The Next Day (Foothills Book 2)

by Carrie Thorne

  “I like where I'm at.”

  “Then we would love to come for a visit. To see what you’re up to. I have no doubt Blaire would love to come, too.”

  “No.” He cringed, walking back outside to figure out how to get through to the dense woman that Blaire and he were never going to happen again. He looked down and saw Freya strolling down the sidewalk, her wild curls wickedly tossed about from the windy walk, her black cotton dress dancing over her skin with each step, tangling in her legs with each gust. “That might get weird. I, uh… I remarried.”

  Shit, had he really just said that? He knew his mother wouldn't stop once she'd found something worth hounding him about. Didn't she ever wonder why he never came home to visit? Normally their calls were easier; his parents loved talking about themselves. When he’d called at Christmas, they told him all about their new puppy. The Christmas before, they’d decided he should invest in a bamboo manufacturer with them.

  Usually, it was more work-based, like today. The Blaire approach was new. And horrible. Had they been waiting until he was out to pounce, knowing that had been the last straw that had brought on the divorce all those years ago?

  “Oh. Of course. When did you get married? I mean–”

  Was she offended to not get invited to his fictitious wedding? She’d missed enough damn milestones. Or was it that he hadn't married the woman she'd picked out? Again?

  “Well, your father and I will still come. I would love to explore the latest earthquake designs, and we could catch up with you and meet your wife.”

  Shit. Foot irretrievably in mouth. Again. Maybe Freya would return the favor and be his fake wife for a weekend. He sure as hell didn't want to face them alone anyway.

  The lock disengaged, the knob turning. “We'll see. Gotta go.” He clicked off, headed back inside and dropped the phone onto the side table before he chucked it out the damn window.

  Freya strolled in, an amused smile on her face. “Apparently this wedding will be one big frat party,” she laughed, slipping off her flip-flops and tossing them into the closet.

  He winced. “Please tell me we don’t have to stay for the whole thing.”

  Tugging her dress over her head as she strolled closer, she rolled her eyes, “I think we should make a brief appearance, then come back up here.”

  Sauntering toward her, he pitched his shirt.

  Their hands were busy the moment they reached each other.

  9

  The Aunts Go Marching

  Music pumped in through the open deck door. Unraveling himself from Freya’s long limbs, her wild hair, Zane dropped his legs over the side of the bed. Grinning in loopy sex delirium like he was, she sat up and wrapped around him.

  “We’ve got at least another hour,” she murmured as she trailed kisses along the back of his shoulder, her breath on his skin flooding heat through his veins. Even after an afternoon of sex, shower, a few rounds of SkipBo, then sex again.

  “You said that an hour ago. Aren’t your parents meeting us here in...” he glanced at the clock, “Oh shit. Fifteen minutes?”

  She squealed and threw her legs over. “Shit. We need to get ready.”

  Chuckling under his breath at her bare ass dashing into the bathroom, he headed to the closet and unzipped the garment bag, pulling out his slacks and button-up shirt. No fucking way on a tie or jacket for a frat wedding.

  Clanking around in the bathroom, finally dumping out her make-up bag into the sink, Freya snapped open her eyeliner and leaned into the mirror, not seeming to care in the least that he could see her “process,” as his ex had called it. She was about done by the time he was dressed. Standing next to her, he pulled his hair junk out of his bag and tried to smooth the disarray.

  He glanced over, catching Freya’s hesitant, lip-biting smile in the mirror. “What?” he asked.

  She moved closer and ruffled her fingers in his hair. “I like it unruly. Tame doesn’t suit you.” Slipping past him, she headed into the room and pulled her dress from the garment bag.

  Checking his reflection, he didn’t mind what he saw. He ought to be offended, but she was right. Accenting the cowlick rather than flattening it looked way better.

  Reentering the room, his heart lurched in his chest as he saw Freya teetering on one foot while putting on her heels. Damn, she was a work of art. Her hair was still wild, but whatever she’d done to it, now each curl was bold. Dressed in a sapphire blue slip dress that clung to all the right places with strappy, icepick heels, she strutted toward him with unabashed self-assurance. Stopping inches away, she hooked her hands in his belt and grinned at him, those intense blue eyes seeing more of himself than he did.

