Slow Shift Nazarea Andrews (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📖

He wonders occasionally what Chase would do if he knew just how strong Lucas truly was before the accident, if he lashed out with all his strength and fury.

Then again, he sees the knowledge in Chase’s eyes sometimes, when he’s sparring with Lucas, that flash of knowing, that gentle push to stretch himself further.

He missed years and sometimes he thinks the only thing that didn’t change was himself, because the boy he teased before he slipped into that damn car—he’s gone, crushed by guilt and the Drakes’ treachery, and Lucas doesn’t think he can get him back.

The Tyler he knew was shy, but he was confident. Clumsy and heavy-handed, but he was still sweet and charming and so fucking sure of himself.

The Tyler he sees now—he’s anxious, reeking of fear, and two steps away from bolting.

He sighs softly and says, “Chase isn’t Mia. And neither are you.”

~*~

As the summer stretches out, continues to be marked by Tyler’s absence, Chase looks at Lucas and asks softly, “What do we do if he doesn’t come back to us?”

Lucas is quiet for a long time because he doesn’t know.

Chase traces runes in the salt on the table and says, “Maybe it’s time to call Chelsea.”

Lucas snarls and Chase looks at him, eyes sharply assessing, and he sighs. “Ok. We’ll wait.”

~*~

He finds them curled in Lucas’s bed, Chase tucked, small and vulnerable, under his brother’s chin. It makes something in his gut churn. He wants to crawl into the bed with them, wants to slip back into his place in the pack.

“Ty?” Chase slurs, and he catches the hand the boy flaps in his direction. He squeezes softly when Chase mumbles, “Come to bed.”

He thinks it’s probably a horrible idea, but he does as he’s told.

~*~

Lucas is up and slipping out of bed when Tyler blinks awake. He registers his brother first, registers the content look on his face, the way his gaze is soft and unconflicted as he gazes down at them. “Fix this, Tyler,” he orders, then slips away.

Tyler looks down at the boy still sleeping next to him. Sometime during the night, Chase had curled into him, one leg pressed between his, an arm tossed over his chest, curling near his collar possessively. His face is pressed into Tyler’s arm and he’s soaked in their scent, so familiar and right it makes every confused piece of him relax, ease into place.

This is right—Chase in his bed, in his pack. This is right.

He presses a kiss into the boy’s hair and let himself doze back off, his wolf finally whining in contentment.

~*~

When he blinks awake blearily, the bed is empty and the house smells like bacon and coffee. He rubs his face and pushes himself out of bed, stumbling into the kitchen in low slung pants and bare feet.

It’s not unusual seeing Chase in his kitchen, cooking like he belongs here. That stopped being unusual before the kitchen he’s dirtying up was even finished.

What is unusual is the pang of want he feels, the bone-deep need to keep this.

Because he could.

He could go to him, press against Chase’s back, murmur a good morning laced with a kiss, and Chase would take it.

Chase would revel in it.

One move and he could keep Chase forever, and this would be his morning, for the rest of their lives.

It’s so tempting that he actually takes a tiny step forward.

Chase glances over his shoulder, his eyes wide and young and hopeful—and Tyler stills.

“You’re awake,” he says, grinning. “Get the coffee, dude. It’s done.”

He does, going about it mechanically, his heart pounding, then he sits across from Chase, staring at his bacon and eggs, at the oatmeal Chase made for him even though Chase loathes oatmeal, and he feels his throat tighten.

“I can’t—Chase, I can’t.”

Chase is so calm, so quiet, that it drags his gaze up, and he flinches at the shattered look on his face. “I can’t,” Tyler chokes out.

Chase nods. “I know, Ty. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he says miserably.

Chase’s heart trips, does this spastic thing that makes him want to howl. “Don’t apologize, Tyler. Not for this. You don’t ever apologize for not wanting someone,” Chase snaps.

Tyler’s mouth shuts with a click.

“We’re going to eat breakfast,” Chase says brightly, “and I’m gonna go home. And tomorrow, when I come back—we’re never going to talk about this again. Ok?”

Tyler opens his mouth, and Chase gives him a look so desperate, he can’t help but nod. “Ok.”

~*~

He doesn’t go home.

He drives across town and Aurora takes one look at him before she says sadly, “Oh, honey.”

Chase sniffles wetly and sags into her arms as she coos, “Wanna get drunk and complain about boys?”

That earns her a laugh, and she hums to herself as she leads him into the house.

Later, when they’re both a bottle of wine and a few shots in, Chase rolls his head to peer at her, blinking against the sun shining off the pool water.

“I wish I could love you. We’d be amazing.”

She giggles and nods. “We are amazing.”

“You wouldn't make me cry,” Chase insists.

“But I couldn’t make you laugh, either,” she says, “Not like he can.”

Chase feels tears burning in his eyes again, so he closes them and throws himself into the pool, and here—here he can’t hear her stupidly wise words, or Tyler’s rejection, or the sound of his own heart breaking. Here, all there is, is nothing.

It swallows up his scream.

~*~

“You wanna talk about it?” John asks, after three days standing behind him. Chase is laying on the couch and cranes his head back to look up at him, stares at him upside down and gives him a brittle smile.

“Nothing to talk about,” Chase says.

John sighs. He nudges at his son until Chase folds his legs up, grumbling the entire time. “School, Ben or Reid?” John asks and Chase scowls, that tiny little boy expression he only ever gets around the Reids.

“Do I need to intervene?”

“You know I’m not fourteen anymore, right?” Chase asks.

John’s gaze narrows,