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

in to roll through, then hopped out again to shut it behind them.

Grass and opportunistic shrubs brushed along the bottom of the truck’s chassis as they bumped along the ancient logging road. “Exactly. When she’s around, I make stupid-ass decisions. Like getting married.”

“And when the marriage is over?”

“If something happens after, at least it won’t ruin our chances at dissolving the marriage without a big-ass paper trail that puts a stamp on my forehead as a guy that can’t get his shit together.”

“What about her?”

Zane shrugged. Shit. Freya didn’t deserve all this. A few memories leaked in every so often. Last night, in a painful effort to get some damn sleep, trying not to think about today, he’d played some mind games and tapped his memory until he could come up with some flashes from that night.

It had been his idea. She’d downed the biggest cheeseburger on the menu. He’d consumed about a gallon of ice water. A smiling couple had danced in with a group of friends, declaring they were ordering the lava cake for their reception, the chapel next door having been freaking awesome.

He’d paid for dinner and they’d strolled outside together. A flashy sign declared no waiting required for your dream wedding. She’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed his brains out until the earth spun, its axis irreversibly offset.

Let’s get married, He’d slurred.

Now? She’d asked.

Hell yeah. Sober me would run like hell, so drunk me is taking a stand.

She’d laughed from deep under her diaphragm, Sober me has been engaged three times. I think slashed me should take over.

“Zane?” Asher interrupted his blinding flashback.

“Yeah. Sorry.” The engine revved with enthusiasm; the tires didn’t argue as they passed through a muddy dip in the road. “I’ll be doing her a damn favor. She made it clear, she doesn’t have the capacity for guys like me.”

They pulled to a stop. A winding grove hinted at a creek ahead. Asher shook his head but didn’t say anything. Zane unlocked his feet from bracing the tin can and grabbed Jack as he hopped out of the truck. He shifted a backpack over his shoulder, bottles clanking inside.

Without a word between them, they crossed over a log spanning the crystal-clear stream, then up the overgrown switchbacks for a few hours. They’d traded off the heavy load now and again; Jack should have come with some sort of shoulder strap or something. He weighed a fricking ton and was awkward to carry.

But had been a hell of a lot heavier and scary as fuck when Zane had packed him through the firefight to the LZ, Jack’s head bobbing as he went in and out of consciousness, his legs lifeless.

They reached a flat with a scattering of boulders, then the best damn view he’d ever seen as he stepped to the edge, looking miles across the rugged Cascades. Asher set Jack on a boulder at their side while Zane pulled out a trio of beers. He popped off the caps. They stood and raised their glasses.

After a long, hollow breath, Asher said, “To a hell of a friend.”

Zane nodded, “The best.” Nothing more to say, Zane took a swig while Asher did the same, then set his beer at his feet. He levered the cap off the urn and held it out. “I’m pretty sure this is illegal.”

Asher shrugged, “Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t think Jack would mind.”

Leaning as far out as he could, Zane tipped the urn over and let the wind pick up the ashes, sending fine particles across the cliffside, carried away with the breeze. Asher popped open the beer and poured Jack’s over the ledge for him. Pulling back his arm, Zane slung the metal urn into the valley.

Silently, they stood and sipped, taking in the moment. Eventually, they sat down on the boulders overlooking the view. The draining sadness he expected didn't come. No drenching tears ending in hiccups. Instead? A lightness brushed over his shoulders, a weight lifted as Jack drifted into the sky.

Jack would have preferred just hanging out, feeling normal anyway. He’d have ragged on them for not bringing snacks or more beers.

Shit, when Zane explained why, even for such a somber occasion, he wasn’t getting trashed? Jack would have kicked his ass for being such a dumbass, letting himself get tied up in knots over what to do about Freya. That he should get over himself and admit he was a sap.

Letting all the air out of his lungs, Zane stared out at nothing, then blurted out, “I love her.”

Asher’s lips tugged up. He squinted and looked out over the mountaintops beyond. “I know.”

“She doesn’t want to be married.”

“Doesn’t she? For a woman that’s been engaged three times, sounds like she’s interested in forever.”

“But not with me.”

“Why not you?”

“Fuck if I know. Something about ‘pheromones and muscles and broodiness.’”

“What does that mean?” Asher shook his head, clearly as puzzled at his cousin’s statement as Zane had been.

“Pretty sure it means she wants someone steady and cheerful, without the fricking accidental make-outs.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Is it? Who sounds like a safer happily ever after bet? Steady job, doesn’t interrupt your work, and is a halfway decent communicator? Or, how about the guy that rents the apartment over the garage because he has no place else to go, gets a panic attack every time he gets swallowed by a crowd, seems to think fooling around in someone else’s laundry room during a family party is acceptable, and has little more than his ability to brew a decent beer on his resume?”

“Don’t forget, is a total badass and can solve about any global conflict.”

“Let’s not forget that,” he scoffed. “I actually think those are points not in my favor. Goes against the steady and cheerful aspects.”

Asher downed the rest