“I want to quit my job.”
That jerks Chase’s attention to him and he straightens up, elbows braced on the table and waiting.
“I just—I don’t like my boss,” Tyler says while Chase nods encouragingly, “and I want to go back to school. Get my degree.”
“What about the house and Lucas?”
“I can go to HCC. I have my trust fund. That didn’t change after the car accident, so I don’t even need to go through Chelsea to get it.”
Chase scowls, but nods. “Ok.”
“You don’t think it’s stupid?”
Chase stares at him. “The only stupid thing said was that question. Tyler, if you found something that will make you happy—don’t question it. Just go for it.”
Tyler’s face is pale and blank, his body stiff, and Chase huffs. “You are allowed to be happy, Ty.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“And that’s ok,” Chase says easily, “I’ll keep believing it for you until you do.”
~*~
Tyler quits his job in late November. Chase comes over on Thanksgiving and they have the quiet breakfast that has become their holiday tradition, then Chase stands and fixes his scarf. “We’re decorating the house. And Dad invited you both for Christmas.”
Tyler nods before Chase smiles and slips away.
~*~
He can run, in his dreams.
A small familiar body runs near him, and a great black wolf runs at his side, blue eyes gleaming. Here, he can run and wrestle with his pack, and he hunts, biting the soft underbellies of rabbits, ripping them open until blood floods his mouth and his senses, and he wants that, wants blood flooding his mouth and vengeance for his dead, wants to rip them all open.
A howl breaks through the night, a high yipping call echoing after it and it jerks him back, calls him to run, chasing his pack until his paws ache and the only thing he can taste is the clean night air, and all he can hear and want is his pack, their hearts beating in tandem as they run through the dark ahead of him.
~*~
That spring, three things happen, although one is not remarked on or acknowledged by anyone but Chase.
~*~
Chase turns sixteen on a Sunday, a quiet day marked with a big breakfast he glares at his dad for and a small present from the police department because they like Chase and always have.
He spends a few hours with Ben and Brielle at the arcade before he retreats to the woods, to the quiet house that feels like home.
There’s a slow ache in his chest, because birthdays are always hard. He misses his mom more on his birthday than he does any day of the year, and even knowing the pain is coming, he’s never quite braced for it.
Tyler is there with Lucas, waiting for him, and he draws Chase onto the new sectional, tucking Chase into the corner, pressed between Lucas’s solid weight and Tyler’s warm heat. Chase lets out a shaky breath and Tyler doesn’t mention the tear that falls slowly as he turns on the TV.
He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s dropping Chase off at home and then, it’s only to say, “We’re going to celebrate tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Chase says, as much for the promise as for this quiet day of mourning. Tyler nods at him and Chase trips inside under the werewolf’s watchful gaze, then crawls into bed and lets the horrible birthday end.
~*~
Tyler finishes the house on a Tuesday, while Chase is on the porch, practicing his krav maga. He nails the last piece of baseboard down in Chase’s room and straightens.
It takes him a moment to realize.
“Chase!” he shouts. He can hear Chase cursing as he flails and falls over before he’s scrambling inside, shouting Tyler’s name.
Tyler turns as he crashes into the room—a small room, painted a deep blue with red accents, with a small comfortable couch and overabundance of bookshelves, a little desk for him to do his homework—but no bed.
John would lose his shit if Tyler tried to give Chase a bed in his house. (John was still ridiculous sometimes.)
“Dude, you’re freaking me out,” Chase says.
Tyler grins at him, wide and manic. “It’s done,” he says. And looking around, he realizes—he did this. Him, Chase, and Lucas. They built a place that’s comfortable and warm and safe, a place that he’s pleased to call home, that isn’t muddled with the scents of anyone who isn’t Pack.
Their little house in the woods, the one that was falling down, that Chelsea had laughed and told him couldn’t be salvaged—it’s the cozy little home they built together.
~*~
The third thing happens on a Wednesday in May, a few days after Tyler grinned at him wide and bright and so damn honest it hurt something in his chest.
