Winning Love (24 page)

Chapter Fifteen

M
ac 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 picked 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.”

“You’re comparing a kitten to a damn lion, Dante. There have only been two documented deaths in regulated MMA. What Gayle does can be seriously life-ending. Tornadoes take way too many lives each year. I know this. I’ve
experienced
this.”

Dante exhaled harshly. “I’m just saying, one day you may wish you had taken
any
time with her, rather than none at all. Everyone takes a chance when we fall in love. Caitlyn is my whole life, just as Julie is Tommy’s. Neither one of us has lived through the tragedy you have, thank God. I can’t even begin to fathom how something like that would change me when Caitlyn is in every thought I have of the future.”

“I can’t. I just can’t.”

Dante leaned forward. “Here’s the thing, Mac, you didn’t think you would have a second chance at love, and you still found it. Would you rather be alone knowing the woman you love is out there, one day learning she died and realizing you’ll never, ever, be able to be with her, or would you rather take what you are given, which could possibly be forty years or more, and just enjoy being with her as long as you can?”

Mac stared ahead. He got Dante’s meaning. He really did. The rational side of his brain saw completely what he was saying. The irrational side however, didn’t. “But I
have
lived through losing a woman I loved. Had to learn how to wake up every day to the empty spot beside me. Her laughter gone. Live with the emptiness she left behind. I didn’t recover
until
I met Gayle. If she were ever taken from me, I would
never
recover. Not this time. So, I feel like it’s better to save us both a lot of heartache. Besides, she would grow to hate me. After her getting hurt like she did, I would never feel safe with her out there chasing. It would be a constant source of friction between us.”

Tommy and Dante exchanged glances. “It’s your life, man. We can’t make you do anything. Just know that life sucks, going at it alone.
Especially
when you have a woman out there who loves you.”

Who said she loved him?

And even if she had, he’d surely killed that love by walking out.

He was done with this conversation. Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Don’t we need to train?”

“You going to stop being such a dickhead?” Tommy growled. “If you don’t want to go after your woman, that’s your deal, but the rest of us ain’t putting up with your bullshit. You need to get any aggression out, you do it inside the ropes. Don’t pick fights with your friends.”

“I hear you.” He worked his neck.

“Since you’re so berserked out, how about a sparring match with Maurice?”

Yeah, that sounded good. Maybe then he could go home and sleep. His damn annoying headache was probably more from lack of sleep and stress than Tommy’s actual punch. Not saying the guy didn’t have power behind his fist, but as a heavyweight, Mac had taken some herculean blows much stronger than Tommy’s.

Ten minutes later, he was circling Maurice in the boxing ring. The other fighter had his fists up, a calculating look letting Mac know he was searching for the best move, too. Maurice made a movement, and Mac went immediately for a straight jab. Maurice dodged and came around with a powerful left hook, landing it square on Mac’s jaw. His head whipped hard to the side.

And blackness engulfed him before he hit the canvas.

T
he strong gusts of wind continuously pushed against Gayle as she peered through the camera lens and took another photo of the breathtaking mothership supercell hovering above a golden field of wheat. The storm that came out of that one was going to be a humdinger.

She dropped the camera, letting it hang around her neck, and sighed. Unless something popped up between now and Monday, three days from now, this would most likely be her last chase of the season. The thought was depressing, but the TV news station she worked for was ready for her to claim the helm as chief meteorologist. With tornado season winding down, she really had no excuse not to.

Because “I need the distraction chasing gives me” wasn’t a practical reason—though it was the truth.

After the doctor had released her from the hospital, she’d spent one week at home recovering from the muscle soreness that had mocked all muscle soreness, and it had been hell. Being trapped in her house had done nothing but allow the damned man to consume her thoughts. As soon as she could move without wincing, she’d apologized to Lance for leaving him in a bind with Skylar, but she had to get away for a while. He hadn’t even blinked, just told her to do what she needed to do.

Over the last four weeks, she’d checked in with him. The last update hadn’t gone well. Lance had lost the fight he’d been training so hard for. He tried to sound like his usually energetic, positive self, but she’d heard the disappointment and worry behind his false cheer.

She understood that struggle. At least she didn’t need to pretend to be happy. She’d just thrown herself into every possible storm she could—even the ones she knew would be a bust. If she got nothing more than a few pictures or video, she didn’t care. She was distracted.

She missed Rick, could’ve really used the familiarity of their good-natured banter, but with his broken arm, driving was impossible. Another team had selflessly lent her one of their crew. Nick was a good kid in his early twenties, eager, with a passion for meteorology. His continuous barrage of questions had been a distraction in itself.

Not that she hadn’t thought of Mac anyway. At night she had, and she resented it, especially as the weeks passed, and he’d never made any attempt to contact her. She’d come close to calling him a few times, to make sure her accident hadn’t caused him to regress, but ended up not having the strength to dial. One of her biggest fears was that he
was
fine. The fear made her a loathsome person, but it was hard to forget he’d left her in the hospital and hadn’t looked back.

The motivation seemed obvious to her. Her prediction that night on her porch steps had come true. She was Mac’s wrecking ball. When he’d returned to Atlanta and the horror of her accident had worn off, he must have realized the feelings he’d had for her were simply gratitude. That was why he hadn’t reached out to her. Simple.

The possibility—probability—had driven her insane, had made bitterness churn in her gut, had made her wish she’d never met Mac…which made her feel even more of a horrible person. No matter how their relationship had ended, the man
had
needed her to come into his life and change it. After five weeks of soul-searching she was confident that, given the choice, she would help Mac heal all over again—but just do a much better job of protecting her heart.