by Abby Niles
The elevator took its damn time reaching the third floor. The second the doors parted, he sprinted for room 350. As he passed the waiting area, Mac noticed Rick sitting there. Fury had him charging the man. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer Gayle’s phone? I’ve being going insane with worry the entire goddamn drive down here!”
Rick held up his good arm to stop him. “Her phone must still be in the SUV. I didn’t think to grab it. I just got in the ambulance with her. I didn’t realize until I got here that I had no way to get in touch with you. I’m really sorry.”
Mac inhaled a breath, trying to calm his fury. “How is she?”
“She looks worse than she is. She regained consciousness on the way to the hospital. She hit her head pretty hard, but the doctors don’t see any sign of a concussion. They’re keeping her for observation because of how long she was out, and giving her IV fluids for dehydration. She’s resting right now.”
“I’m going to go see her.”
Mac left the two men in the waiting room and found Room 350. He walked in and froze, horrified at the bruises and lacerations all over her beautiful face. An IV was taped below her collarbone, and a large bandage was wrapped around one arm.
The lifeless hazel eyes that had haunted his dreams for the last couple of weeks formed in his mind. He blinked, shaking his head. Instead of Gayle’s usual bright smiling face, he saw the battered and bruised woman lying so still in a hospital bed—because she chased destruction, because she took her safety out of his hands. He couldn’t trust, couldn’t hope, that she would come out of her chases unscathed. Not with Mother Nature. It was unpredictable. He was going to lose her, eventually. He knew it.
Lifeless hazel eyes flashed before him again. Panic became crushing, stole his ability to breathe. He stumbled backward.
He couldn’t do this.
He loved this woman so fucking much, but he couldn’t do this again. He would not lose another woman he loved to a tornado.
She’d survived the terror they’d gone through together, she’d survived this one, too…but how many chances did a person get to escape death?
This crash wouldn’t stop her. She’d be right back out there the moment she was able to. Leaving him to worry, terrified of seeing her like this again, about losing her forever. He just couldn’t.
He slowly backed out of the room, then spun and sprinted down the hall. As he passed the waiting area, Lance yelled after him, but he kept going—his only goal was to get the fuck away.
Once he had himself back in the truck, Lance slammed into the driver’s seat right after him. “What the hell are you doing?”
He shook his head. “I won’t go down this road again, Lance.”
“Give it a few days, Mac. If you leave right now, you’re going to regret this.”
“What I regret is coming back to Kansas. This place has never brought me anything but grief. Gayle knew I might not be able to hack it, we both knew this was possible. She won’t be surprised.”
Lance stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “All right. But this is on you, Mac. Not Gayle. That woman is perfect for you. And you’re letting fear of something you have no control over—that no one has any control over—ruin the future for you. Like I said, that is all on you.”
He breathed deep, the pain in his heart agonizing. There was only one thing he could do to keep it from being completely crushed. He had to allow it to tap out—surrender as he would in the cage when the only choice he had was between gracefully accepting defeat and leaving a broken man. He stared morosely out the window.
This opponent was bigger than him. Gayle deserved more than a man who’d only try to change her. Because now he didn’t think he could ever let her go out there again. He’d use guilt to make her stay, so he wouldn’t have nightmares of seeing her like this again, over and over.
And she’d grow to hate him for it.
Either way, their relationship was doomed to fail. Why put either of them through the agony? Better to leave now and accept defeat.
Gayle stared out the window of her hospital room. So far, she had been able to pretend she was asleep so she wouldn’t have to face Rick, but it had now been three hours since she’d opened her eyes just in time to see Mac flee the room. She could no longer pretend.
He’d left. Just as she’d known he would. She cursed the sting attacking the back of her eyes. She would not cry.
“Gayle?”
Damn it, this was exactly why she’d pretended to be asleep. She barely had control over her emotions. No way did she want to talk about this. Or anything.
