To Be More (Slate/Gray Book #2)

Weeks ago, Jackson Territory…

“How is our little project going?” Alpha Jackson asks. His face is pleasant, but his tone says that if the answer is anything less than fantastic, there will be consequences.

The little lackey gulps. “Good, really good. Great. I was able to talk to a lot of people before I had to come back.”

“Ah, did you?” Alpha Jackson trills beatifically. “Well then, it might be time for the next phase. Let’s bring in the locals.”

Present day, Atwood Territory...

“Good work, dismissed,” Slate says with a nod. Immediately the class either disperses or clumps into social groups to chat or gossip or whatever it is that teens and young adults do with their friends. When Slate was between fifteen and twenty like these kids, he was dealing with two separate epicenters of trauma and therefore has little ability to commiserate. However, here on the sparring field where Slate has been walking the fifteen to twenty age group through some defensive maneuvers designed to fend off a wolf, there is one figure that stands a little apart from the rest.

Not particularly wanting to get in the middle of anything but feeling drawn to him nonetheless, Slate figures this is as good a time as any to try to form something of a relationship between himself and Zander. The other day with Aria went alright, he thinks. A rapport has been started there, but Slate’s relationship with Zander is still very…distant.

“Zander,” Slate greets him carefully.

The boy jerks his head up from where he had been staring with furrowed brows at the ground. “Slate!” he startles. “Um, hi.”

Slate nods. He decides to feel things out slowly. “Did you enjoy class?”

Zander’s eyes skitter all around nervously. “Yeah, it was great. You did a good job.”

Zander immediately winces at himself, but Slate betrays none of the amusement he feels on the inside. He merely bows his head gratefully. “Thank you. How have you been?”

Zander’s lips purse, but he still seems determined to come off as unconcerned. “Fine, good. Everything’s good.”

Slate tilts his head and considers this. He senses that Zander doesn’t want to appear uncomposed around Slate. It occurs to him all at once that Zander might be trying to impress him. Zander has always been intimidated by him, he knows that, but there’s a certain flavor of insecurity he adopts every now and then that’s not quite so simple.

It seems logical that he might look up to Slate as what a strong older brother should be, maybe even just a strong male figure in general. It has been quite obvious in the last two years that Zander has always tried his hardest to be a good, strong authority figure for Aria. Frankly, Slate has always thought he fell a little short, but only because of his own youth, not a lack of trying. He was still too much a boy to be “the man” of the house. He has done an admirable job of being everything Aria needed--needs--but maybe the thing is that she doesn’t need another authority figure. She needs a friend, a brother. Zander tries so hard to meet the standard only he expects from himself.

Right now, though, there’s something eating at him, he just doesn’t want Slate to see him being slowly devoured. Slate reflects for another moment and decides to go with his instincts. Even if he hasn’t reached the root of the issue as he suspects he has, this will be a good thing for Zander to hear from a man he looks up to.

“Zander, did you know that I was sixteen when I first took someone’s life?”

The statement has the desired effect of knocking Zander out of any posturing he may have been trying to put on. He rears back and blinks several times as he digests the information. Eventually he says, “No. No, I did not.”

Slate nods. “It’s true. I took three lives and blinded a man for life in one night. And I don’t regret it. I wouldn’t take it back.”

Zander stares at him for a long moment. He rolls his shoulders and compresses his lips, obviously trying to bite something back. Unable to manage it, he bursts out all at once, “How can you feel that way?” It sounds like he wants to be accusing, but feels too raw and vulnerable on the inside to find any judgment within him. “That’s someone’s mother or father and...that’s permanent Slate. You can’t take that back even if you want to.”

Slate thinks his guess was right--this is about what happened a month ago. It’s a sad thought that this nineteen year old boy has been walking around with this burden for a month now. It’s shocking to think that they’re only six years apart in age--Slate feels ancient sometimes.

“Yes,” he says slowly, wanting this to sink in. “That’s true. Even if you wanted to, you can’t take it back. But I wouldn’t anyway. Do you want to know why?”

Zander stares at him with a hard gaze, but nods anyway.

“Because there was no other way to protect my own.” He lets this sit for a moment. Then, “A month ago, were you protecting your family, Zander?”

