Accidental Surrogate

I sigh and spreads my body out against Sinclair’s, tracing the lines of his body beneath his clothes. I close my eyes, relaxing, letting myself feel the warmth of him, basking in the joy of having him safe and healthy and near, of the knowledge that our baby boy is asleep on the other side of the room.

“You do agree with me though, right?” I ask quietly. “All jokes aside?”

Sinclair takes a minute to consider and then he nods, his eyes still closed. “I think they should sort it out themselves,” he answers quietly. “But I agree, Ella – if he’s not willing to take her whether or not she can give him children…he should let her find someone who will.”

“Thank you, Dominic,” I respond, my voice barely audible, sending a little pulse of sincere gratitude down our bond. He sends love back.

And then we both relax, our bodies falling into a deeper rhythm of breathing that carries us near sleep.

Sleep that’s interrupted, suddenly, by the sound of the doorbell below.

I groan, pulling my head up off of Sinclair’s chest. “Who the hell could that be.”

“Probably someone who forgot a purse. Or a shoe. Or…whatever,” Sinclair mutters, working to sit

1. up. I rise too, letting him up, smiling at my sleepy mate who is so tired that his words aren’t making much sense.

He sighs, rising to his feet, and I get up with him.

“Stay,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder, nodding back to the bed.

“No,” I sigh. “I’ll come with you. It’s probably for me, anyway. A package or something.” I’m rueful, suddenly, that we’ve let all of the staff have the day off after the long night. It would be nice to have someone else to answer the door…

…but then I realize that that’s horribly selfish and privileged, and I take my mate’s hand, tugging him towards the door and grabbing the baby monitor on the way, switching it on. Who have I become, really, that I’m turning my nose up at having to answer my own door?

Considering some of the conditions I’ve lived in previously in my life, I should be thanking my lucky stars that I even have a door.

Frustrated with myself, I hurry down the stairs, Sinclair following steadily behind.

When I pull open the door, though, there’s nobody there. Frowning, I look around, and then down at the doormat, where there’s a little folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I ask, bending quickly to pick it up, the baby monitor making little static noises

my left hand.

Sinclair as he

before pulling the door shut, obviously

to anyone?” he asks quietly, suspicious.

growing with every step. Quickly, I

seal

his voice harsh with worry. “Don’t.”

—

at him, suddenly worried myself. “Why?”

“I just…it’s strange. Let’s…treat it carefully.

and I place

“Come on,

heading for the kitchen. I follow eagerly, desperate to

of the

call, holding the baby monitor tightly between

((

note. Then, he carefully places it on the butcher block and grabs a knife, moving his body away as far as he can as he begins to carefully slice

it – hoping, needing him to be overreacting right now “do you think it’s going to explode

the seal. When nothing happens, he stands up straight.

anxiety keeping me absolutely

he steps closer to the envelope, holding it carefully in his hands

the piece of paper with his knife, flipping it over, making sure there’s nothing strange about it, and

just a note,” he says, looking over

breathe out, relieved, rushing to his side. “You had

arms around him and peer at it. “What

open the note, revealing a hurried scrawl of handwriting inside – just

from my face as I read it again,