Slow Shift, Nazarea Andrews [english love story books TXT] 📗

Slow Shift

Nazarea Andrews

Table of Contents

Title Page

Slow Shift

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products.

Copyright © 2018 by Nazarea Andrews.

Beautiful Broken by Nazarea Andrews

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by A&A Literary.

Summary: A grieving young boy and two supernatural men struck by tragedy learn together how to live again..

ISBN 978-0-98947799-1-2

1. Paranormal romance 2. Small town romance. 3. Friends to lovers.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, Nazarea Andrews

NazareaFYI@gmail.com

www.nazareaandrews.com

Edited by Allica Henry

Cover design by Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author

Cover art copyright©: Nazarea Andrews

Ebook Formatting by A&A Literary

Chapter 1

He’s thirteen when he finds the house in the woods.

It’s more of a cabin, really, that looks like it hasn’t been touched in decades. Chase pokes at the rotted wood and wanders around it for few minutes, peeking through the dirty window curiously.

It’s small, a tiny bedroom and a main room only slightly larger. There’s even a kitchen that could be cozy if it were clean.

He loves it.

It feels like a secret, something impossible and hidden and just for him, something she would have loved. He curls up against the door, listening to owls hooting and a coyote crying in the distance.

He falls asleep there, and later wakes up damp from dew and stiff from cold, the woods darkening around him. He stretches carefully and pats the wood affectionately before he stumbles away, heading back to the big house that feels too empty and smells of fading perfume and strong whiskey.

~*~

He doesn’t go back for four months. He spends the summer in Washington with his grandmother and a bevy of cousins he doesn’t know, people who don’t know how to talk to a boy so quiet and sad.

He wants to tell them it isn’t catching. Just because his mom died, doesn’t mean theirs will, too, if they talk to him.

It's a lonely place to be, even surrounded by people, and when he’s overwhelmed by the noise and the loneliness, he thinks of it—of the quiet house that needed a little bit of love, a family to fill it up.

He misses his Dad, and Ben, and his mother, so much it aches in his gut.

Missing a house he slept next to for a few hours is a bit of a surprise.

~*~

It’s late September when he picks his way back through the woods and freezes, breath caught in his throat.

There’s a man sitting in front of the house. He's in a wheelchair, with a thick blanket wrapped carefully around his shoulders, his eyes dull and sightless.

Chase stares for a long time, creeping closer when curiosity overwhelms him.

The man never reacts. He’s pale, with what looks like burn scars covering half of his face. His hair is a dirty blonde, and his eyes—Chase shivers and looks away. H, is eyes look dead, a glassy pale green that reflects nothing.

“How’d you get here?” he murmurs, glancing around.

“Get away from him,” a sharp voice snaps out of nowhere.

Chase stumbles away with a yelp, landing on his butt and scuttling back awkwardly.

Another man—dark, scruffy, scowling—stalks up and runs a hand over the wheelchair man’s shoulders, glaring at Chase the whole time. “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” Chase protests hotly. “And you shouldn’t just leave him out here alone! It’s dangerous!”

He knows the woods are dangerous. There was a body found here a few years ago, and the Reid house burned down just two years ago. His Dad used to tell him to stay out of the woods.

He doesn’t tell him anymore.

The guy is staring at him like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. Chase squirms.

“Why are you out here?” he asks abruptly.

Chase shrugs and glances at the house. “I like it,” he says simply. It’s more complicated than that, but he doesn’t know how to explain it, so he doesn’t try. The man’s eyes narrow and Chase skitters back a few more steps. “I’ll go,” he says, lingering a moment longer to add, “Take care of your friend, ok? He could have gotten hurt.”

Not bothering to sort out the strange expression on the man’s face, Chase trots away.

~*~

He hears the sound of hammering before he reaches the house, and if it had been a slightly better day, he might have turned around at the sound of them, might have said nevermind, but his stomach aches and his face is throbbing from where a kid at school hit him, and he’s so angry he almost wants to fight with the dark haired scowly man.

He trudges forward with dogged determination.

The guy in the wheelchair is parked in the shade near a radio and a folding chair, a blanket tossed over his legs to keep him warm in the cool October air. The younger man—and Chase has decided Scowly Grump is younger—is on the roof ripping shingles off, banging around with dogged determination. Chase doesn’t think he’s actually getting much done, but keeps his mouth shut.

Chase watches for a second, and then Scowly Grump flicks a glance at him. “You,” he says, not surprised.

“Me,” Chase agrees sourly.

“This gonna be a regular thing?”

“Maybe,” Chase snaps.

The guy nods, his scowl deepening. “You got a name?”

He hesitates before heand then answers, “Chase.”

That earns him a hum of acknowledgement. “I’m Tyler. That’s my brother, Lucas.”

And then he goes back to work, seemingly uninterested in Chase at all, certainly not in the bruise blooming on his cheek.