will wonder what’s wrong with you.”

  Archer chuckles. “I don’t really care either way. Any excuse to have a party is good in my book. Do you want to have one?”

  “I know they’re a little lame, but yeah.” I bite my lip, looking at the photos my mom sent. I haven’t told anyone besides my family and Marissa about the baby. I’m a modern woman with a successful job, and shouldn’t worry about people judging me over having a baby when I’m not married. But I do, just a bit.

  “Then let’s do it.”

  Archer’s words make me smile. “My mom is going to go crazy over this. She wants to know where to have the party?”

  It’s a simple question, but I know it raises the same concerns to Archer too. He turns on the coffee maker and comes back to the table. “If you’re going to take impressive Instagram pictures, your parents’ farm has the perfect setting.”