A/N: rip Chase's sleep schedule. Shorter update, but hopefully this chapter makes up for Vince's lack of brain cells in the last chapter. Vince seems to get smarter with alcohol in his system, don't ask how or why LOL. Let me know what you think! Almost everything has been revealed about Vince's reasoning, but there's a little more that will be revealed later, just thought I'd let y'all know. Don't forget to comment, vote, follow, etc. Enjoy!

Chapter 39

Vince's POV

It took nearly an hour for Simon to calm down enough to move from the couch. It was like a flip switched off and he jumped away and ran to the bathroom like he hadn't been clutching to my shirt for the past hour. And despite keeping his head down, I didn't miss the way his face was red and puffy from the crying or how his hands were shaking violently.

And then when I thought he had spent too long in there, and wondered if I needed to check on him like I'd done with Xavier for a week after his incident, he stepped out, speed walking to the bed and burying himself into the sheets.

I knew it was wrong, cruel even, to not answer him. But I couldn't. I mean where was I even supposed to begin? I wasn't sure I could even begin to explain myself without it sounding like actual rubbish.

It wasn't that I didn't want to tell him, no, I really did want to. It's just I've spent sixteen years trying to make sense of it all, even trying to forget about it, and all of a sudden Simon waltzes right in and demands all the answers from me.

Chase was right though, I was never good at dealing with things under pressure. And I just wasn't prepared mentally to say it aloud, to voice my reasoning that even a two-year-old could tell was stupid. Any of those pathetic excuses I had or even imagined were foolish.

And a part of me feared what Simon's reaction would be if I had managed to spill everything.

But if I had, maybe it would've been better that way. If he were to leave based on what I said, it'd be better than this stupid situation we were in. It'd be like how I envisioned, what I wanted in the first place. Or was it?

I sighed angrily, before grabbing my phone and texting Chase about meeting up downstairs in the bar. He replied with, seriously? It's 1 am. I work tomorrow.

I sent a mad face emoji and now, to which he sent an eye-roll emoji and fine back.

---

I was two beers and a couple of shots in when Chase finally showed up. He had arrived in some joggers and a basic tee, looking exhausted as always. He yawned before plopping himself down in the barstool. "What is all this about?"

I took another shot, wishing it would just kick in already. "Why couldn't I say it?"

"What?" He grabbed a bottle from the rack.

"Simon asked me why I did it," I mumbled before downing another shot. "And I couldn't answer."

He took a sip of the beer, before responding in his doctor tone, "why do you think you couldn't answer?"

"That's why I'm asking you," I groaned. I reached for a beer bottle, but Chase pushed it to the side.

"Why did you do it, Vince?"

I snatched the bottle from him before glaring at him. "You know why."

"Not all of it." He frowned, taking another sip. "Why do you think you did it?"

"Stop sounding like a therapy session."

"This isn't a therapy session."

I grumbled before taking a shot. "It sure seems like it."

"How about I ask you questions, and if you get stuck or don't feel comfortable, you can take a shot?"

I chuckled. "Isn't that against some doctor etiquette?"

"So is drinking the morning before my shift. Why do you think you did that to him?"

I clenched and unclenched my hand. "I'm not sure."

He swirled his bottle before asking, "well, how did you feel when he asked you?"

I gulped, reliving that awkward encounter last night, from when he entered the room, till when he broke down in tears. That unshakeable cold feeling that lingered every time he was that close to me. And then it only got worse and worse when he kept asking me why.

"How did you feel-"

"Scared," I said softly. I wasn't sure if he could hear me, wasn't even sure I had said it aloud. "I felt scared."

"Why did you feel scared?"

I debated whether or not to take a shot, the answer to his question one giant mess. I bit my lip before answering vaguely, "I don't think he'd like my answer."

"You fear his reaction?"

I took a shot. Chase nodded to himself before taking another sip, before adding, "Why not write it down?"

"Write it down?"

"Write your answer down. If you're scared to say the wrong thing or fear what he'd say or do, write a letter. If you mess up, do it again. And when you're ready, let him read it." He poured a shot for each of us.

"Where do I even start?"

"From the beginning," he said matter-of-factly. "Or when you think things went wrong."

