“Emma.” Tears fill my eyes and I turn around in Archer’s arms, lip quivering. “You like the name?”
“I do. I’ve been mentally calling her that for a while to see if I’d like it. Now it fits.”
“Oh,” I croak out, and tears roll down my cheeks.
“Are you crying?” Owen asks, eyes wide. He’s across the counter from me, filling his plate with cookies and brownies. “You never cry.”
“I’ve been crying a lot lately,” I admit with a laugh.
Archer tightens his hold on me. “Whatever you do, don’t bring up endangered species.”
“I’m having deja vu.”
Archer pushes off the ground, sending the glider back. The heat of the day hasn’t worn off yet, despite it being after dark. The sounds of a country night surround us, and the dogs run and sniff around the yard.
“We sat here and talked,” I say, resting my head on Archer’s shoulder. “That night I spilled the drinks on myself at Getaway and you took me home.”
“Oh yeah. We did sit here.”
I tip my head up. “It was the first time we had a real conversation. Want to know something silly?”
“Always.”
“I thought you were going to kiss me that night.”
“I wanted to kiss you.”
“What?” I heard him correctly but need to hear him say it again.
“I wanted to kiss you that night.”
“Why’d you pussy out?”
Archer laughs and kisses me now for good measure. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. And I knew if I kissed you once I’d want to do it again.” He runs his hand through his hair. “You said you thought I was going to kiss you, but did you want me to?”
“I did.”
“Then why did you pussy out and not kiss me?” he says with a laugh.
“You gave off some very mixed signals. Up until the night this little girl was conceived. And then after.”
“Yeah, I’m still sorry—”
“It’s okay, Arch,” I say quickly. We’ve moved past our issues with that. There’s no need to bring them up now.
“Actually, Quinn,” he says slowly. “There’s a story behind that, and I want to tell it to you.”
“I do like stories. Does it have a happy ending?”
He smiles. “I’m going to ask you a question at the end, and what you say will determine that.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You’re confusing me just a bit, Dr. Jones.”
“Sorry,” he says with a laugh. “I’m not a good storyteller, but I want you to hear this.”
“Okay. Can I pee first? I’m ruining the mood, but I’m pregnant. I pee a lot.”
“It’s only going to get worse.”
“Yay.” I roll my eyes, kiss him, and hurry into the house to use the bathroom. When I go back outside, Archer is sitting by the pool. His shoes are off, and he’s rolling up his pants.
“We can go in,” I say. “The water is warm and it’s humid out. It’d feel nice. You brought your suit, right?”
“I did. You only reminded me a dozen times.”
“I haven’t been swimming in a while. I’m looking forward to it.” I sit next to him and stick my feet in the water. “Unless you want to skinny dip later.”
“I like that idea.”
“You know, I’ve never had sex in a pool before.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
“And you shouldn’t, especially when pregnant. You’re likely to get a UTI if you have sex in a pool, hot tub, or lake.”
“You’re back to Dr. Fuddy-Duddy again.”
“Hey, health and safety are important to me.”
I laugh and loop my arm through his and look up at the star-studded sky. Everything feels perfect right now, and I know without a doubt that I’m in love with Archer.
And for the first time, I think he’s in love with me too.
“You said we never really talked before,” he starts. “There’s a reason for that.”
“Is it a good reason?”
“In retrospect, no.” He kisses me, and the moment his lips are against mine, I melt. When his tongue slips into my mouth, I’m a goner.
“Maybe we can tell stories later and have sex now.”
“You couldn’t get more perfect if you tried,” Archer mumbles, kissing me harder. Desire swirls inside of me. It would be really obvious if Archer and I both went upstairs together. Part of me doesn’t care.
Fuck, this long-distance thing sucks. We’re finally together after over a week apart and we’re at my parents’ house. I could always pretend to be sick and Archer is coming up to take care of me.
“Is your car unlocked?” I ask between kisses.
“I think so. Why?”
“Want to have sex in the back?”