But none of this was Rick’s fault. So she blinked, plastered on a fake smile, and turned to him.
“Hey,” he said.
God, puppy-dog eyes. Really? She was feeling bad enough as it was, she didn’t need everyone else feeling bad for her, too. “Don’t look at me like that. I told you he would leave, and he did. Big shocker.”
“So you know?”
“Opened my eyes in time to see the man jackrabbit out of here like the coward he is.” Bitterness crept into her words, giving them a biting edge. She pressed her lips together. At least she hadn’t called out to him and begged him to stay. She’d saved herself a sliver of dignity.
“He was really freaked the hell out, Gayle. When he passed the waiting room, there was no color whatsoever in his face. When Lance called after him, he didn’t even slow down.”
And she’d known that. Given him the benefit of the doubt, and allowed him a freak-out session. He was entitled to one, after going through the hell he had.
“But he hasn’t come back, has he?” she said evenly. “It’s been three hours. He hasn’t called, sent a flower, card, or even a text. I’m in the hospital, Rick. I’ve made concessions for this man from day one. I’ve been there for him—put up with him—through everything. The one time I need him, he runs away. I’m better off without the jerk.”
That’s right, girl. Stay angry. Keep angry. Then you won’t feel the pain.
But she was lying to herself. Mac had been there when she’d needed him. The night in the shower after the EF-5, and later, when they’d visited her hometown. He’d been her rock. She hadn’t had a rock since Sam died. Okay, so she had been there for Mac more. But his wounds were fresher.
And there she went—making concessions for him again.
Disgusted with herself, she rolled her eyes.
“How you feeling otherwise?” Rick asked, looking at her bandages.
Thankful he’d dropped the topic of Mac, she said, “Sore as hell.”
“Seen the doctor?”
“Few hours ago. She said they’d release me in the morning.”
But Gayle had no interest in returning home to face Mac. How much longer would he be in town? At this point, she wanted him to leave immediately.
So she could pick up the pieces. Again.
God, that road was so familiar. Fool that she was, she’d hesitantly started to believe all the heartbreaking roads she’d traveled until now had been in preparation for Mac—her final road, her final destination. Wrong. He’d been just another man aiming to come into her life and tear it all to hell.
She was so over men. Permanently. This time for real.
There, that felt better.
“The SUV is totaled. We’ll have to rent a car to get back home,” Rick said.
She shrugged. They could stay right here, for all she cared. “Were you able to salvage any equipment?”
“I haven’t really had a chance to look.”
“Probably should get on that,” she said.
“You’ll be okay if I leave for a while?”
She knew why he was hedging, not wanting to leave her alone because of Mac’s abandonment, and that made her stomach cramp. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
She always had.
Still, he hesitated.
“Rick. Go.”
“All right. I’ll be by later.”
Once he was gone, she
leaned back against the pillows and returned her gaze to the window. She tried to concentrate on the side of the other building, counting windows, bricks, people coming and going, but her mind kept wandering back to those last seconds before everything had gone black—the desperation of phoning Mac so he would know she was safe, not wanting him to worry for one minute that she’d been involved in the large tornado. Knowing he’d be going nuts if he didn’t hear from her. Then the tree falling. Their car flipping. The pain. And the vague awareness that Mac was hearing every single second of it.
And, as the darkness had claimed her, she remembered wishing she had told him she loved him, just once. So he’d know. In case she didn’t wake up…
Now that she was, she was so glad she hadn’t.
God, that was messed up, but the damn truth.
A light tap sounded on her door and she turned to find Lance standing there. For a second, her heart stopped. The disappointment that pierced her was physically painful when he walked in…alone.
“How you doin’?” he asked.
“Banged up. But I’ll live.”
There was a long silence, then Lance hung his head. “He’s gone, Gayle.”
She’d known that, but she still wasn’t prepared for the punch to the heart or how it knocked the air out of her lungs. She forced a shaky laugh. “What did he do? Have you drive him to Little Rock so he could jump on the first plane to get away from me?”
