Standing with his feet spread in front of the screen door in the kitchen three days later, Mac scowled as he watched Gayle and a dark-haired guy stuff plastic containers in the back of a souped-up Nissan Xterra. The black SUV was wrapped in the WKKS News weather team logo with a radar image in the background. The bumper on the front was not a stock bumper, but the kind of sturdy grill that protected the headlights, usually seen on vehicles for off-roading. An assortment of antennas protruded from the roof along with a whole bunch of odd-looking equipment.
Her tornado hunting vehicle. The guy had backed it out of the barn behind her house about thirty minutes ago.
A storm system must be brewing somewhere. Fucking fantastic.
Shaking his head, Mac turned away, closed the inside door, and strode through the kitchen to collapse on the living room couch. He threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the late evening sun. In the days that had passed since Gayle had found him in the barn, they hadn’t really had much interaction with each other. Friends was definitely not the path they were on. It was more like they tolerated each other’s presence. For him, he didn’t care for the raw and exposed consciousness he had when he was around her. She had seen him lose control. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of that.
“Hey, man,” Lance asked, shaking Mac’s foot. “You awake?”
“Yep,” he responded without removing his arm.
“I just got a lead on a repo I’ve been hunting for a few weeks. I’ll probably be gone most of the night.”
“K.” Lance’s presence loomed over Mac and he heaved a sigh. “What?”
“You want to come with? I invited you down here, and I just keep leaving you by yourself.”
“Nope. And you invited me here to help you train, which we did this morning and for the past three days. I’m fulfilling my end of things. I don’t need company. Go earn your money, Lance.”
“But after—”
“Go.”
Lance hovered for a while longer, but eventually his footsteps faded down the hall. Seconds later, the front door closed. His friend had been acting like a fucking helicopter mom since Mac had told him about the other night. This was exactly why he never confided his personal shit to people. They got all weird afterward.
Even the damn training sessions with Lance had been tense, as though his friend thought Mac was fragile or something and wasn’t putting all his strength into it. How was the jackass going to prepare for a fucking fight if he didn’t go at training 100 percent? It took Mac laying one on him hard for Lance to finally snap out of his kid-glove approach.
Why didn’t people understand Mac didn’t need anyone? He was totally fine being alone.
He shifted to his side and stared at the coffee table. Tires crunched on gravel as the SUV drove around the house toward the front. So they were off on their exciting, action-packed tornado adventure. Worry for Gayle built in his chest. No. He didn’t care…he didn’t.
What he cared about was getting some sleep, which had eluded him since the barn. He closed his eyes again.
A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and his eyes snapped open. His entire body stiffened. The windows were now dark instead of bright from the afternoon sun. Well, at least he had successfully escaped into the oblivion of sleep for a while. The lack of nightmares was just a testament to how exhausted he was.
Slinging his legs over the side of the couch, he sat up blinking. What had woken him up, anyway? A brilliant blue flash lit the room. His breath seized in his lungs. Another streak of lightning brightened the darkened area.
Trapped. Heavy. Couldn’t breathe. Complete darkness except for the strobe of lightning. Screams. So many goddamn screams.
Fuck! He flicked on the lamp on the end table so the bursts of light weren’t as palpable. He worked his neck from side to side, trying to rid his body of its increasing tension. Just a storm. That was all. He would not let his mind fuck with him.
A deafening crack rattled the walls.
The scrape of the car as the bumper slipped closer to his head. Desperation to free himself. Lance suddenly there.
Cold sweat beaded on the clammy skin of his upper lip. Trembles quaked his hands as the airway in his throat seemed to shrink. He sucked in a whistling inhale and jerked to his feet.
Don’t think. Don’t think. Do something. Anything.
The TV.
Lightning flashed twice as a clap of thunder immediately followed.
His destroyed home. Nothing left. Bellowing her name. Frantic. Terrified.
Roaring his fury, Mac grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it into the hall. Cursing, he strode to the large flat screen, his strides stiff, awkward. Another bright strobe made him stumble away from the windows.
A pile of debris. A bloodied hand. The white gold wedding band and encrusted engagement ring sparkling in the sunlight.
He knotted his hands in his hair, squeezing his eyelids closed. No. No! Don’t remember.
The bushes outside began to scrape against the glass as the winds picked up. He snapped his head up, and his breath strangled as he stared at the branches flattened against the windowpanes by the howling wind.
The slim fingers remaining motionless. Not even a twitch. He paralyzed with fear. The realization dawning. The refusal to believe.