  Tracing a finger down her silver teardrop necklace, he wanted to say a million things. Tell her how fucking gorgeous she was. How he didn’t want the weekend to end. That damn pang gripped in his chest, thundering that he was onto something.

  Pulse racing, he worked up the nerve to believe it. As he opened his mouth, unsure of his next words, she placed a finger over his lips and shook her head.

  A knock at the door chilled things in an instant. Leaving him high and dry, she headed to let in her parents. Glancing to the bed, he realized it looked like the sex-fest it had been since they’d checked in yesterday. Grabbing the blankets, he tossed them back on the bed, just as the door opened.

  Her parents breezed in. Tammy gave Freya a light, no-wrinkle hug, saying, “Honey, you look so beautiful.”

  Eamon nodded to Zane, speaking softly while Tammy walked out to watch the crowd filtering in below, he said, “Thanks for coming. I know Freya was nervous about facing everyone again.”

  Thanks? No idea how to respond, he nodded.

  Glancing out to ensure they weren’t heard, Eamon said, “Can’t blame her. Freya’s always been sensitive. Feels things more intensely than most.”

  Okay… He wasn’t wrong, but it felt like a strange time to be having this conversation.

  Eyes wandering to the single, hastily made bed, Eamon looked back at him, not indicating his judgment on the observation one way or another. “When she left Randy, it was incredibly brave. Can’t say many others would have had the nerve to listen to their heart and not go through with it under all that pressure. Broke her heart to do so. Gives her heart so readily, which has made her distrustful of the concept in general.”

  Had she said her parents didn’t get her? No, they understood her remarkably well. May not have a damn thing in common, but they knew their daughter. He muttered, “I know how she feels.”

  “Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s a good thing. You’re steady. She needs that. Like I suspect you could use some of her passion for everything.”

  And he thought Freya panicked at the idea? Pulse accelerating, vision darkening, Zane nodded. “Maybe.”

  Freya and Tammy were rolling their eyes and laughing secretly as they came back in. Linking hands with him, Freya squeezed lightly and said, “I am apologizing in advance. Between the already-drunk college kids and my large extended family, well, it’s not going to be relaxing.”

  Eamon shrugged and moved toward the door. “Once a decade, Freya. That’s all I ask.” She snorted but followed along.

  The moment they stepped off the elevator, they were immediately engulfed by the swarm. It had sounded busy from their room, but in the thick of it, the chaos was deafening.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, his palms, yet he was chilled to the bone.

  Fucking shit, he needed to get the hell out of here.

  The elevator dinged closed behind them. No exit in sight; the lobby was completely overrun.

  His vision tunneled. With each breath, he felt the pungent odor of bloody, sweat-soaked SEALs packed into the back of the Hummer, his ears ringing as each explosion might be the one that ends it.

  Locking her hand around his, unbreakable, Freya had him out of there so damn fast. Like a salmon plunging upstream, she powered through. She kept them moving until the crowd thinned, then kept
on pushing until they reached the beach.

  Inhaling deeply, he blinked away the blinding panic. “Thanks,” he nodded.

  “Thought you were going to pass out on me.”

  “Sometimes I can’t even guess what’s going to trigger it. I’d heard some of the other guys saying they don’t do crowds. Generally I keep to myself so I had no idea how bad it would be. Fuck,” he exhaled again, pacing and dragging his fingers through his hair.

  “We don’t have to go back,” she stood a few feet back as he walked it off, her expression so soft, empathetic.

  “No. I’ll be fine, as long as we can stay outside.” The music, the shouting, the shoving, the elbow-to-elbow suffocating laughter; it was all too much.

  “Okay,” she said, not a trace of martyrdom in her tone.

  Stepping closer, he took her hand again, resisting the impulse to pull her against him and hold on for dear life. “Really. Thank you.”

  Strolling down the path, Tammy and Eamon wore equally empathetic expressions. Each carried an extra champagne, passing one to Freya and one to him. Eamon said as he handed him a glass, “How long were you in?”

