Accidental Surrogate

Sinclair

A crash sounds upstairs. The second one today. I groan and put my head in my hand, honestly not wanting to know.

“Dominic?” I hear my mate call, requesting my assistance. I press my eyes shut, ignoring her for just…just one minute. “Dominic!”

“Seriously,” Roger murmurs, looking towards the door. “What were you thinking, letting her put this insane plan into action?”

I drop my hand and glare at my brother. “Ask me that again when you’re mated,” I murmur, steeling myself as I head out of the room. Roger doesn’t say anything as I go, though I feel his eyes on me. I ignore it.

“Ella?” I call from the base of the stairs. The seat of her stairlift is at the top, so she must be up there.

“Dominic!” Her faint voice comes to me, sounding relieved. “Can you come help? I’m…stuck.” I sigh and pull myself up the stairs.

Three days. Three days she’s had her wheelchairs and her stairlift, and while I’m pleased to see her spirits raised, it’s been a nightmare for me. Three days of watching her zoom around, crashing into every thing I own. I’ve already imagined six thousand ways this could go wrong – Ella sliding off of the stairlift and tumbling down the stairs, Ella somehow miraculously managing to run herself over with the chair, Ella crashing through the banister and flying through the air like Evil Knievel… 1

And you’d think that I was kidding, or exaggerating, but…

As I get to the top of the stairs, I turn to see her wedged, somehow, behind a potted fern in the corner.

“How did you even…do this?” I ask, exasperated, as I walk over to her.

She gives me a bright, if embarrassed, little smile. “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I just…went forward, and it was there…”

I sigh again – my three hundredth sigh of the day and lift the plant, freeing her. She zooms backwards in the wheelchair, grinding potting soil from the plant into my carpet as she goes. I sigh again. Three hundred and one.

“What are you even do-” I start, but she’s off already, waving to me as she heads down the hall towards our bedroom.

“Things to do!” she calls, waving over her shoulder. “Go back to work, I’ll catch up with you later!”

I shake my head, following her into the bedroom, eager to put a stop to this. “Ella,” I demand, striding in after her. “This has to stop – I’m going insane with worry –”

“What!” she exclaims, appalled, turning her chair in a little half circle so that she’s facing me. Why are you worried?”

at her, my mouth hanging open

pouty little

head. “Ella, in the past three days you’ve broken hundreds of dollars‘ worth

can buy new

up at me. I groan again and wipe a hand down my face, trying to figure out how to say

sensing a “but” coming. I oblige her. But,” I continue, “baby, you’re the..you’re the worst wheelchair driver I’ve ever seen.

amazing at

on my heart. “Please, please believe me when I say

help but laugh with her. It’s so ridiculous. But I’m so grateful that she finally sees my point. Now I can convince her to

giving me

mouth drops open and I don’t even know what to say. Jealousy… has not

up. “If I were bad at this, could

of the chair’s wheels off the ground. My stomach drops as I lurch forward, desperate to keep her from tipping over, but she just laughs at me as the chair rights itself, zooming out of my reach.

I gasp, glaring at

chair can’t tip over, it’s built into the design

anyone can manage it,” I caution, “it’s you. Ella, please.”

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little overprotective? I mean, sure, I get stuck behind a potted plant or two.” She shrugs. “So what? I’m fine.” She gives me a bright,

miserable she’s been. She thinks she hid it from me to let me go on with my work. But I noticed – of course I did, I could smell her misery on her, could feel it in my very bones. But I could also feel her pride every morning when she sent me off to start my day. In many ways that was the one thing keeping her together – the idea that she was doing this for the baby,

little time on my work as I in good conscience could, and otherwise spending my

smiles up at me. My sweet, clever girl. How do I do this? How do I help her find the balance between misery and

my nerves are absolutely at their end. Please. For me. I’ll come to bed –

her chin as I take a step closer to her, intending to pick her up and carry her to bed. But then, at the last second, a wicked gleam comes into her eyes.

quips, flicking her fingers over the command board and zooming past

to watch her fly out of the

she calls over her shoulder, “you’ll have to

little taunt. A growl grows inside of me as I launch myself after her, out into the

delight, pressing the button on her stairlift frantically to make it go faster. Luckily, as it was built for the elderly, it has

no you don’t,” I burst out, taking two steps down the stairs so that I’m even with her and pressing the emergency–stop button on the lift. Ella gives another little cry, laughing hard and beating her little fists playfully against me as I unbuckle her belt and lift her up

my mate definitively into the bedroom and laying her down on the bed. When she’s settled I climb onto the bed as well, settling over her but holding myself up on my elbows and