Dawson Family Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Emily Goodwin

  “Eggs and bacon? You spoil me, Arch.”

  He looks up, breaking off another piece of bacon for Luna. “You deserve it. And I’ve never seen cats beg like this.”

  “Oh, they’re terrible. Neville wasn’t that bad until he moved in with us. The girls are a bad influence,” I laugh. “They never got over being alley cats, I think. They act like they have to eat everything or they’ll starve to death.”

  “They’re definitely not starving.”

  “I know.” I pick up Bellatrix. “They’re all fat.”

  Archer breaks up the rest of the bacon and gives it to the cats before getting up. He washes his hands and takes our plates, bringing them into the dining room.

  “I rarely eat in here,” I tell him. “It’s nice.”

  “This whole place is nice. I still can’t get over the view.”

  “That’s what sold me on it. And it’s close to work. Can’t beat that.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  I put another fork full of eggs in my mouth, watching Archer’s face. Now would be a good time to bring up living arrangements post-baby. We’re talking about my apartment after all. I finish chewing and take a drink of water, trying to plan out in my head what I want to say out loud.

  Problem is, I don’t really know what I want, other than us being together. The reality of us having separate and opposite careers screams at me. Archer’s worked so hard to get to where he is, and he wants to keep going to further his career. And I’ve busted my ass to rise up in the company I work for, and have to prove myself over and over that I’m just as smart and capable as the men I work with.

  Archer likes his job.

  I like my job.

  But I love him.

  One of us is going to have to compromise.

  “Are you feeling sick again?” Archer asks, and I realize that I stopped eating.

  “No, just tired. And deep in thought.”

  Archer picks up the last piece of his bacon. “About what?”

  “If I should go back to work after I have Emma.”

  “Oh. I’ve wondered about that too. What do you want to do?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I like my job, but I think I’m going to like being a mom too.”

  I always knew I would get married and have kids someday. I tried not to let myself think too far ahead and risk feeling sorry for myself since I had no prospects in sight, but I imagined being home with my children like Mom was home with us. But now I have a job I really enjoy, and I don’t know what to do.

  “If it helps,” Archer starts, picking up his coffee. “You don’t have to work. I’m still a resident now, but once I get a job, I’ll make more than enough to support us all.”

  I smile, but his words make me realize how much we have to talk about. We never discussed finances or anything serious like that. Though those are topics usually discussed before getting married, when debts and assets combine. Archer and I aren’t getting married, though having his baby is more binding. I can’t divorce him from being Emma’s father.

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to support me.”

  “I don’t,” he says right away, setting his coffee down. He looks into my eyes and my heart flutters. “I want us to live together,” he says and looks relieved as soon as the words leave his lips. Has he been wanting to say that for a while too?

  “You do?”

  “Of course. I love you and love waking up next to you. I like making you breakfast and taking a shower with you. And when Emma is born, I want to be there. Yeah, she wasn’t planned, and things aren’t exactly worked out yet, but I love you and I love her, and I want us to be a family.”

  “Me too,” I tell him, not sure why I dreaded this conversation as much as I did. We’re at the tip of the iceberg with a lot left to discuss and figure out, but at least I know for sure we’re on the same page.

  Archer phone rings, and we both tense. He grabs it, lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s the hospital.”

  “On your day off?”

  “I never really get time off,” he sighs. “Don’t worry, they can’t make me go in or anything today. I’m already maxed out on hours.” He flashes a smile. “But I did tell the nurses to call me with progress on patients.”

  “You’re a good doctor.”

  He answers the phone, going over a progress report with a nurse and gives an order for a medication increase.

  “So what happens if you’re like out of the country on vacation?” I ask when he hangs up.

  “There’s always someone on call. On the weekends it’s usually other residents. I know which surgical resident is on all this weekend.” He makes a face. “That’s why I asked the nurse to call me.”

  I laugh. “So this might be a stupid question, but I’m gonna ask it.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Med school is hard. Like really hard. So how does a not-so-good doctor get to the point of performing surgery?”

  Archer laughs. “I’d like to know that myself. Some people are book smart and might do really well in something like family practice but can’t handle the stress and pressure of anything more urgent.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And not all med schools are created equal.” He finishes his coffee and yawns. “We have time to lay down. You’ve already showered and eaten breakfast. Want to go back to sleep?”

  I take another bite of eggs and nod. Going back to our conversation about living together is ideal too, but we have limited time and that’s a big topic to discuss. Still, I know I’ll be distracted at work and can’t be held responsible for searching for houses for sale in the suburbs.

  “You’re in a good mood. Did you get laid before you came in or something?” Marissa asks a little too loudly. A few others in the breakroom turn and look at me.

  “Yes,” I say, noting the surprise in their eyes. I might be a nerd, but I’m not a prude. Obviously. Though as Marissa pointed out this morning, what I know is my baby looks like I ate too much for breakfast to anyone who doesn’t know me. “Archer is in town. Though it’s more than that.” I add granola to my yogurt and grab another bowl to fill with fruit. There were complaints about our breakfast spread being ‘unhealthy’. Instead of pointing out that everyone in the office should be happy we even provide food in the morning, we simply added healthier options. The company has money for it, after all.