And maybe that’s why.
But on that Wednesday in May, alone in his dark bedroom, Chase wakes up, flush and hot and aching, his chest splattered with come and gasping Tyler’s name.
Oh, he thinks. Oh, no.
Chapter 8
After a week of silence, Tyler shows up at Chase’s house.
The cruiser isn’t there, but he can hear a heartbeat, rabbit fast and familiar. He knocks quietly and waits, listening to Chase grumble and complain until he opens the door.
They stare at each other for a long moment, then Tyler says, “Well, you don’t look sick.”
“You weren’t supposed to come looking for me,” Chase says miserably, stepping aside.
Tyler follows him in and Chase curls up on the couch, glaring at his feet while Tyler perches on the arm of the chair.
“What were you doing?” Tyler asks.
“Homework,” Chase lies.
Tyler gives him a doubtful look. “For the whole week? You’ve never had that much homework before.”
“Maybe I just needed some space,” Chase snaps.
Tyler jerks back, stung. They’re silent for a long time, then he nods. “Ok. You know where we are, when you’re done with your space.”
He stands up and heads for the door.
“Tyler,” Chase says, and the older man pauses, holding still as Chase fidgets. “It’s not you. Ok? I just—I need space.”
Tyler shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m used to my packmates needing space from me.”
~*~
He’s fucking everything up and he knows it.
His dad hasn’t asked yet, but this is the first time since the summer neither of them talks about that Chase has spent any real time away from the Reids, so the questions are coming—he knows they are, even if he hasn’t been asked anything yet.
He has no idea what he’s going to say.
Oh, hey, yeah, no—I need to stay away from them because the older man you’re afraid is going to molest me? I had a sex dream about him and I’m pretty sure he’ll know, cause he’s a werewolf. Surprise!
His dad would make The Summer We Don’t Talk About look like a nice, relaxing vacation.
But it isn’t just that—Chase misses Tyler. He misses Lucas.
And Tyler blames himself, because that’s what Tyler does. He takes on things that aren’t his fault and internalizes them, makes them his mistakes.
Chase is fucking everything up. He has to stop.
~*~
“Whatever he did, you know you don’t have to go back there.”
“He didn’t do anything, Dad. He wouldn’t. You know he wouldn’t.”
John pauses. “Did you do something?”
Chase shrugs and shakes his head, a yes-no answer that tells him nothing and probably more than Chase wants him to know. “I didn’t do anything to him,” he says finally, evasively.
John stares at him. “Son, running away from whatever is bothering you doesn’t make it go away. Usually it just creates different problems. I know you care about Lucas and Tyler, and I’m not even going to pretend I like it—but I know it’s good for you. That they are good for you. Maybe you need to stop hiding and figure this out.”
“Can’t I figure it out while
I hide?” Chase asks plaintively, and John laughs.
~*~
Tyler is sitting on the porch when he stumbles through the woods, sipping his coffee and waiting. His expression—it makes Chase want to run, because he did that. He made Tyler look that small and vulnerable, that scared.
“I’m sorry,” Chase says. Tyler stares at him, and he’s beautiful. He’s beautiful and patient, and he’s waiting for Chase to explain this, to explain why the hell he’s been gone for three weeks with almost no explanation.
“Sometimes,” Chase says, careful to stay honest, even as he’s picking his words, “I get scared, and it’s nothing you or Lucas can protect me from. It’s not about you—” Tyler’s eyebrows arch when he stumbles over the lie and Chase backtracks, “It’s not your problem to fix. Not everything in my life can be your problem to fix, Ty.”
“You’re Pack,” Tyler says, his voice stubborn, like that means he can fix all of Chase’s problems and Chase is being especially annoying by not letting him.
“I am. But I’m also me and some things, you gotta let me deal with.”
“Not when you disappear. You can’t—” He huffs and growls, standing in a rush.
