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Hopefully soon, I wouldn’t need any distractions at all.
Chapter 3 - Liam
Cars drifted past the corner of Fiore and Market Street where a beige two-story building sat nestled in a collection of bare trees. Dead leaves coated the grass on either side of the concrete sidewalk, piling extra high around a mailbox situated to the right of the main path.
I was just across the street, standing with my hands in the pockets of my windbreaker and my nose shoved into my scarf. The surrounding area hosted plenty of business buildings, all the same beige color with teal accents, and boasting even numbers. Behind me stood a thrift shop, closed.
That was the only reason I kept standing here. Because maybe standing here would get me across the street faster, or maybe it would slow things down. I hadn’t expected the owner of the clinic to call me back so soon. Adoption probably would have been easier than surrogacy, but adoption didn’t guarantee the progression of my lineage.
After that weird conversation with my sister two days ago in the greenhouse, I felt like I had to double down on my plans. I had nothing better to do with my life. Many years had been spent shooting down evil shifters and humans alike, entire towns getting leveled before my eyes. Civilians would inevitably get caught in the cross fire, and I’d suffer the resulting nightmares.
But not anymore. This was my chance to contribute to the world instead of taking from it. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity due to my sister’s strange feelings about me choosing to be a single father.
Two more minutes of breathing and I crossed the street. I passed the mailbox. I kicked through a few thick puddles of leaves, listening to them crunch intermittently under my steel-toed boots. Ahead of me were the tinted double doors with the white letters of the clinic’s name in script:Stork’s Elite Circle.
A cold wind smacked into my right side, sending leaves scattering across the path ahead of me. The chill barely broke through my jacket as I reached the door and pressed the red button on the intercom to the right.
Static came through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice asking, “Welcome to Stork’s. Do you have an appointment?”
“Yeah, at ten.”
“Last name?”
I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. “Mullen.”
The intercom crackled and then the door’s lock clicked loudly. As I pulled it open, I was met by the scent of various shifters—deer, birds, and especially wolves which were the most predominant shifters in this particular area—along with a hint of baby powder.
I rubbed my hands together.Nothing like the smell of babies to make somebody want to go the way of surrogacy.
The hallway felt more clinical than I anticipated with its dark blue carpet and light peach walls. Portraits of happy couples and families hung on the walls with placards next to them, one of them listing the founder of the clinic herself, Patricia Watkins. One of the posters at the end of the small hallway was of a stork carrying a blanketed baby through the air.
I rolled my eyes.Great branding.
A caramel desk sat to the right of the hall’s opening where a woman with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes was on the phone. She gestured with a smile to a clipboard sitting on the counter in front of her.
Sign-In Sheet.
I scribbled my name on the third line and turned to the immaculate waiting room where practically no one else sat. A couch of coral pink huddled under a grand window, tinted likethe front doors. Several cushioned chairs of various pastel colors perched around the couch or sat flush against one of the three walls. A door on the other side of the front desk held a placard that read,Authorized Personnel Only.
Clinical indeed. But this was the only place within one hundred miles that served shifters. This clinic also served humans, but I wasn’t sure how the process worked for them. I supposed I was about to find out.
The moment I chose a seat, the door next to the front desk opened. A tall woman with fawn-tan skin, dark brown eyes, and long sunflower-brown hair wearing a white doctor’s coat over a light blue pantsuit stood with a file in her slim fingers.
She smiled at me. “Mr. Mullen?”
I put on my best grin and walked briskly over to her. “That’s me.”
“I’m Patricia Watkins. Won’t you join me in my office?”
“Sure.”
The door clicked shut behind us in the private hallway. More blue carpet and light peach walls. More portraits. It almost felt intimidating to see people so damn happy. But maybe that was because my own family life had been chaotically disrupted.
That was why this was important. I wasn’t just passing on my lineage. I was making sure my parents didn’t die for nothing. I’d done everything I could to fix the world after that dreadful night. Now that I had a chance at creating a home without any danger, I didn’t want to let it slide through my fingers.
Patricia walked a few feet ahead to an open doorway on the left. She motioned for me to go in ahead of her, surprising me with a chrome and pink office, complete with a wide tinted window over a modest glass desk. Bookshelves on either side of me held enough baby books to rival the local library.
I stared at the pink and blue seashell chairs, neither one of them appealing to me. But when Patricia cleared her throat, Itook a seat in the blue seashell. No use making the woman wait on me.
