Muffled voices came from deeper within the house. Someone pattered up behind the door, and there was a pause. Then the door opened slowly, a short, plump woman poking her head out. “No, we’re not interested in buying your products,” she said warily.
Sinclair sucked in a sharp breath, freezing. His mom made to close the door—Dom threw his hand out, catching the door before it shut. “Ma’am, hold on for a second. Hear him out.”
Opal Sinclair paused, looking from Dom, to her son. Then she did a double-take at his scars, faltering.
Silence stretched between them. Sinclair’s throat worked; he tried to speak, but no sound came from his moving lips.
His mom stared at him for a long moment, her eyes slowly growing wide. She had vivid blue eyes, just like Sinclair did. The same nose, too. “Wait,” she said slowly, opening the door wider. “What’s your name?”
“Jesse,” Sinclair said, his voice rough. “Ten years ago, March 22nd. I was walking home from school. We were gonna celebrate Kelly’s birthday. A van drove up and—”
Something broke in Opal’s expression. She threw the door open and barreled out, pulling Sinclair down into a fierce hug. “Jesse, hon. We thought you’d died.”
Sinclair trembled, his eyes full of unshed tears. Dom reached over, touching his waist. “Okay to cry,” Dom murmured. “You’re no less of an alpha.”
Sinclair wrapped his arms around his mom, burying his face in her shoulder. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home sooner,” he mumbled, sucking in great, heaving breaths. “I just...”
“It doesn’t matter,” Opal said, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I’m just so happy that you’re home.”
Sinclair hid his face, his shoulders shaking as he broke down. Dom pulled his hand away. Sinclair didn’t need him now. He stepped back a couple paces, just letting Sinclair have his privacy. He thought about going back to his truck to wait, maybe heading elsewhere until Sinclair was ready to see him again. But he didn’t want Sinclair to think he’d upped and left without at least saying something.
So Dom waited. Sinclair’s dad stopped by the door, frowning when he found his wife sobbing. “Opal? What’s the matter?”
Opal pulled away from her son, wiping her eyes. “It’s Jesse, Wayne. He’s alive!”
She ushered Sinclair into the house, and Sinclair stiffened when he saw his father. “Dad,” Sinclair croaked. He curled his hands into fists—he was more afraid of meeting his dad, than his mom.
Wayne Sinclair stared for a moment. Then something broke in his expression, too, and he was striding forward, hauling his son into a tight hug. Sinclair trembled, hugging him, swiping the tears off his face. But his dad was blinking hard, too.
“We searched for you for years,” Wayne said, thumping his son’s back. “No one knew anything. We hired private investigators, but nothing came up.”
“I was kidnapped,” Sinclair mumbled. “Was a long time before I could get out.”
“What happened to you?” His mom touched his arm gingerly; Dom could see her heart breaking in her eyes. “How did you get all these?”
Sinclair shrugged, pulling away from his dad. And now he looked uncertain. “I—I was in an underground facility. Human trafficking. They did experiments on me. About six years.”
“Six years? Of experiments?” Opal paled, looking horrified.
“Yeah. I tried my best to escape. They just kept shooting me down.” He looked at his feet. “I wasn’t strong enough to beat them.”
There was so much shame in those words that Dom wanted to go over and hug him. But it was still a family moment, and Dom hadn’t been invited into the house.
“Thing is, you survived.” Wayne clapped his son’s shoulder, his eyes flashing. “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll go beat them up—”
“No.” Sinclair shook his head, panic darting through his face. “Don’t. They’re worse than scum. Don’t—Don’t get involved.”
And the words Sinclair didn’t say, but that Dom heard anyway: I wasn’t strong enough to beat them. They could just as easily kill you.
“Besides, they’re in jail,” Sinclair said lamely.
Not Dom’s choice, lying like that. But he understood Sinclair’s desire to keep them here, away from danger. Safe.
“Good riddance,” Wayne growled.
“But maybe you want to take some self-defense classes,” Sinclair blurted. “Or, you know. Have some pepper spray on you. That’s really important. Never hurts to be vigilant.”
He was still protective of his folks. Just as fond of them as he’d been at his station interview. Yeah, Dom wanted to bring him home tonight.
“You don’t smell like birch anymore,” Opal said, her face falling. “Is that... because of the experiments?”
Sinclair rubbed the scent gland on his neck, flushing. “I... I don’t know. They did things to me. Things changed.”
He reached up, almost touching his abdomen. Then he made himself put his hand down. His mom saw, though. She frowned, touching his waist. “Are the scars... all over you? Can we see them?”
Sinclair hesitated, before pulling off his shirt. Dom expected the slew of lines and grooves and splotches all over his torso. Opal gasped. Wayne swore.
“Baby. Oh, hon.” Opal traced the scars with her fingertips, her face falling. “Did it hurt?”
Sinclair shrugged. “Some did.”
He glanced at his dad, though, as though he was afraid. But Wayne only pulled him into a hug. “You’re a survivor,” Wayne told his son. “I’m proud of you.”
Sinclair choked up, blinking hard.
After this, Dom was going to treat him real nice. Nicer than before. So Sinclair didn’t have to be so surprised when people said good things to him.
As though he’d felt Dom’s thoughts, Sinclair turned, meeting his eyes. He looked... Vulnerable. Relieved. Happy. “I can come back in a couple hours,” Dom said.
Sinclair’s face fell. “You’re leaving?”
“I don’t have to.” And maybe Dom liked that Sinclair wanted him here.
“Who’s your friend, Jesse?” Opal asked.
“That’s Dom. He’s, uh.” Sinclair wet his lips, a flush creeping up his neck.
“His team deputy at the Meadowfall fire department.” Dom stepped into the house, holding his hand out to Wayne. “We’ve been coworkers
