Winning Love (11 page)

“I’ve had to do that, too.”

“No. Gayle truly lives. You are just here. Marking time. Big difference.
But
, Gayle made you smile and laugh, Mac. She brought you out of the shell you had erected around yourself.
She
made you live.” Lance took a step forward. “And you just treated her like a pile of dog shit. She may be a storm chaser, hell, I don’t know. But I think the two of you have a lot more in common than you realize.” He swept his arm toward the barn door. “Look at her. Gayle has been able to find peace with whatever it was she went through. Maybe she can help you do the same.”

A feminine voice called Lance’s name from outside, and he glanced toward it. “That’s Piper. Skylar’s here and I have to go. Gayle is watching her while I’m gone. It should only take a few hours. I suggest you do some really hard thinking and figure out a way to make amends with that woman, because you know what? I
was
right. She would be good for you.”

With that, Lance stormed from the barn, the door slamming against the outside wall for a second time. Mac stared after him, then slowly lowered himself to the weight bench, linking his fingers between his knees. What
had
happened to her? There were so many ways a person could travel to hell, have their life shattered. The idea that someone could’ve hurt or neglected her made him shudder.

And yet, she still embraced life with gusto. She hoped and trusted. Laughed. Smiled. And gave of herself freely.

What he’d done by going off on her was the equivalent of pulling the wings off a butterfly that’d just flown from its cocoon.

She deserved his words of remorse…and gratitude. She
had
made him smile. She’d made him live again—however briefly.

The problem was coming up with the right words to express it. The only people who knew his whole story were the ones who had witnessed it. Not once had he ever verbally shared the horrors of that day with another living soul. He didn’t know if he was capable of doing it now. Or ever.

How long he sat there trying to put together the right way to share the darkest, bleakest, most horrific day of his life, he wasn’t sure. But suddenly a crash of thunder shook the structure surrounding him and he lost the ability to breathe, to move, as he was thrown headlong back to the moments just before a ferocious mass of twisting air had annihilated his life.

G
ayle folded her arms across her waist as she gazed out the window at the storm cloud darkening the sky. Lightning brightened the grayness, and another boom of thunder quaked the glass. Wind swayed the tops of the trees. The forecast had called for isolated storms today, and she was definitely in the mood for a storm. Rain dinged off the glass panes, then the skies opened up and deluged the window with water. Inhaling, she closed her eyes and let the soothing sound flow over her.

God, she loved a spring storm. A cleansing of the earth and the smell of freshness afterward. If only the storm thrashing inside her would cleanse and refresh her the same way.

Almost forty-five minutes had passed since she’d left Lance standing in the field by the barn. Twenty minutes ago, he’d dropped off Skylar and tried to “talk” again. She’d instantly shut him down. Mac no longer existed as far as Gayle was concerned, and she resented the tight, angry emotions she’d been left with because of that awful man.

It makes me sick.

Well, right back at you, asshole.

To
hell
with him. Yeah, she was unconventional. Did things the way she wanted to and didn’t apologize for it. She had her reasons. Damn good ones. She’d gambled on love too many times and lost. Forever didn’t exist.

Thunder cracked again, and a sniffle sounded behind her. Gayle twisted around. Skylar was sitting on the couch with her face buried in her hands.

Shoving aside her own problems, Gayle hurried to the child’s side and knelt in front of her. “Sweet pie, what’s the matter?”

The little girl lifted her head. Tears brightened her eyes. “I put Bacon down to hug Daddy, and then I left him there.”

Ah.
Bacon was Skylar’s stuffed pig, and she was extremely attached to it. Most likely, Lance had hustled her right over here as soon as Piper dropped her off. “He’s in the house, right?”

The little girl nodded.

“Then he’s going to be fine.”

“What if he’s scared? I’ve never left him alone in a storm before.”

Meaning Skylar was a little fearful of this storm and wanted her comfort object.

Gayle swallowed. “M-Mac is there to take care of him.” God, it was hard to even say the man’s name.