  Waiting until we’re in the hall and headed to my office, I look around and make sure no one is in earshot. “Archer told me he loves me and wants to live together so we can raise Emma as a family.”

  “That’s great!”

  “I know!” I smile, feeling my whole heart swell up inside of me. I focus on the happy, purposely ignoring the fact that wanting something doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. We still live miles and miles apart. Archer has no idea where he’s going to end up. He could be in school, so to speak, for another one to three years.

  “And we talked about me going back to work after Emma is born.”

  Marissa turns to me, face paling. “Are you not coming back?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I feel really conflicted.” We go into my office. “I love it here. But I also know I’m going to love being a mom. Archer said he’s happy to provide for us too. I mean, he’ll make a very decent living as a surgeon. It’s not like we couldn’t afford for me to stay home.”

  She snickers. “You’d make a good trophy wife.”

  “We’re not married.”

  “Not yet.” She raises her eyebrows.

  “Easy tiger,” I say, holding up my hand. I flip it around. “No ring.”

  She laughs. “He’s crazy about you. I could tell just from the two minutes we were together. I bet he’ll put a ring on it before the baby pops out.”

  That weird squirmy flutter is back, and I put my hand over my stomach, gently pressing down as if that’ll help me feel Emma moving. “Being crazy about each other isn’t the same thing as having a relationship and getting e
ngaged.”

  “I’d ask if you were drunk, but I know how serious you are about avoiding anything bad for the baby.”

  I make a face. “Why would you think I’m drunk?”

  “Because you’re not making any sense. He’s crazy about you. How is that any different?”

  “Because as much as I love Archer—which I really truly do—how can he know this is what he wants?”

  “Uh, because he said he fucking loves you.” Marissa takes a bite of her donut. “Stop doubting yourself.”

  I nod, putting both hands on my stomach. “I know I am. But I’m trying to be practical. It’s not just my heart on the line here.”

  Marissa nods and puts her food on my desk. “Do you think Archer is going to flake out or something?”

  “No. I just…” I close my eyes in a long blink. I’ve been keeping this from everyone, even myself, since Archer and I started dating. “I don’t want him to regret this in a year, ya know? I don’t want Emma to think we’re a family and then have us split up.”

  “Are you worried you’re going to regret this in a year?”

  “No. But I need to be realistic. People who get married just because they’re having a baby together don’t always have the best relationship. We’re not living together. He doesn’t know the bad side of Quinn Dawson yet. While I love to believe I’m perfect, I’m sure there are plenty of little things about me that will annoy him. Like my obsession with cats. Or the way I put off doing laundry until I have to wear bikini bottoms as underwear.”

  “Don’t you think he has weird things too?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he does. What if they annoy me too much?”

  “And what if they don’t? I totally get what you’re saying about people trying to make things work after an accidental pregnancy, but it’s not like you and Archer are some random hookup. You’ve known the guy since you were fucking fourteen years old.”

  I take a moment to let that sink in. There’s no one safer than Archer. I might not know the nitty-gritty, but I know him. I’ve known him for years. And he’s known me.

  “You’re right.”

  “What?”

  “You’re right.”

  Marissa smiles and I realize she only asked ‘what’ so I’d repeat myself and say she was right twice. Laughing, I shake my head and pick up my yogurt, wanting to eat the granola before it gets soggy.

  “Okay, fine. I do trust him. I’m scared things are too good to be true. He seemed really set on being a family and living together, and mentioning how he’d have a job makes me think he’s leaning away from the fellowship and more toward getting his big-boy job. Hopefully here in Chicago or…or…”

  “Or?”

  “In Eastwood.”

  Marissa’s eyes widen. “Eastwood?”

  “Don’t hate me.”

  “I could never hate you. Unless you quit your job, had a beautiful baby and moved to the quintessential town featured in every Hallmark Channel movie.”

  I purse my lips, staring at her. “Then I guess you might hate me. Though it’s a small chance. Very small. The hospital in Eastwood is small, and I don’t think Archer would be happy there. And he mentioned a while ago that the smaller the surgical team, the more on-call hours he’ll have. Bigger hospitals have bigger teams and more people to pool from for on-call shifts.”

  “That makes sense.”

  I nod. “He really likes being a surgeon.”

  “I’d hope so, after a million years of school. But he likes you more.”

  I smile again. “Yeah. I think so too.”

  18

  Archer

  I hang up the phone and rub my temples. I wasn’t expecting that. Not at fucking all. I’m still a little stunned. Raising my arms above my head, I stretch and roll my neck. I’m used to standing in the same position for hours and didn’t realize I’ve been sitting and hardly moved for the last hour and a half.

  I go to the window, giving myself a moment to process everything, and look down at the city. I’m in Quinn’s kitchen, and the view is amazing. In my younger years, I would have loved to live here. I’d feel like a fucking baller up in this place, with its large white kitchen and lakefront view.