“Gayle, it wasn’t you. You know that, right?”
Wow. He really had.
“Wasn’t it?” she muttered.
Lance pulled a chair beside her hospital bed. “I’m not going to defend him. Honestly, I wanted to knock his teeth out the entire drive to the airport. But, Gayle, I was with him when he got your phone call. I was with him the entire drive down here. And I’ve been with him the last three hours. As much as I believe he is making a huge mistake, in the span of seven hours I watched that man go from terrified, thinking you were in that huge tornado, to relief knowing you were safe, to petrified and insane with worry wondering if you were dead or alive after the crash, to running out of a hospital with all the ghosts from his past tearing at his heels. I just think he needs some time. He’ll come to his senses.”
She was already shaking her head. “I can’t, Lance. Don’t think I’m cold, okay? I have my ghosts, too. Mac knows that. He knew what leaving would do to me. I’ll never trust he won’t run out on me again. I can’t spend my whole life worrying he will. I can’t. Even if he comes to his senses, we’re over.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mac pummeled the bag over and over again with only one goal: drain every ounce of energy from his body and mind.
For over a week, he’d punished his flesh with ridiculous hours of grueling training in an attempt to exhaust himself…just so he could get some fucking sleep instead of lying awake obsessively thinking about Gayle. His efforts had all been in vain. No matter how physically fatigued he was, memories of the woman pursued him every second of the day. The questions bludgeoning him were even worse. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Where was she? Did she hate him?
Of course she fucking hated him. He’d left her in the goddamn hospital.
Disgust had him driving his fist into the bag, sending it spinning high into the air.
What fucking loser did that?
That the loser was him made him sick. Lance had told him he’d regret his decision to leave. At the time, he’d been unwilling to listen. He’d allowed his fears to control him, had allowed them to control him all the way to fucking Atlanta. It wasn’t until that night, as he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling, that he’d realized Gayle had been awake the whole time, had witnessed his entire fucked-up decision, and it’d truly hit him what he’d done.
He’d left her, out cold, in the hospital—like he hadn’t given a rat’s ass about her.
Which was the furthest thing from the truth. He loved the damned woman, even if he wished he didn’t. But because of his actions, Gayle would always think of him as the man who’d left her when she’d needed him most. God, he fucking hated that. Had even thought about calling her to apologize, but it felt selfish to give himself peace when he couldn’t be with her.
He deserved having her think badly of him.
One day, after the hurt and betrayal passed, Gayle would look back on their time and realize she’d dodged a bullet by not getting shackled to a man with the obvious baggage he carried.
She’d meet a man who wouldn’t freak out when he thought of her going out there and putting herself in danger, who wouldn’t let his fear motivate him to leave the woman he loved in the damn hospital. Fuck.
Sweat dripping into his eyes, he went ape-shit on the punching bag, yelling between clenched teeth from the searing agony scorching the muscles in his arms—and in his heart.
“Man, you need to chill out,” Tommy “Lightning” Sparks said from behind him. “You’re going at it like you’re fucking losing your mind.”
Mac grabbed onto either side of the bag and leaned his forehead against the vinyl. “Go the fuck away.”
His friend muttered beneath his breath. Motherfucker was going to say something. Mac hoped he did. A fight was exactly what he needed.
“Dude, I don’t know what’s crawled up your ass since you’ve been back, but you’ve got to get the fuck over it.”
Spinning around, he pressed his nose into Tommy’s face, whose brows shot up in surprise as his head jerked back. Satisfaction egged Mac on. “How about you tell me to get the fuck over it again? Let’s see what happens.”
The other fighter’s momentary surprise fled as his temper came roaring forward. He puffed up, chest butting Mac back as a nasty curl drew up one corner of his upper lip. “Is that it? You itching for fight, big boy? Bring it. You’ve been biting people’s heads off for days. It’s time for someone to bite back.”