“Yes,” he says with no hesitation. We begin to untangle when the sliding glass door opens.
“Aunt Winnie!” Jackson calls. “Daddy said I can tell you goodnight.”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell him and pull my feet from the water.
“Are you swimming? I want to swim!” Jackson’s eyes light up and he comes running.
“No, Jackson!” I scramble up, but there’s no way I can get to him in time. Wes sprints out of the house as well, seeing Jackson head right for the water.
“Jackson!” Wes yells. “No!”
Jackson can’t swim, but that doesn’t stop him from jumping right into the pool.
14
Archer
Jackson slips under the surface of the water and doesn’t come back up. Quinn screams, and I jump in, diving down and swimming across to grab Jackson. I hook my arm around him and push off the bottom of the pool. He’s thrashing, doing everything he can to get himself to the surface, and hits me in the face a few times. I bring him up out of the water, and Weston takes him from my arms, bringing him out of the pool.
“What were you thinking?” Weston asks, eyes wide with fear. Jackson coughs up water, and Wes holds him tightly against him. I pull myself up out of the water, eyes on the kid. “Are you okay?”
Jackson is still coughing, and being hugged tight by his father isn’t helping. Quinn comes around, crouching down to Jackson. Mrs. Dawson comes outside, panicked.
“What happened? I heard someone scream.”
“Jackson jumped in the pool and Archer saved him,” Quinn says, letting out a shaky breath. “Is he okay?”
“I think so,” Wes says, both hands on Jackson’s shoulders. I’ve seen that look of fear and worry in parents’ eyes before. My own kid isn’t born yet and I already feel like I understand it more than I did before. “Don’t ever do that again,” Wes tells Jackson and stands, holding the boy in his arms and sits in a lounge chair. Jackson is crying, which is a good sign. At least he’s getting oxygen.
Mrs. Dawson grabs two towels that were hanging to dry on the fence and gives one to me and one to Wes.
“Thank you,” Wes tells me, wrapping Jackson up in the towel. “He came out to tell Quinn goodnight. I didn’t think he’d jump in.”
“I thought they were swimming,” Jackson tells him, trying to stop crying.
“That doesn’t mean you can jump in. You can’t swim without floaties. You are lucky Archer got to you so fast.”
“Thank you,” Jackson chokes out.
“Of course, buddy,” I say. “Don’t do that again. You scared us all.”
Wes smoothes back Jackson’s hair and kisses his forehead. Quinn takes the towel from my hands and drapes it around my shoulders.
“Thank God you got to him so fast.” She pulls the towel tight as if she’s worried I’m cold. It’s hot and humid out tonight. Jumping in the water felt good.
“I was close.”
Quinn cups my face and stands on her toes to kiss me. “You’re going to make a good dad.”
“I hope so.” I rest my hand on her stomach.
“Well, I know so.”
“And you’ll be a good mom. You know all the words to every Disney song.”
Quinn laughs, some of the tension leaving her. She takes a glance at Jackson, who’s still snug in Weston’s arms. “I don’t know if that’s a qualifying factor for what makes a good parent, but I’ll take it.”
Quinn takes my hand and we go over by Jackson. He’s sitting up now, eyes still red from crying and getting pool water in them.
“Are you going swimming, Aunt Winnie?”
“Not tonight,” Quinn tells him, sitting on the lounge chair next to him. “Maybe we can go swimming in the morning, but only if you have your super cool shark floaty on first, okay?”
“Okay,” he grumbles. Quinn puts her hand on his shoulder and flicks her eyes to her brother. “Are you okay?”
Wes shakes his head. “I’ve seen some pretty…pretty messed up stuff,” he starts, and I’m reminded of his service to our country. “But seeing him go under like that…”
“Hey, he’s fine,” Quinn assures him.
“Thank you,” Weston tells me, eyes drilling into mine. He’s eight years older than Quinn, and the two of them look the least alike out of all the Dawson siblings. Their personalities are probably the most different too, with Quinn being quirky and easygoing and Weston being serious and rigid. He stepped in and gave me advice multiple times before, and has been a better older brother to me than my own.
