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

principles to bore himself to sleep, but that pissed him off, remembering his parents would be arriving soon and would do their utmost to get him interested in architecture again.

He lumbered to the bathroom and took a long shower, but the soap Freya had bought him reminded him of how good she always smelled. Earthy, spicy, refreshing, as complex as she was. When even the glass of hot milk he’d resorted to didn’t work, he gave up.

He’d already spent all damn day and the night before reliving his stolen moment with Freya. What had he been thinking, doing what he’d done with her in the laundry room in the middle of a family party? And, fuck, she’d been so damn hot, tasted so damn good, her response so genuine. Yeah, they weren’t supposed to be fooling around, but the moment had been so natural, like their weekend before the damn wedding.

No doubt about it, they couldn’t see each other anymore. At least not until the annulment hearing was over and they were free to be free again.

Maybe he’d walk over there, sneak in, and if she was awake, he’d make sure she was okay with everything that had happened; she’d been so quiet on the drive home. He given her space, but it was killing him.

And if she was asleep? Even better. It wasn’t cohabitating if he stole a few hours snuggle. And she’d have to sleep over when his parents got there anyway.

He opened the closet to grab his shoes, only to find they’d landed on Jack, a muddy shoeprint tarnishing his stainless-steel case in his isolated corner.

Fucking shit, Jack. Lowering to his knees, he tried to brush away the crusted dirt, a few fine scratches already etched into the side.

You couldn’t have waited two more days? Staring at the lifeless box, he was roped into the mental trap he’d been avoiding. Two fucking days, that’s it. Maybe he could have…

Nope. Not doing it. It was past time.

Rising to his feet, he stalked back to the bedroom. He picked up the phone and put it back down again. Asher didn’t deserve his night ruined by Zane waking him to demand they set a time to scatter Jack.

He couldn’t have said why he did it, but hell, he did. Before he could second guess himself, he hit send. Answering before the first ring even finished, Freya’s bleary voice soothed the ache in his chest, “Zane? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled.

“Okay. Good.” She paused, waiting for him to speak.

His mouth opened to say something, anything, but no sound came out. Burning in his chest, a million notions refused to emerge as anything coherent. “Sorry I woke you.”

“I’ll come over.”

“No. That’s okay. Just… talk to me.”

“Okay. Um, I painted all day. It felt amazing.”

“That’s great. I know you hadn’t been feeling it lately.” His breath came easier, lighter as he shifted his focus.

“I hadn’t, but something clicked. It felt… better than ever.”

“Can I see it? Tomorrow?”

“Anytime.”

“I’d say right now. I couldn’t sleep and was on my way over, but… anyway. Tomorrow?”

“Absolutely.” He could hear her smile on the other end, coated with those nerves he knew she couldn’t hide when it came to sharing her work. So damn confident in all things, but so vulnerable when she shared something so personal.

“I set up an Instagram account.”

“I’m sorry. You hate social media.”

“I really, really do. But I really love being home again, so it’s a necessary evil.”

“What are you going to post?”

“I have no idea. I think I’ll follow a few interesting people first, you know, get a feel for things first.”

“I let Jack die,” he blurted out, the words having been waiting until he wasn’t holding them back.

“What? No you didn’t. You were there when he died. They couldn’t revive him.”

“Before that. I knew something was up. But we left him.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“Logically, I know you’re right. By some miracle, he made it out of there. But he never got over it. Never walked again. So damn many surgeries. I should have been there with him. I was trying to hurry my ass out of the Navy and get out of the shitshow it had become without Asher and Jack… and I watched him slip away. Too many pain pills. Then harder stuff when he couldn’t make the pain go away.”

“He was a lucky guy.”

What?

“To have you worry about him. To regret that you couldn’t save him. I know you left the Navy to take care of him. He knew you were coming for him.”

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

“He would have held on if he could. He waited for you and Asher in the end. He didn't die alone.”

Rubbing a hand over his face Zane let the image of Jack lying motionless in the hospital bed, so many tubes and wires. His ears still rang with the flatline alarm.

“What would he say, if he saw you in this holding pattern, refusing to move on? It’s not that you don’t have a dream, it’s that you won’t let yourself.”

He chuckled under his breath, a burning behind his eyes at the absurdity, “Jack didn’t like to word things pretty. He’d tell me to shit or get off the pot.”

Her smile resonated in her voice, “He’s lucky to have friends that will be sure he’s remembered. Tell me something crazy about him.”

Dropping back on the bed, his throat threatened to close at the barrage of memories flooding in. “He was afraid of heights.”

“Seriously? He was a Navy SEAL.”

“I know, right? He’d get to the door of the plane, and he’d grip the sides and whisper so the other guys couldn’t hear, ‘I can’t. Just push me out before I start bawling like a baby.’”

“Did you?”

“Fuck