If there was anyone in this gym Mac could provoke into a fight, it was Tommy. And he could use an all-out brawl right now.
“Really? Think you have the fucking balls to take me?” Knowing how much the other man hated it, Mac drove his fingertips into Tommy’s shoulder and pushed him backward.
A muscle jumped in Tommy’s cheek. “Touch me again, and I don’t care how much I like you, I’m going to knock you the fuck out.”
Mac deliberately poked him again…and waited.
Tommy worked his neck back and forth, then he charged. Mac landed hard on his back. Unleashing all the anger and disgust he had at himself, he had Tommy under him and in a full mount in seconds.
“What the fuck has gotten into you!” Tommy ground out between his teeth as he twisted his body, trying to knock Mac off his straddled position.
Mac landed a punch on the other fighter’s chin and his head swung sharply to the left. Tommy turned his head back. Rage contorted his face. “Fuck you, motherfucker!”
A bare-knuckled blow caught him on the sweet spot. His vision fleetingly tunneled as brilliant white dots exploded before his eyes. As he refocused, the taste of blood flooded his mouth. Goddammit. Snarling, he drew his arm back, ready to deliver another fist to his friend’s face. Arms grabbed him around the torso and hauled him to his feet. Mac whipped around and came damn close to decking his other friend, Dante, but the expression on the man’s face froze him in place—disgusted horror.
“What the fuck, Mac?” Dante asked, who’d apparently just walked into the gym, since he was still in jeans and a T-shirt. He gave a sideways glance at Mac, then sidestepped him and offered a hand to Tommy, who took it, rubbing his jaw. “You okay, buddy?”
“Yeah.” The fighter glared at Mac. “That was not cool, dude.”
The first threads of mortification shot through Mac. What the hell had gotten into him? Even Lance hadn’t provoked Mac into actually taking a swing at him, even with all the shit he’d said while he was in Kansas. He’d come damn close, but had never followed through. Tommy hadn’t even done anything.
He had picke
d this fight because he was desperate not to think about Gayle.
“Fuck, Tommy.” He fisted a handful of hair at the front of his head in self-loathing. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, you get to explain to Julie about the cheap shot you just took. You think I’m bad, she’d going to have your ass, man.”
Yeah, Tommy’s fiancée would have his ass, and he deserved it.
Dante studied him. “Dude, you’ve been stalking around here like a jacked-up tiger since you got back. It’s time to talk. This shit cannot be going on in here.”
“I know.” As the adrenaline fled, a dull ache lingered in Mac’s temples. He rubbed his forehead. A bare-knuckled punch would do that. Thank God, he’d had on open-palmed gloves when he’d hit Tommy.
“Come on, you two,” Dante said. “Mike’s across town in a meeting. Let’s all go to his office.”
As soon as Tommy closed the door behind them and they’d sat down, Mac started talking. Told them everything. Losing Ally, the baby. Why he stopped cooking, why he’d moved to Atlanta, why he’d started fighting, why he’d gone back to Kansas. Meeting Gayle. What she did, how she’d gotten hurt, and finally about him leaving her.
Dante stared at him, aghast. “You left her in the hospital?”
“Don’t think for a second I’m proud of that moment. I’m not.” He blinked against the pulse behind his eyes.
Tommy shook his head. “You do understand you don’t have any control over stuff like this, right?”
“Yeah, I know that. That’s the thing. I worry about the stuff I can’t control. Big-time. But she chases tornadoes willingly. She puts herself at risk every time she does it, even knowing she has zero control over anything, ever. How am I supposed to be okay with that?”
Dante shifted on the edge of the desk. “Caitlyn had a huge issue with me being a fighter, but she realized she loved me more than what I did for a living. We just found out we’re pregnant. I can’t imagine my life without her and the family we’re going to have. She feels the same way, and now she feels foolish over how she balked at my career. Maybe one day you can change your feelings about what Gayle does.”