“
Nuh-uh
. He’s still in the barn. Daddy said so.”

“But that was twenty minutes ago. I’m sure he went inside as soon as he realized a storm was coming.” She brushed the blond curls back. “Bacon will be fine.”

Skylar crossed her arms stubbornly. “What if he isn’t? What if Bacon is alone and scared because I left him?”

Never argue with an eight-year-old. There was only one solution…and she would only do it for Skylar. “Listen, sweetpie, this is just a regular thunderstorm. Not even close to one of those really bad ones we sometimes have. But there is still lightning and it’s pouring, so we can’t go out in it right this second. As soon as the worst passes, we’ll run over and get him, okay?”

Skeptical eyes watched her intently. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” she said, doing the finger motion over her chest.

“Okay. As
soon
as it stops raining.”

“Yes. Now let’s find something to do so the time passes quickly.”

After she ushered Skylar into the kitchen and settled her down at the table, Gayle made them each three ants on a log. As they ate the celery, peanut butter, and raisin snack, she watched the cloudburst through the open back door. Strong, but not severe. A nice torrential downpour with cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning. The wind gusted here and there, but it was more of a robust breeze than damaging squalls. The humid air had already cooled, leaving behind the fresh, clean smell she loved directly after a storm.

Wouldn’t be long now. By the time she had tossed away their napkins, the rain was giving its last bit of nourishment to the ground. She opened the screen door, gazing up. Blue skies were already peeking through the dark clouds. “Come on, let’s get Bacon.”

As they walked across the saturated field, she hoped she could get in and out without coming face-to-face with the asshole. Honestly, she hoped to hell she somehow managed to get through the next few weeks without seeing him ever again.

As they trudged past the barn, she noticed the door had blown open. Why wouldn’t the dick lock it after he left? Lance had a lot of expensive equipment in there.

“Skylar, you go on in and get Bacon, okay? I’m going to lock up the barn for your dad. I’ll meet you at the back door.”

“Okay.” The little girl ran into the house, the screen door slapping closed behind her.

Sighing, Gayle approached the door. As she started to shut it, a furious grunt came from inside the barn.

She poked her head inside and froze. Straddling one of the practice dummies Lance used to train, was Mac. Sweat coated his entire body, dripped off his chin, matted his clothes to his skin, and slung off his wailing arms as he beat the dummy into oblivion. He suddenly jumped off it, grabbed it by the neck, and hurled it against the wall. An enraged bellow followed, then he stood there taking in huge gulps of air, clenching and unclenching his fists.

What the hell? She cautiously stepped inside, making sure to keep some distance from the enraged stranger before her.

“Mac?” she said softly.

His head snapped around and he stared at her—no, he stared
through
her. Her stomach knotted painfully at the vacant look. This wasn’t training. This was something else entirely.

He’s been to hell and back.

She’d told Lance she didn’t care how horrific Mac’s story was, believing there was no excuse for his behavior. But now… There was no sign of the Mac she’d spent time with, laughed with. This man…this man was caught in some mental hell. She swallowed, her heart breaking for him when just moments before she’d wanted to strangle him with her bare hands.

“Mac,” she repeated, a little more forcibly.

A shudder quaked his body as the tension expelled from him in a quick rush. Blinking, he glanced around, his eyes landing on the dummy across the room. He held out his hands, staring at them. Raw, bloody scrapes covered both knuckles. Gayle pressed a hand to her mouth. How long had he been beating that thing?

His gaze snapped to hers and every muscle stiffened as the haggard lines on his face drew into a deep scowl. “Get out.”

“I’ve already seen it, Mac. I can’t unsee it even if you send me away.”

A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw and he jerked his chin up.

“How often does this happen?” she asked.

“Never.”

“Then what triggered this?”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”

“Tough shit.” She nodded at his hands. “You need to clean those up. Come on. I’ll make some coffee while you do.”

