The Next Day (Foothills Book 2), Carrie Thorne [easy readers .TXT] 📗

Ignoring his parents and their banter as they inspected every beam and pillar in the place, he showed Freya the rest. Like the walls and floors, the stairs were unfinished and the walls nothing more than a shell upstairs.

Releasing his hand, she floated across the area he had envisioned for offices. Spinning in the diffuse light, she spread her arms wide. “The lighting in here is perfect. Some shiplap on that wall, a subdued sky blue on the others, and these windows.”

Hovering halfway to the ceiling, she looked like a fairy in her element. Fucking contagious. He crossed the distance between them and slipped his arm around her waist.

Leaning in, he rode her thrill, her fairy dust coating them together as their lips met fluidly. Familiar, irresistible, he felt the zing prickle over his skin, his pulse kick up in a steady rhythm to match hers. His hand splayed over her low back as hers laced around the back of his neck, fingers teasing in his short hair.

Footsteps behind him shattered what was a pretty epic moment, each footfall crushing the words he wished he’d said when he had the chance.

Pulling away, he let go and walked to the window. Overlooking the park, he watched a trio of kids playing tag, young lovers gazing into each other’s eyes on their picnic blanket, elderly sisters strolling arm-in-arm down the gravel path, and the old man feeding the birds.

“This building is lovely,” his mom began hopefully. He couldn’t turn his back, knowing exactly the expression she wore. It wasn’t flattering to either of them. He should have kept on driving instead of sharing this with them.

His father added, “I’ll look forward to seeing your mockups for the final designs.”

No fucking way.

And his mom’s turn. “This room is nice, but impractical for what you need. You should knock out these walls and create a formal meeting space for rent.”

And his dad. “I suppose you’ll be brewing onsite. No one will want to see those ugly tanks, so I can help with a façade to hide them.”

He muttered under his breath, “No thanks.” He’d envisioned letting folks see the industrial look of it, feeling like they were part of the process.

“Zane, honey. This is a lovely project for you. We just want to help.”

Turning, he glared, “Why?”

His father’s cheek raised with shock, “Why? We’re your parents. We love you.”

Whatever pang, whatever new rhythm his pulse had been settling into, was masked by searing hot blood boiling under his skin. “Sure.” He gritted his teeth, refusing to say more.

Striding past, he checked his pace and walked out of the unfinished room.

Freya’s voice was laced with an edge he hadn’t heard, cutting through the hollow building. “Why did you come?”

Uppity as fuck, his mother huffed, “To see our son. To meet the wife that we’d never even heard of.”

“Right. Of course. Because you’d hate for him to make the wrong choice. To decide what he wants for himself.”

“That’s not–” His father tried to interrupt.

Freya was a hurricane that wouldn’t be stopped. “No. That is what’s happened. How many times was he out on a mission, and you didn’t even know your son was risking his life? For his country? For innocents that couldn’t defend themselves? For his friends? Because it was the right thing to do. Because he wanted to challenge himself. Because that was his dream.”

Zane leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched his furious wife. She was a sight to be seen, livid on fire on his behalf. Did she really think all that? Aching, filling with a hope he hadn’t known, he let the corners of his mouth quirk up as she said all the words he’d swallowed for too damn long.

“And where were you when he lost his best friend? When he decided to leave the Navy because he had lost himself? And when he’s finally found something he enjoys and wants to make a career out of it, found a hometown he wants to settle in… and a wife that thinks his dreams are beautiful?” She crossed her arms over her chest, smoke billowing from the top of her head.

His parents fell silent, but not for long enough. His mom found her voice, hissing, “Who do you think you are–”

“I am his wife. In the short time I’ve known him, I know that he’s so much more than you give him credit for. If you paid attention for half a damn minute, you’d see the promise of this place. The beauty of something new.”

Blood beyond boiling, reaching volcanic levels as Freya defended him, his parents clearly not getting the point, Zane’s fists clenched at his sides, molars ground to nothing, he opened his mouth to speak. To stand up for his wife that stood up for him.

His mother gulped a bubble of air, “Well, I… I think I need some fresh air.” She turned and nearly ran into Zane.

He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Freya’s right. This is what I want. I…” Just get it over with. He couldn’t unclench his teeth, his raw cheek wedged between his molars the only thing warding off a broken jaw. “I’m sorry I’ve always been such a disappointment for you. Blaire didn’t get it any more than either of you. I won’t bother describing the last twelve years of my life to you. But I’ve known so much loss, yet lived to the limits. And now? I’ve got this incredible wife that will fight for my dreams, and I hope to hell she’ll let me fight for hers.”

Craig let out a heavy exhale. “I’ve got to say, it was tough, watching you push yourself, saying you wanted to be a damn Navy SEAL. What were we supposed to do? Let you risk your life on a dream that probably