The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

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,