  But now…now I’m questioning raising a child in a place like this. Not because I don’t think it’s fitting, but because I know how Quinn grew up in a small town, and how I watched them, an outsider looking in, and thought the Dawsons were fucking perfect.

  I press one hand against the cool glass, staring at Lake Michigan until my vision goes blurry. Recalling everything I said in the last half hour, I don’t have any regrets, which is a first.

  “I think that went well,” I tell Neville, crouching down to pet the fat orange cat. “Better than I expected.”

  My eyes fall shut and I sit on the floor, leaning against the window. I’m tired and want to try to get a few hours of sleep before Quinn comes home from work. I need to catch up on my sleep for my own sake, but mostly, I want to go out and have fun with Quinn tonight before I have to leave and get back to work in the morning.

  Physically, I’m worn the fuck out. Mentally, I’m even more exhausted, but it’s going to be damn hard to turn my brain off. My best bet is to jerk off in the shower and collapse into bed, dreaming of Quinn. If I’m really lucky, I’ll stay asleep until she gets home from work and she’ll wake me up with her lips around my cock.

  With Quinn, I know it’s possible. She’s everything I could ever want, which is why the phone call that just ended is all the more important to me. I already turned down one job, and I’m having anxiety over it. What if I don’t get offered another? Or if the only other job I’m able to land is hours away?

  I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking of Quinn’s pretty face. I can’t let myself fall into negative thinking. I got through med school and all of my residency with the belief I’d land my dream job.

  And working at Rush Hospital is a dream.

  I’d be in Chicago. With Quinn. We’d be able to live together. Raise Emma as a family. I’ll propose and eventually we’ll get married and have more babies. I meant it when I told Quinn I’d be happy to support her.

  I went through years and years of schooling and surviving off shitty-ass food and little sleep to be able to save lives and help others. But I’m also going to really fucking enjoy the salary that comes along with it. Though truth be told, I know I’ll still work long hours even if I can become an attending and have my own residents to assign to weekends and holidays.

  Yawning, I pick up Neville and go into the bedroom. Quinn’s pajamas are on the floor, and I smile, thinking of her slender body and ample breasts. They most definitely have gotten bigger, and I’m almost surprised at how turned on I am by her growing belly. Knowing that my baby is inside of her, that I knocked her up, is a strange turn on, one I’m not sure I should openly admit to anyone but Quinn or not.

  The tip of my cock tingles and I climb into bed with the thought of Quinn’s tits on my mind. I pull the covers over me, smelling a mixture of Quinn’s perfume and her conditioner on the pillows. I press my face in and breathe deep.

  And now I have a boner.

  Closing my eyes, I reach down, pushing my hand down the front of my boxers. I take hold of my cock and pump it up and down once. Twice. I moan into the pillow, missing Quinn so bad it hurts.

  I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I just saw her an hour ago and I’m already missing her to the point of jerking off to her memory. Though there’s something about Quinn that turns me into a horny teenager all over again. At least this time it’s legal.

  I turn on my side, slowly rubbing my shaft. My eyes are shut, and I know once I come I’ll be able to pass out and get some decent sleep until Quinn gets off work. I press my face into my pillow, wishing Quinn was in bed with me.

  And then my phone rings.

  Blinking and sitting up, I hope it’s Quinn and I can get just a few seconds of sexy talk out of her so I can come. But it’s not Quinn. It’s my fucking mother. I squeeze my
eyes shut and exhale heavily. My phone is still ringing, but I’m not in the right headspace to talk to my mother right now.

  I catch it on the last ring, putting the call on speaker and laying back down.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Archie. Did I wake you?”

  “I’m in bed, but no. Did you find him?”

  “I didn’t, but the cops did.”

  “Good.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Or did I? “I mean, good he’s been found. How is he?”

  “He’s high on something.”

  “How’d he get caught?”

  “He was with that friend he calls Cuddy. I don’t think that’s his real name.”

  “Oliver Milstead,” I tell her. I went to school with his younger sister. One of seven, Oliver and his siblings fit the stereotype that comes to mind when you say ‘meth-heads.’ When Bobby started hanging with Oliver, shit hit the fan. I’d love to blame Oliver, say he got my brother hooked on drugs, but the disease was always inside Bobby. He’d been pushing on the door his whole life. Oliver simply gave him the key.

  “Right. That man. He was cooking in his garage. Bobby was over at the house at the time.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “Archer,” Mom scolds.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “Is he still in jail? Do you need bail money?”

  “No, but thanks, honey. He’s out and is home resting. I’m looking up new rehab facilities, ones not in the area. One of Cuddy’s cousins was in the same place with Bobby and convinced him to leave.”

  I grit my teeth, beyond irritated at how Mom acts like Bobby is the victim here, coerced into doing bad things against his will. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Of course, hun. How’s Quinn? You said you were in Chicago, right?”

  “I am, and she’s good. She’s at work right now.”

  “Have you two decided what you’re going to do about that? Work, I mean, after the baby is born.”

  “Sort of. We’ve did decide that we’re going to move in together.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! But, uh, where are you moving?”