Chapter 283 – Zoom zoom

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…

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?” I pause, staring at her, my mouth hanging open a little with my incredulity.

“What?” she demands, frowning her pouty little mouth at me. “Tell me!” I shake my head. “Ella, in the past three days you’ve broken hundreds of dollars‘ worth of ceramics alone –”

hand. “We can buy new pots who cares

and wipe a hand down my face, trying to figure

“baby, you’re the..you’re the worst wheelchair driver I’ve ever seen. I seriously don’t even know how you ever got a driver’s license, you

about?!” “Baby,” I plead, putting a hand on my heart. “Please, please believe me when I say this

I’m so

jealous,” she asserts, giving me

what to say. Jealousy… has not

up. “If I were bad

that lifts one of the chair’s wheels off the ground. My stomach drops as I lurch forward, desperate to keep her from tipping over, but

do that!” I gasp, glaring at

she counters. “I’m fine- this chair can’t tip over, it’s built

it,” I caution, “it’s

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, happy smile, and I have to say it goes to my heart. It’s good to see her cheerful and engaged again. That’s why I let this go on as long as I did, but honestly? It’s

feel her pride every morning when

spending as little time on my work as I in good conscience could, and otherwise spending my time curled up with her,

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

chair for the day… my nerves are absolutely at their end. Please. For me. I’ll come to bed – we’ll

intending to

the command board and zooming past me, right out of my grasp. “Ella!” I cry, growling as I turn to watch her fly

want to stop me,” she calls over her shoulder, “you’ll

me, despite myself, lights up at this little taunt. A growl grows inside of me as I launch myself after her, out into the hallway and to the top of the stairs where she’s already seated herself on the stairlift,

stairlift frantically to make it go faster. Luckily, as it was built

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 looking up at us like we’re crazy. But I ignore him, carrying my mate definitively into the bedroom and laying her down on the bed. When she’s settled I climb onto

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