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

“Oh, of course.” Susan smoothed her khaki shorts and scuttled into the bathroom.

Craig looked to be working at jumping on board but hadn’t quite gotten there yet, but Susan maintained the overly accommodating attitude. He fumbled his phone in his hands. “I’ll uh, just fire off a text to… I’ll let work know we’ll be unavailable for the day.”

Quickly tossing on her sneakers, Freya zipped into the kitchen to at least get the breakfast pan soaking and dishes rinsed. She barely had time to wipe down the countertops when Zane’s parents were pulling their shoes on and heading to the door. Impressive.

She tossed the rag next to the sink and followed them out the door. A few steps behind, Zane’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen and held up his hand, “It’s Grady. I’ll catch up.”

Snagging a quick kiss as he put the phone to his ear, Zane flashed her a sizzling wink before answering. Bouncing down the steps like gravity wasn’t a thing, Freya joined Susan and Craig as they waited at the base of the stairs, studying the main house.

Pointing to the awning, Susan nodded knowingly, “Excellent color choices, and I can see where the shutters have been updated.”

Craig considered, then added, “Sharper of an angled roof for a craftsman than is typical. Must be handy if there’s a heavy snow.”

Braving the topic, keeping her voice light, Freya said, “My grandfather was quite particular about that. He wanted to build a home that would stand for generations.”

“That’s right, your grandparents owned this,” Craig nodded. Freya resisted snorting. Maybe they should have their memories checked. Or their attention span.

Tires crunched the gravel in the distance, an engine growling at too high of a speed for a low gear. Instinct sent adrenaline coursing deep under Freya’s skin, setting her gut rumbling in protest at the sound. No one friendly drove up that fast.

“Go,” she motioned for her in-laws to head up the stairs.

“What? Um, okay,” the slow-pokes began to meander up the steps.

Too late. Stranded at the base of the steps, Freya turned as the truck came into view.

No longer shiny, chunks of dried mud dropped off the wheel wells as the truck slammed on the brakes, sending loose gravel splaying in all directions. Arms crossed, Freya stood tall.

Toby flung open the driver’s side door and stomped out. “Where is he?” Eyes bloodshot, greasy hair plastered flat to his scalp, he growled and scanned the property.

“What?” Not good. Freya could smell the liquor through the dust that hung in the air.

“That cheating husband of yours.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She forced her voice steady, hating the underlying waver.

“You ought to be as pissed as I am. He’s been fucking my wife behind both our backs.”

Toby stormed closer, his arms stiff at his sides, a snarl on his teeth.

Freya stood her ground, her pulse thundering, breath coming fast as panic set in. If Zane came out now? She held her ground, dreading what he had planned for Zane.

As Toby neared, he reached to shove her out of the way. “Don’t protect that two-timing piece of shit.”

Creaking on its hinges, the apartment door swung open. Dammit, Zane. Freya anchored her feet, whipping her head toward the open door. “Don’t you fucking touch her,” Zane roared.

Sneering, Toby growled, “’Bout time you show your face. Although, tit for tat, Freya here can come on with me and I’ll show her the good time you showed my wife.”

Rather than the shove she’d been anticipating, Toby grabbed her arm and yanked her against him.

“Don’t touch me,” she tried to rip free, but his grip was iron. Trying to swing her body to throw her hip into him and drop using some strategies she’d learned in self-defense class, she froze when he reached behind his back with his free hand.

Spitting in his face, she bought more time before he could take aim.

“Bitch,” Toby let the spit stream down his face as he drew the gun.

From the corner of her vision, she saw Zane’s parents still frozen on the steps. Bypassing the statues they’d become, Zane leaped over the rail and landed on the gravel, his feet moving before he even hit the ground, taking off at a furious sprint toward them.

As Zane closed in, Toby swung the gun and aimed directly at Zane.

Stopping on a dime, Zane raised his arms and Zane froze in place. “She has nothing to do with it. Let her go.”

“But she does. I heard about you sweet talking Sienna while she was at work, thinking word wouldn’t get back to me. Bitch didn’t even deny it. So, Freya and I are going for a little drive so I can show her what being fucked by a real man looks like.”

“In your dreams,” she roared. Straining at his grip, she tried to get him to look away, to lower the gun, something, but he didn’t move his eyes or the gun from Zane.

Never taking an eye off of Zane, Toby tugged at Freya, dragging her toward his truck. Her arm throbbed from his tight hold.

“Don’t think you’re going to be able to get her into the truck without losing your grip on that gun,” Zane nodded, his expression remarkably calm.

“You’re right,” he sneered. “Get in the truck or he’s dead.” Her gut hollowed as she realized she was out of options. Didn’t matter if she could get away, his finger was already twitching over the trigger. One wrong move, and Zane was dead.

At the open driver’s side door, Freya stepped onto the side runner.

A sputtering engine rattled down the driveway.

Toby blinked and hissed, “Move it.” His eyes darted as he was tempted to look down the driveway, but