She made it to the door before she heard him move behind her with a string of angry mumbles. At least it was just resentment bringing on this anger. She knew what the resentment stemmed from—having someone catch him at the mercy of his emotions. Rick had caught her one time. Though she hadn’t been raged out like Mac had just been. She’d been in sobbing hysterics. There had been some throwing, though. And fury at who she’d lost.

As soon as they walked into the kitchen, Skylar bounded up to them with the pale pink pig clutched to her chest. “Bacon was fine.”

Gayle forced a broad smile for the child. “I told you he would be.” She glanced at Mac. A sheen of sweat coated the gray pallor of his skin. The adrenaline was fading now. “Hey, Skylar, why don’t you go up to your room to play a bit? I think we’ll stay over here until your daddy gets home.”

“Can I play Skylanders?”

“You betcha.”

“Awesome. Daddy never lets me play.” She raced from the room.

Worry shafted through Gayle as Mac collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, resting his elbows on the wood and burying his face in his hands. She hurried into the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet. As she stopped at the table, she slid it in front of him. He lifted his bowed head and glared at the box.

“All right, handsome.” She banded her arms around herself, still shaken from what she’d witnessed. “Time for you to open up.”

His jaw clenched. “I
said
I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And I said tough shit. Consider it penance for being such a buttmunch.”

He remained stubbornly silent. Damn it all to hell.

“Listen. I’ve known there was something going on with you, but I didn’t pry because I don’t like anyone prying in my business. But when I find a man beating the crap out of something in a mindless rage, I need to know what the hell triggered it and why.”

“I thought you said you were going to make coffee.” There was still an angry bite to his words.
Hmm
. So anger was his coping mechanism. Suddenly, a whole lot of her encounters with him made a whole lot more sense. What had she done before to set it off? Clearly, there had been so much more underlying that exchange.

She held her ground and hiked an eyebrow. “I’ll make the coffee when you start talking.”

He slowly turned his head and glared at her with all the scary fighter he had in him. Before, it had made her hesitate. Not now. It was a mask. A façade to keep from dealing with deeper issues. She was sure of it.

She kept hers stubborn and pointed. A standoff. A battle of wills. She would win this one. The man desperately needed to talk.

For a full minute, they both refused to give. Finally she said, “I always get what I want, handsome. I can do this—All. Day. Long.”

“Fine. You want to know my whole life story, here you fucking go. Did you know I grew up in this flat, hellish land?”

Ignoring the anger behind his words, she ambled over to the coffeepot and started the process to fulfill her end of the deal. “No. I didn’t. Was it here in Cheney?”

“No. Emerald fucking Springs. You would know about that place, wouldn’t you?”

She froze while putting the lid back on the coffee grounds and briefly closed her eyes.
Oh, God, no.
“When did you move to Atlanta?”

“When do you think?”

Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she stared down at the canister. The timing was there. She pulled her hand away from her mouth, flicked the machine on, inhaled deeply to compose herself, and turned to face him. “You were in the EF-5 tornado, weren’t you?”

He stared straight at her. He didn’t need to confirm it. Behind the hostility, the answer was etched clearly on his face. Tortured. Traumatized. God, the whole town had been destroyed. People killed…

“I wasn’t where I was supposed to fucking be,” he said, anger vibrating his voice.

She swallowed and quietly pulled out mugs. What did he mean by that?

“I was in a restaurant that wasn’t mine, helping some friends. Not knowing that decision would be the worst fucking decision I’d ever make.” He shook his head. “The tornado struck and while I was trapped under a goddamn refrigerator worried about
myself
, my home was being destroyed.”

“Tell me.”

“The restaurant was full for early dinner. Full. We scrambled, trying to get everyone tucked in somewhere. I was the last one, but there was no more room. So I crawled under the sink, wrapped my arms around the pipes, and started praying. The roar. I’ll never forget the roar…the screams, the glass shattering. The fierceness of the wind as it literally destroyed everything around me. I got pinned, until Lance found me and pulled me free.” His face contorted in pain before he wiped it away with a murderous scowl. “It was my day
off
. I should have been
home
.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Because I wasn’t, my wife was killed and I was left to find her.”