Cheat Codes (Dawson Family 1)

Archer laughs. “That was his line?”

“It was one I remember. It’s pretty bad, huh?” I readjust my purse on my shoulder. “I think this is a sign from the universe I’m not meant to be at a bar tonight. I just want to go home.”

“Did you drive?”

“No, I came with Kara. So it’s going to be a long night.”

“I can take you.” He doesn’t look at me as he offers.

“I don’t want to make you leave.”

“Honestly,” he starts and forces himself to look at me. Our eyes meet for a fleeting second before he brings his hand to the back of his neck. “I’m tired. I came straight from work and I haven’t had a day off in over a week.”

“That’s brutal.”

“It is. So let me take you home and use it as an excuse to bail early. I don’t think the guys are ready to hear that I’m not the partier I used to be.”

“You can use me as your scapegoat.” He can use me any other way too. “I’m going to tell Jamie I’m leaving and then we can go.”

Ten minutes later, we’re walking out into the parking lot.

“Are you staying with your parents?” Archer unlocks his Jeep.

“Yeah, I am.” I fold down the top of the to-go bag of burgers and fries I got on the way out, the least I could do for Archer for leaving his friends. Yeah, he said he was tired, but I’m not sure I believe him.

“I haven’t been to their house in a long time. Please tell me it’s the same.” He opens the passenger side door for me and goes around to get in.

“It pretty much is. Plus another dog or two.” I click the seatbelt into place, trying to think back to the last time Archer joined us for dinner. Before I went away to college myself, I looked forward to the Sundays where Dean and Archer would make the drive from Purdue University to the house for dinner.

Sunday dinners were a big thing. After church, Mom would spend the day cooking, and even with all four of my brothers plus Archer, there’d be food to spare and she’d send Dean and Archer back to school with enough care packages to last half the week.

Without needing directions from me, Archer drives to my parents’ house. We’re about twenty minutes away, and suddenly the silence between us is awkward. A mile goes by and I know I need to say something.

Another goes by before I turn and open my mouth.

“So where do you work?” I ask at the same time Archer asks me something.

“You go first,” we say in unison.

Laughing, Archer looks away from the road for a second. “Indy. What about you?”

“Chicago.”

“I never pegged you to be a big city kind of girl.”

“I didn’t think I was either, but I love it there. And I love my job, but sometimes I miss this.” I wave my hand at the window.

“There’s literally nothing there.”

“Exactly.” I smile. “I miss it. The cornfields, the quiet, the slower pace…I’m not that far away at least.”

“Do you come home often?”

“I try to. Mostly to see Jackson, because I miss him too much.”

“Jackson?” Archer turns his head, eyes widening and his grip on the wheel tightening. Is he jealous?

“Oh my God, has Dean never mentioned Jackson to you?”

“Why would he…who…I don’t think so. Is he your boyfriend?”

My heart speeds up and I lick my lips, eyeing Archer. I think he is jealous. “No, Jackson is my nephew. Wes’s son.”

Archer relaxes considerably. “Right. Yeah, he’s mentioned him. He always calls him Jax though. Didn’t ring a bell right away.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s watched Sons of Anarchy way too many times. Jackson is named after our grandfather, who never went by Jax. Well, never according to my grandma, that is.”

Archer smiles. “How old is he now?”

“He just turned three. He’s so flipping cute. Hopefully he stays that way and isn’t overly influenced by his uncles.”

“At least he has a good aunt.”

It’s my turn to smile. “I try. So…do you like Indy?”

“It’s not where I thought I’d end up, but the hospital is great.” He gives me a genuine smile, and I ease back in my seat. We talk about work the rest of the way.

Archer puts his Jeep in park outside the garage. He hesitates, and I take it as my cue to leave.

“Thanks again, Archer,” I say, and his name feels both good and bad coming from my lips. I extend my arm, giving him the bag of takeout.

“Didn’t you get two burgers?”

“Yeah, but you can have them.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You should eat. I mean, you’ve had several drinks, right?”

“Right.” My heart speeds up. “Who am I to ignore advice from a doctor?”

He kills the engine and gets out. I unlock the garage door and shimmy past my parents’ trucks. My dad’s a contractor, and my mom quit her job as a kindergarten teacher years ago to work full-time along with him. It’s not unusual for the barn, the garage, and occasionally the house to act as storage from a project they’re working on.

“I didn’t know your parents were so high-tech,” Archer muses when I enter the passcode into a computerized lock.

“They’re not. Technology is kind of my thing, though.” I open the door and wait for the dogs to come running. Boots, Chrissy, and Carlos are friendly and don’t give a care in the world who’s walking through the door. All they want is attention. Rufus, on the other hand, is territorial and protective and has gotten worse in his old age.

I slip my fingers under his collar and hold him back before he has a chance to lunge at Archer.

“Hey, buddy,” Archer says, holding out his hand. “Remember me?”

All of my parents’ dogs are mixed breeds, rescued from the local shelter. Rufus is the oldest of the bunch, and I think my mom had just brought him home the last time I remember Archer coming around.

Rufus growls but sniffs Archer’s hand. He considers him for a minute, then wags his tail. He’s a German Shepherd and Malamute mix and can be hard to handle when he goes on the defense. I’m glad he’s good with Archer, because there’s something telling when your dog doesn’t like someone they’ve just met.

“Calm down,” I whisper-yell to the others, not wanting to wake my parents. Obviously I’m a competent adult and can come and go as I please, but I’d feel bad waking them, and mostly, I know Archer would leave.

Nothing makes me feel the child I was the first time I laid eyes on Archer than bringing him back to my childhood home and hoping we don’t wake up my parents.

“What do you want to drink?” I ask, still greeting the overly-excited dogs. I grab treats from the pantry.

“Whatever you’re having,” Archer tells me as he drops to his knees to pet Rufus. I stare for a few seconds, hating how freaking adorable he looks with his fingers buried in the old dog’s fur.

I pour two glasses of lemonade and put our food on plates, taking it to the large island in the kitchen.

“I never realized how much I missed eating here.” Archer looks around the room, flattening his hand on the surface of the cold granite counter.

“You and Dean spent a lot of time in the kitchen.”

He half-smiles and takes a bite of his burger, nodding. I grab two fries and dip them in ketchup.

“The food was only part of the reason I liked coming back to the Dawson Homestead.”