“I know. I won’t do that again. I’ll tell you if I need space. Ok? I won’t just disappear.”
Tyler stares at him, his eyes haunted and still hurt, and Chase inches closer tentatively, like he isn’t sure he’s welcome.
Because he isn’t sure.
“I’m not going away, Ty. I’m not gonna leave you like she did.”
Tyler makes a noise then, a low whine in the back of his throat, and jerks Chase forward into his arms. Chase sighs, because after weeks of feeling lost and confused and conflicted—this feels like the surest thing he knows.
~*~
The school year ends in a rush of exams and pool parties, and finals for Tyler. With the house finished, Chase finds himself almost lost when he goes to the house in the woods, sitting idle while Tyler works through his summer classes and Lucas sits, eyes blank.
He reads his way through Tyler’s small library and spends a few days falling down research holes online, but there’s no denying he’s bored out of his mind and there’s only so much training Tyler will do with him before he worries that Chase will hurt himself.
“Here,” Tyler says, a few weeks into the summer, while Chase fidgets, anxious and impatient. He passes a laptop, thin and sleek, to Chase and says, “Before the accident, my father kept our records. He knew our lore. He forged our alliances with other packs and clans. I was—I was supposed to do that for Chelsea. He was training me.”
Chase stares at it, the computer that holds the Reid history, then at Tyler.
“You’re Pack,” Tyler says, “Time to learn what that means.”
~*~
Training is difficult.
He doesn’t dream of Tyler often, not after that first time, but he does wake up achingly hard sometimes, scruff and warm green eyes a phantom vision, Tyler’s ghostly touch heavy against his hips.
He knows what it feels like—to be held down and have Tyler panting against his neck, and his dreams can bring it back with startling clarity.
When Chase is training, he’s careful to not get too close, to keep from being caught when they run through the woods, to never be pressed against the wolf.
He thinks Tyler knows, because he stays away—is just as careful to give Chase space, even when they’re training, is always quick to release him when Chase is pinned during their runs.
He’s careful to never touch Chase.
And as much as he knows it’s for the best, as much as he knows it’s necessary—Chase hates it.
~*~
The first time it happens, it isn’t intentional.
Ben falls asleep at Chase’s house after a long night playing Skyrim. Maybe it’s because he’s bored, but Chase crawls out of bed in the morning and showers, emerging with a smile and a bounce in his step.
Ben blinks at him blearily and asks, “Where the hell are you goin’, man?”
Chase falters, which is, in retrospect, how he ends up with Ben trailing him into the woods, traipsing loud and clumsy through the forest.
It’s almost funny, but just as annoying—after being trained by Tyler on how to move through the forest, how to hunt like a wolf, Chase finds Ben’s blundering almost ridiculous and embarrassing, because he knows Tyler can hear him coming.
“Holy shit,” Ben gasps, when he spills into the clearing. Chase smiles smugly, because the house looks amazing and he knows it. Not many people wander out here—something he knows is intentional—so not many people see the house he and Tyler built.
Tyler, who is standing on the porch, watching with a raised eyebrow.
Ben freezes, whispering harshly, “Who’s that?”
“That’s Tyler,” Chase says, and even he can hear the fondness in his voice.
“Tyler? The Tyler you’ve been hanging out with for years?”
“I only know one Tyler, dude,” Chase huffs, and bounds up the steps.
Tyler arches an eyebrow. “Chase. You brought a friend.”
You brought a stranger to the pack house. Chase hears the unspoken words and he squirms.
“Uh. Yeah, he—”
“Ben,” Tyler says stiffly to the boy standing behind Tyler, “There’s pancakes in the kitchen.”
Ben shoots Chase a wide-eyed stare and Chase nods encouragingly. When the door shuts behind him, Chase deflates.
“I’m sorry. I know—I should have asked,” Chase says in a rush, “I couldn’t get rid of him.”
“I don’t mind you bringing people here,” Tyler says, voice tight, “You bring your dad once a month, don’t you? And I’ve never complained.”