The boy physically leans back in an obvious attempt to distance himself from the conversation. Slate thinks this reeks of being taught toxically that men should not admit or show emotions that don’t make them appear strong or composed. Zander’s voice is a tad too loud when he shoots back, “This isn’t about me. What happened a month ago was...it’s not the same. I didn’t...I mean I didn’t want to…”

When Zander trails off, visibly looking distraught at not being able to contain himself and present a poised front, Slate fills the silence with a parting thought. “It’s natural to feel guilty, Zander. That’s what makes you different from the monster you think you are. Would a murderer feel guilty?”

Because Slate feels like it needs to be said out loud for Zander to hear, he finishes quietly both aloud and through the bond, “You are not a murderer.”

Zander stares at the ground with hunched shoulders and clenched fists. To save him from having to reply, Slate reaches up to squeeze his shoulder before thinking better of it and lowering his hand to allow him a chance to escape quickly. “Go home, Zander. You did good work today.”

With that, Slate turns his back and walks away. He might think it unnecessary of Zander to admire him, but if the kid has inexplicably chosen Slate as a male role model, Slate won’t take it away from him. If Slate is one of the steady things in Zander’s life, Slate won’t disrupt his careful peace. And the thing is, a role model is not someone you break down with. The best thing Slate can do for Zander, from the box the boy has placed him in, is let him be. If only the four walls of his bedroom at home see Zander break down, that’s fine, as long as he does it. Sometimes breaking into a million little pieces is the only way to build it all back up better.

:::::

Gray sits in Sara’s living room with an amalgamation of Atwoods, as is not an uncommon happenstance. However, there are two uncommon happenstances occurring at the same time. One is that now is one of the rare times that all three of the oldest Atwood siblings and Jason all have time to spare at the same time. The other is their physical configuration. On the couch sit three bodies: Jason, Sara, and Gray, from left to right. On the arm chair sits Asher. And on the ground sits Slate.

Sara and Gray hold hands as Gray siphons aches and pains away from the woman’s overworked body. Usually she’d hold Slate’s hand on her other side or, less commonly, he’d have an arm over her shoulder or a gentle hand on the back of her neck. Right now, however, the tables have been turned. Slate is leaning back against the couch by Gray’s legs and for the first time, her other hand rests gently on the back of his neck.

It’s always a bit thrilling every time the bulwark that is Slate Atwood lets her take the dominant position. It’s always done with such nonchalance, but Slate has to know how meaningful it is for Gray.

“So. Asher,” Sara says now with a tired facsimile of her usual mischievous grin on her face. “How are things going with a certain Miss Erin Baker?”

Asher groans dramatically. “Dude, Sara. I swear, you decide to fixate on the most random things and not let them go sometimes.”

Sara pffts. “Please. Love lives are always low hanging fruit. It’s not a fixation, it’s a reasonable investment in my brother’s life.”

Asher rolls his eyes. “The only problem is I’m the only one you can sink your teeth into now that your other favorite target is preoccupied.”

Gray is always one part amused, one part grateful, and one part curiously guilty when people find new ways to skirt around the topic of Slate and Gray as True Mates.

Slate, who had previously had both eyes closed, cracks one eyelid and chimes in, “If you think Sara has let up on me, you don’t know her as well as you should. Until you and I say our I dos, the topic is free game.”

Gray snorts, if only because it’s incredibly relatable. She’s feeling relaxed and brave enough to add her own input. “It doesn’t stop with you two either.”

Sara reaches over with her other hand to pinch Gray’s arm none too gently. “You’re supposed to be on my side!” She exclaims with affront. “We’re soul sisters, you’re obligated to back me up against my brothers.”

“Oh sorry,” Gray snarks with a grin, “I must have missed that clause in the contract.”

Sara laughs and releases Gray’s hand to shove her playfully before resting the hand on the still subtle roundness of her stomach. “I am one part proud that you’re getting so sassy and one part regretful that I seem to have cultivated it too enthusiastically and lost control.”

Without unsettling from his restful sprawl with eyes closed, Slate breathes a laugh. “I swear, if any of us became president, you’d find a way to take credit.”