  Downing half the champagne in one gulp, he came up for air and said, “Twelve years.”

  “That’s a long time. Didn’t want to finish it out?”

  Staring out over the water, he shook his head. “I’d planned on it. Then a good buddy got hurt and Asher bailed. I was done.”

  “Sounds like you made the decision that was best for you. I know Asher’s glad to have you in town. Thanks for serving our country,” he nodded.

  Zane had heard that more than a few times. Seemed to mean more when genuinely spoken like this. He nodded.

  The music in the distance softened, and a garbled voice combated the static of the subwoofer, announcing that guests should find their seats, the ceremony would be starting soon. Still connected, Freya turned into him and squeezed his hand, “Okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her parents headed up the steps first. Like an anchor, Freya didn’t let go. They sat and watched the long, boring ceremony in which the bride sobbed, the groom high-fived his best man at one point, and they were announced as married with an abrupt transition to a synthesized rave beat.

  Between the panic attack and the heat and the champagne, Zane’s head was pounding. No sign of water anywhere, he snagged a drink from the nearest server carting a silver tray. His throat was scratchy, his tongue coated in sawdust, he was so damn thirsty. Taking a sip, he cringed and whispered, “What the hell is this?”

  Freya took a sip of her own, “Holy smokes that’s sweet. I’d heard they were planning to serve a signature cocktail. This must be it. Tastes like strawberry prune juice.”

  He took another sip, searching around for a bar or any sort of liquid aside from this awful shit. Nothing.

  Downing it quickly, Freya coughed, then searched the crowd. “We’ve lost my parents. I wonder if anyone will notice if we sneak away now? I was going to make some excuse to my folks, but I’ll text them.”

  “I have a raging headache, if that helps.”

  She turned to him and looked straight past him, a gigantic phony smile taking over her face. “Aunt Bette. It’s so wonderful to see you.”

  Eager arms clutched at Freya, nearly ripping her hand from his. Freya held strong so he didn’t lose his lifeline and get washed downstream. He’d faced some terrifying enemies; hell week wasn’t close to as overwhelming as this wedding.

  “Oh my, Freya dear. How you’ve grown up,” Aunt Bette pulled away and looked her up and down; quite an eye for detail, she genuinely perused. Clearly didn’t realize the gesture was intended to be a compliment, not an inspection.

  Freya continued her phony smile, really bringing out that dimple.

  “Gosh, I think last time I saw you was at your wedding. Well, I guess I didn’t actually see you at your wedding, but, well. You know,” Bette’s mouth soured and eyebrows dropped as if it were some sort of shameful secret.

  “Uh-huh,” Freya nodded.

  Zane pulled her hand and started walking to the far and of the lawn, “I’m so sorry, but I think I see Eamon calling us over.”

  “Nice to see you Aunt Bette,” Freya continued her smile until she could turn her back. She muttered to Zane, “I think I have a headache now too.”

  As they passed another caterer serving those awful drinks, they each grabbed one and downed it. It seemed to be mostly juice, so there was hope it would help with the headache.

  “My dad wasn’t really looking for us, right? Because he’s the opposite direction.”

  He smiled sheepishly, “Must have been one of his brothers or something; I could swear it was him.”

  The music shifted to a mopey, almost elevator rhythm. That damn ear-splitting voice announced it was time for dinner.

  Freya shook her head, “We can order room service.”

  The scent of prime rib wafted toward them, his stomach growling for something greasy to combat the awful cocktail that was tearing up his gut and making his head swim. “Let’s grab some of that, then we can go back upstairs.”

  As they headed for the food line, another aunt found them. “Hi, Aunt Del,” Freya’s phony grin began anew.

  “Freya, I can’t believe it’s you. I haven’t seen you since–”

  Zane cleared his throat, “Wow, another aunt. Freya, how many aunts do you have? What a wonderful family.” He sucked at this sort of thing, but would figure something out to keep Freya from getting a cheek spasm with her overly cheerful smiles.

  Del shifted her gaze toward him, her hair, as black and curly as Freya’s, whooshing from the movement. “Hello. You must be Freya’s…?”