“Of course,” I say back. We stay outside for another minute or so, and then Quinn leads me upstairs to change into dry clothes.
“Do you want to shower with me?” she asks, reaching behind her and unzipping her dress.
“Do you really have to ask?”
She giggles and lets the dress fall to the ground. “Seeing you act all heroic is a turn on.”
“Everything is a turn on to you right now.”
“That is true.” She unhooks her bra and lets out a breath of relief as soon as it’s off. “I’m going to have to go bra shopping soon. I swear I’ve gone up a cup size already.”
“Your tits are going to be huge when you’re breastfeeding,” I say without thinking. We haven’t talked about it yet. We haven’t talked about anything post-birth. “I mean, if that’s what you want to do. If not, that’s fine too.”
She turns on the shower and grabs two towels from the closet between the two sinks. “What do you think I should do?”
I don’t know if she’s testing me or just honestly asking for my opinion. “If you’re able to breastfeed, then I think you should.”
“And if I’m not able to?”
“Then you feed formula. As long as they’re getting fed, it’s fine.”
She rakes her fingers through her curls. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“I know, babe. And that’s okay. But we do need to start thinking about—and talking about—these things.”
She nods and tests the water, seeing if it’s warm enough to get in yet. I strip out of my wet clothes and put them in the laundry basket in the closet. “I know. And even though I really like how firm and perky my boobs are, I do want to try breastfeeding.”
“I like how firm and perky they are too.”
“Are you still going to be attracted to me when I’m nine months pregnant?” She gets into the shower and I follow after her.
Warm water pours down on us. “I’ll always be attracted to you. And this might be weird, but knowing I knocked you up is kind of a turn on.”
“Really?” Quinn wiggles her eyebrows. “Because you did this.” She puts my hand on her stomach.
“See?” I motion to my dick. “You’re starting to turn me on.”
“What are you going to do about it?” She purposely drops a bottle of body wash. “Oh no. I dropped the soap. I should bend over and pick it up.”
“You know what dropping the soap implies, right?”
“I do. And I’ll totally be your prison butt-bitch.”
Laughing, I take Quinn by the waist and turn her around. She locks her arms around my neck. I kiss her, and the need to be inside her takes over. I push her against the shower wall, being careful not to slip. Quinn puts one foot on the edge of the tub, aligning her pussy with my cock.
And then someone knocks on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Weston calls from behind the door, “but I need the kid soap.”
Quinn and I untangle. “Right now?” Quinn asks.
“Yeah. Jackson threw up all over himself and he has a thing about getting shampoo in his eyes.”
Quinn picks up the bottle, shakes off as much water as she can and tosses it by the door. “You can grab it,” she calls. The bathroom is a jack-and-jill style, with doors going to both Quinn’s old room and the one Jackson stays in. Wes opens the door just a crack and grabs the soap for Jackson.
Something isn’t right. The kid inhaled water. Now he’s throwing up.
“What’s wrong, Arch?” Quinn asks, picking up her own shampoo. I make a face, not wanting to worry her just yet.
“Probably nothing.”
“But it could be something?”
“Yeah, it could be.” I take the shampoo from her and quickly wash my hair. We finish the shower in record speed, and I throw on boxers, athletic pants, and a white t-shirt. Quinn is still getting dressed and is brushing out her hair when I leave the room, hoping Weston hasn’t left yet. They’re about to, and Jackson looks a bit out of it.
“How’s he doing?” I ask, eyeing the kid.
“He’s worn out.”
“Is he normally this tired at nine-thirty?”
Weston shakes his head. “He’s usually a night owl,” he says and then his eyes cloud with worry. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Sit down. I’ll be right back,” I tell Weston and rush out to my Jeep to grab the stethoscope I keep hanging from my rearview mirror. Both Mr. and Mrs. Dawson are standing in the kitchen with them, sharing the same look of worry. Quinn comes down right as I’m listening to Jackson’s lungs. And I hear what I was hoping not to hear.