“Alright, alright. Message received. I’ll give you all a break. Until tomorrow,” Sara grins happily.

“Well,” Asher draws out. “Since you’re being so generous about it, I’ll throw you a bone.” Sara and Jason noticeably perk up and Gray rolls her eyes. Jason’s just as bad as Sara, he just lets her take the fall for it. “Me and Erin and a couple friends are going to see a movie tomorrow.”

Sara oohs with interest. “So we’re taking the slow approach, I see.” Then Sara sits up from her slouch and turns to Gray, who sighs and braces herself for whatever is coming next. “Gray, you should go with them! You can spy on the happy couple for me! Yes,” Sara sits back and nods to herself as though she has decided something and is very satisfied with it. “It’s settled. You’ll go have fun with people your age and spy on Asher and Erin as penance for breaking the soul sister code earlier.”

“Sara,” Jason says with a fond sigh. “You can’t just tell people what to do.”

“Well,” Asher says carefully, “all I’m going to say about it is this. Gray, it would be really fun to have you out with us and I know the group would love to meet you. I really think you’d have a good time.”

Gray tries to release the muscles that had tensed. When she feels a hand squeeze her ankle briefly, she realizes she’d tightened her hand on Slate as well. She immediately removes her hand with mild embarrassment, though she knows Slate would be the last person to judge anyone. Unexpectedly, when Gray’s hand leaves his skin, he turns his head to eye her from the corner of his eyes. Gray looks back for a long moment until she realizes she’s waiting for him to give a nod or signal that she should or shouldn’t take up Asher on his offer. Frustrated with herself, she impulsively says, “Okay, I’ll be there.”

She regrets the words right after she says them, but forces herself to sit with the anxiety for a minute before making any hasty retractions. She has been trying to reintegrate into society--she’s been job searching for goodness’ sake. If she can’t handle an outing with a trusted friend and his peers, how is she supposed to show up for an interview with a stranger whose job it is to judge her? Gray feels another brief squeeze on her ankle and releases the breath she had been holding.

When Gray realizes Asher has been looking at her with a cocked head as though trying to sort her out, she gives him a small smile and a firm nod. He smiles back. “I’ll pick you up.”

And that’s that.

Conversation flows around her for a while longer and Gray feels content for Sara and Jason and Asher to hold a comfortable conversation with occasional contributions from Slate. Eventually, the conversation turns to a few dramatically reenacted funny stories from Jason’s time at the hospital.

“Jason,” Slate sits up a bit to ask during a lull. “How did you decide to become a nurse?”

Jason gives Slate a weird look. Gray imagines this is a conversation they’ve had before, so she wonders along with Jason what Slate’s endgame is. “Well,” Jason starts slowly. “It really boils down to the fact that I wanted more facetime with the patients than doctors get. I like connecting with them and watching them heal. There’s nothing more rewarding than seeing hope take the place of pain.”

Gray manages to muffle the laughter that wants to bubble over, but has to hide the wide smile behind her hand. Slate may not be able to express his care for Gray through words, but times like these make it so clear that she’s not alone in this. He listens, he notices, he remembers.

It’s happening slowly, gradually, progress almost unnoticeable, but she feels it growing in her heart. And it seems like…

He might be falling too.

:::::

Brett rubs his forehead as he flips through the mail. He honestly doesn’t know how all these people got this information.

Dear Alpha Brett Atwood,

My sister is in pain….

Alpha Atwood:

If you would be so kind as to spare your time and efforts, my son is in need of healing...

To whom it may concern:

It is my understanding that there is a wolf in this territory who may be able to help me with my ailments…

And then the last one…

Alpha Atwood,

This is my second attempt at making contact with you, I hope you are not bothered by my persistence. I only persist because of the direness of the situation and my deep pain at seeing my daughter suffering--if you have children, surely you will understand.

Alpha...my daughter is running out of time. She is a beautiful soul and if I had the capabilities you have, if my sources are to be believed, I would give anything to heal her in the way your wolf can. I would give my life. I will give you anything in compensation. I promise, all she needs is some temporary help and she will be fine. Please.

Please.

With gratitude and respect,

Carl Sheffield

Brett hates being put in this situation, but he thinks it’s time to take action. He has some calls to make.