  Nice one. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Freya gulped the last of her drink and blurted out, “Friend.”

  “How nice,” Del’s smile oozed with saccharine charm. Raising her eyebrows up and down lecherously, she leaned closer to Freya. “He’s very handsome. Tall and strapping young man you’ve got. Bette says she heard rumor he’s a Navy SEAL,” she whispered to Freya, as if he wouldn’t be able to hear if she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyebrows waggled up and down, “You know they write romance novels about those guys. How close are they to the truth?” Her eyes tactlessly drifted down and wandered over his package.

  Holy shit, how much had she had to drink? She giggled, a hiccup following close behind.

  Freya nodded, whispering back out of the corner of her mouth, joining her aunt at mentally undressing him. “They’re close, but, really, they underestimate the stamina and dick-size.”

  Del’s eyes widened and she looked constipated as she struggled to come up with a retort.

  Zane’s breath rushed from his chest as he grasped what Freya had just said; he gulped as he struggled to adapt a poker face. Taking advantage of the pause, Freya smiled to Del, “Let’s try to catch up later.” She dragged Zane along as he gulped down the last of his odd beverage.

  “What was that?” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. For my bridal shower, crazy Aunt Del bought me one of those slutty teddy get-ups, all red and lacy, with a book of sex tips.”

  “What?” his eyes crossed at the odd relationship. His family was crazy, but they never talked about things like sex.

  “Seriously. She thought it was hilarious, as did half my other aunts, and they spent the rest of the evening acting like I was a virgin bride and telling me all about penises and orgasms and masturbation. I’ve spent the last decade trying to flush the vivid imagery from my brain.”

  Appearing like a mirage, Tammy and Eamon appeared carrying two plates each. Tammy smiled softly, “By the time you two made it through all the aunts, the food would have been gone. Will you sit and eat with us?”

  His stomach rumbled at the scent of food, fully rebelling at the sugar and bitter of that damn drink. Nodding, he accepted a plate and they found a table at the edge of the lawn overlooking the water. For a while, the four of
them were alone, enjoying the momentary quiet, the rest of the crowd clustered around the buffet table.

  As he was finishing up his salad, another aunt, Gloria, with her husband, appeared and joined them at their isolated table. This one wasn’t as bad. Gloria was Eamon’s spitting image, with the dark curly hair and deep blue eyes, the single dimple. Clearly this is the side Freya got her height and looks from. How many sisters did Eamon have, anyway?

  They made small talk for a bit, commenting on the bride’s dress, the energy of the wedding party and their friends. They almost seemed normal.

  Her aunt looked to Freya and asked, “How long have you two known each other?”

  Chewing her salad for an eternity, Freya nodded as if the simple gesture would answer the question. Nope. Now all eyes stared at the two of them.

  Zane took this one, his expression deadpan, “Feels like I’ve known her all my life.”

  Hand to her heart, her aunt smiled, “That’s so sweet. Truly. Sometimes you can tell when things are right.” She looked around conspiratorially, “Not to judge, but maybe Lulu should have had the guts to get the hell out before the ceremony like Freya did.”

  Tammy slapped her knee she laughed so hard. “You said it, not me. But you’re absolutely right.”

  She sipped on a glass of water. Where had she found water? Gloria added to Freya, “I see Del found you. She still talks about how she saved you from a passionless marriage.”

  Freya cringed, nodding with her lips pursed tight in disgust.

  Tammy rolled her eyes, “Oh boy. Did she say anything?”

  Letting a giggle out, Freya bit her lip impishly, “She ogled Zane and pretty much asked what he’s like in the sack.”

  Clearing his throat, Eamon looked out on the water. “So, Oliver, you been out fishing yet?”

  Oliver winked at his wife before responding. “Not yet. We should buzz over to Joe’s and take him out with us. When do you fly out?”

  “Not until late tomorrow.”

  A server came around and set a plate of cupcakes on their table. Zane grabbed one and finished it off in two bites, but wished he hadn’t, the aftertaste was ripe with sugar and whatever weird cooking oil they’d used, making his tongue feel like a sweaty block of plywood.