I let Jackson take my stethoscope, using it as a distraction. I deliver bad news more often than I’d like. There’s never a good way to say it, and sugarcoating it does no good in the end.
“He needs to go to the hospital,” I say. “He has water in his lungs.”
“What’s taking so long?” Quinn asks, looking at the time on her phone. We’re in the ER waiting room, and time is crawling. “Can you go back there and speed things up?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have privileges at this hospital. It’s not like it is on TV. You can’t just say you’re a doctor and start giving orders.”
“I guess that’s a good thing.”
I take her hand, wishing I could ease her anxiety. Another few minutes tick by, and Logan and Owen hurry in. Quinn fills them in on what’s going on, and we wait together. Fifteen minutes later, I’m feeling anxious too. Finally, Quinn gets a text from her mother, who’s in the exam room with Wes and Jackson.
“Mom said the nurse didn’t seem too concerned and said that lots of kids are sick right now with a virus. They still haven’t seen the doctor.”
Only two people were allowed to go back with Jackson. Wes was obviously one of them, and the other was Mrs. Dawson.
“Ask your mom if I can switch her out,” I tell Quinn. I don’t have any authority here, but I’m sure I can get things moving along faster. Quinn fires off a text and a minute later, Mrs. Dawson comes into the waiting room.
I go back, finding Jackson curled up in Weston’s lap. He looks peacefully sound asleep, which is what makes this so dangerous.
“How’s he doing?” I ask, coming into the room.
“He’s really agitated,” Wes tells me.
“It’s because he’s not getting enough oxygen.” I look around for the nurse. “Did they take his vitals?”
“He threw a fit when they tried.”
“So they didn’t?”
“The nurse is coming back.”
I grit my teeth and sit on the bed next to Wes, taking Jackson’s arm in my hand. He groans and tries to pull hi
s arm away.
“Hey, buddy,” I say gently. “It’s Archer. I have to check for something, okay?”
Jackson struggles a bit more but finally stops, slitting his eyes open just enough to see me. I check his pulse; his heart is racing. Someone knocks on the doorframe while I’m checking Jackson’s fingers for signs of cyanosis.
“You’re new,” the nurse says, rolling in the little machine that takes vitals.
“He needs his O2 checked, and probably have some administered,” I tell her, unable to help but go into doctor mode.
“I’m getting to it.” The nurse is middle-aged and smells strongly like cigarette smoke that she’s trying to cover up with perfume. I would not allow that if she worked on my team.
“He’s been here for half an hour and his oxygen hasn’t been checked yet.”
“We needed to give him time to calm down.”
“He’s agitated because he’s not getting enough oxygen.”
The nurse plops a folder on the desk and turns to me, hand on her hip. “Look, sir, I appreciate your concern for your son, but please leave it to the medical professionals to take care of him.”
My son? I turn my head to Wes and—ohhhh. She thinks we’re a couple. I don’t even care to correct her. It doesn’t matter.
“He needs a chest X-ray, an IV, and oxygen.” I look at Jackson, not wanting to freak him out. “And I am a doctor. I’m a surgeon at Indianapolis General and I’m here visiting family.”
The nurse purses her lips and nods, muttering something and going out of the room. Right away, the ER doctor comes in, and after talking with him for a minute, we get Jackson taken care of. I text Quinn, telling her Jackson is going to have a chest X-ray and then be admitted overnight for observation.
Half an hour later, Jackson is settled in his room. The whole Dawson crew is here now, and they all crowd in to see him. He’s tired and still has a risk of developing pneumonia, but he’ll be monitored closely for the next twenty-four hours. I step out of the packed room, and Dean comes into the hall with me.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Wes said if you hadn’t caught the early symptoms there’s a good chance Jackson could have died in his sleep.”
Dawson Family Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 35