“But you aren’t happy.”
He huffs and Chase shifts. “You—you smell of Drake. He smells like Drake. And you didn’t exactly warn me.”
Chase grins, and even though he knows Ben will be watching, that he’ll have to explain this—he steps forward, voluntarily slotting into Tyler’s space, wrapping around him in a tight hug as Tyler rubs his cheek against Chase’s hair. “Anti-social wolf,” he teases, and Tyler growls, low enough that it rumbles in his chest, as his claws prick teasingly against Chase’s back.
He yelps and squirms closer, and Tyler finally releases him with a smug huff.
“Smell better?” Chase asks, flushing.
Tyler stares at him, quietly satisfied. “Yes. You smell like me.”
~*~
Ben doesn’t say anything for a long time, on the walk home. They go early, before dinner and the sunset, pulled away by the lure of Brielle’s texts and Chase’s unwillingness to let Ben wander through the woods alone.
But eventually, he says cautiously, “It's weird.”
“What?” Chase says, even though he knows.
“The Reids. I mean—you know it’s weird, right? That what you’re doing, hanging out with them the way you do—it’s strange.”
Chase is quiet, and Ben catches his arm. His expression is wide open and earnest. “Chase, you don’t have to spend your time with them—you could come see me, hang out with me and Brielle.”
“Be a third wheel,” Chase scoffs.
Ben shrugs. “Or you could date.” He hesitates, and then says, “You could stop hiding.”
Chase stares at him and feels hurt burning in his chest, tears stinging in his eyes. “I’m not hiding, Ben.”
“You’ve been hiding since your mom died, man,” Ben tells him gently.
“The Reids aren’t hurting me. They’re not—” Chase bites off his words, not sure how to explain without spilling secrets he has no right to share.
Secrets that aren’t safe to share.
“Maybe they aren’t hurting you,” Ben says, “but maybe you’re using them to hurt yourself.”
~*~
He doesn’t like the scent in the house.
The sweaty scent that is layered with aconite and gunpowder, sweetness and swea
t, lightly touched with Chase. He doesn’t like it. When he dreams, he snarls and snaps, biting at the black wolf in his anger, but here, the scent fades away.
Here in his dreams, there is only the sweet familiar scent of Chase, the heavy comforting scent of Tyler, the warmth of summer in the woods. Here, the wind ruffles his fur and his mind is clear, silent, filled only with Pack.
Here, he can’t smell ash and aconite and burning tires.
He runs and when he howls, his pack answers him.
~*~
Tyler watches him, after Ben visits. He’s quiet about it and Chase is pretty sure Tyler isn’t even aware of his gaze, following him while he eases Lucas through his yoga or makes chicken salad, the way his gaze skips over him while Tyler takes a quiz and starts a paper.
It’s like he’s waiting for something.
Chase thinks they both are.
~*~
“Dad?”
John looks at him and Chase shifts anxiously, moving from one foot to the other. He looks nervous in a way that makes his stomach turn, because a nervous Chase is never a good thing, and there’s always that niggle of fear—that whisper that says the Reids are dangerous.
“Do you think I’m hiding?”
John closes the file he’s been reading and studies his son. “Do you think you are?”
Chase squirms, which is answer enough. “I think... I’m comfortable. And I don’t want to lose what I have.”
John nods. “Do you think you will?”
“No,” Chase says decisively, without any hesitation, a certainty that makes John ache.
The only thing he was ever that certain of was Nora and his love for Chase. “Tyler and Lucas want me to be happy, even if I need more time away from them.”
“Do you want to spend more time away from them?”
Chase shakes his head and bites his lip. “I—I think I need it though. I don't want to use them to hide.”
“What about Ben?”
Chase gives him a confused look and John says, “Are you going to sit on the bench again, hide your skill behind him for the sake of friendship?”
Chase stares, a little pale. “You—you know about that?”
John gives him an unimpressed look and Chase flushes.
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