We clinked the shot glasses before downing it, while I pondered where exactly it did go wrong.

My first thought was when my father died, and how that sent the council on some mad hunt for his killer. They would stop at nothing to find the killer, suspecting everyone including my entire family and our friends. And since Michael was disowned, I was expected to take my father's role at the age of nineteen, which meant the council had expected me to deal with this murder accordingly. That and no one on the council took me seriously; they all wanted Michael as the successor since he was so beloved.

It was hard enough trying to figure out the paperwork, the will, and how one was simply supposed to run a pack so unexpectedly. That, and Xavier and our mother were no help, both had holed themselves in their rooms, refusing to speak to anyone since his death, including me.

To make matters worse, Simon had reminded me that we were mates, the day after my father's body was found. And the following morning, the council had found Simon's father's track nearby, the only lead we had in who killed him.

And when the council insisted I declare my luna for the pack, calling the pack weak without one by my side, I panicked. All the stresses and expectations were getting too much to bear, and I only got more and more paranoid and delusional.

I remember barely getting a couple of hours of sleep over trying to find my father's killer, maybe only eating one meal a day during the whole process. And when our only suspect had been his father, I wasn't sure what to do. I mean what would the council think if I had announced Simon as my mate. Surely, the council would have suspected my father's death as a means for Simon's family to gain a higher status. And maybe it was paranoia, but I was sure that it could've never worked out with Simon's father being involved so much in the case. With the expectation of such a harsh punishment, I dreaded the idea of looping Simon into this mess.

And so I had declared Sarah, my girlfriend at the time as my luna, hoping the accusations of Simon's father fell apart. But he continued to be the only suspect, and I needed to do something before they found out the truth.

But if I had to start from the beginning, it probably had to be when Michael had announced David's mate. When my family had become so dysfunctional. The nights my father would warn me if something like that had happened to me, or the way my mother begged us to just listen to our father. Or how I was the only one to notice the bruises my mother would randomly get the morning after they fought.

But when I turned sixteen, that was when I had really felt the fear, the scary dread, and paranoia that haunted me. I remembered the day I ran into Simon outside the orphanage. He was twelve, so I had been the only one to know about us being mates at the time. Father's words had been a scary mantra that I feared, and now that it was coming true, only pure terror had coursed through me.

But even thinking about it now, all these years later, I still could feel the fear course through me. I was still that scared kid when I was thirteen, sixteen, and nineteen. And I now know that I could have done something different. But I didn't, and what I fear the most is that I did the worst possible thing, and there's no way to fix it. It had cost me losing my mother and brother. I lost Sarah and some friends along the way. Michael hated my guts, and I was sure Xavier wanted to stab me half the time. The pack never respected me from the beginning, and I was sure the council was thrilled Michael was the alpha now.

And blame it on the booze, but I was scared that Simon would realize that there was no way of fixing things, walk away, and leave for good like he said.

But wasn't that what I wanted? I wasn't so sure anymore.

But writing all this down? Was there even a way to word it without him thinking that? I know he was foolish for coming back here, for wanting to jump into this situation, but he wasn't that stupid. There's no way I could possibly explain what I felt, or how I felt even remotely justified to do any of it without thinking the worst.

Even if I had started to act like a mate to him, would it even change anything, or just make things worse? If I did everything right from here on out, would he still leave like everyone else?

Or maybe the question was how much time did I have before he decided he had enough?

I chugged the rest of the beer bottle, slamming it harder on the table a little harder than intended. I turned to look at Chase before looking at him sternly, "Chase?"

He hummed, taking another shot before turning to me. "Yes?"

"Lower my dose."

"Huh?"

"Did I stutter?" I picked up another bottle. "Lower my dose."

"I'd advise against it," he said, going to take it from my hand, but I popped it open before swallowing a few gulps of it.

"But that's what everyone wants. Lower my suppressants, Chase."

He frowned, eyeing me incredulously. I gave him a droll look before continuing, "I'm running out of time, Chase. Lower it."

"Running out of time?" He muttered to himself. "Fine. But I'm telling you it's a bad idea. The side effects can be severe, but not that you'll remember anyways with all this alcohol."