Accidental Surrogate for Alpha novel Chapter 284

Chapter 284: 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… 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?”

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 –”

“Ceramics” she mutters, waving a flippant hand. “We can buy new pots who cares about that –

“Ella!” I insist and she snaps her gaze up at me. I groan again and wipe a hand down my face, trying to figure out how to say this. “Sweetheart, you know I love you…”

She cocks her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me, sensing a “but” coming. I oblige her. But,” I continue, “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 are just so bad at

“What!” she screeches. “I am amazing at this! What are you talking about?!”

“Baby,” I plead, putting a hand on my heart. “Please, please believe me when I say this – and I love you – but you are awful at this –”

She laughs at me then and I can’t 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 give up –

“You’re just jealous,” she asserts, giving me a clever, wolfish grin.

My mouth drops open and I don’t even know what to say. Jealousy… has not even come into the equation. “Ella, seriously,” I begin, but she interrupts.

“Seriously!” she picks up. “If I were bad at this, could I do this?”

She spins her chair then in a quick circle 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 she just laughs at me as the chair rights itself, zooming out of my reach.

“Don’t do that!” I gasp, glaring at her.

“What!” she counters. “I’m fine- this chair can’t tip over, it’s built into the design