White dots danced before his eyes. He sucked oxygen into his lungs, then hurried to turn on the television.
The growing violence of the weather outside beckoned him into oblivion—into the past—and, goddamn it, one trip back into hell this week had been enough.
He forced himself into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed a beer. Another violent crack shook everything around him.
Flinging rubble off her. Lifeless blue eyes. Fence post jutting from her chest.
He jerked and dropped the bottle on the floor. Glass and beer exploded all over the hardwood floor. Motherfucker! He fucking hated this.
He grabbed a kitchen towel and dropped it on the spilled beer, then snatched a new bottle from the fridge, twisted off the top, and took a long guzzle as he watched white lightning splinter across the sky.
Dead. His wife. His child. Dead.
His throat closed, the brew getting stuck on its way down. Choking, he cupped his mouth as the beer spewed out and over his fingers. Some wet his shirt, the rest plopped onto the floor.
Fury took over and he launched the bottle against the wall. The loud crash of the glass shattering, the beer gushing, gave him a momentary sense of relief. He heaved deep inhales, fists clenched tight at his sides.
The heavens opened up and torrential rain smacked against the windows, rattling the panes. The wind howled. The limbs beat the glass.
He failed. Failed to protect her. Failed to protect his child. He failed them both.
Just as he lifted his arm to hurl another bottle, a loud pounding had him shuddering out of the memories. The noise came again, and his gaze snapped to the door. He flung it open to find Gayle standing on the top step. Drenched hair clung to her face and droplets of water dripped off the tip of her nose and chin. A sage-green tank top molded wetly to her skin, while her khaki shorts dripped water down her legs to her muddy bare feet. A shiver racked through her, knocking him out of his stunned stupor.
“Gayle!” He moved out of the way to let her by. “What the hell are you doing running around in a storm like this?”
Another shiver went through her as she stepped inside and held up a cup, also dripping water. But she smiled. “I was making cookies and realized I was out of sugar.”
What the fuck? He glanced at the monsoon outside. “And it couldn’t wait? What the hell are you doing here anyway? I thought you left.”
“No, not yet. As for the sugar, thought I’d be able to make it here and back before the sky opened. Guess I was wrong.” She sent him another smile. “So. Sugar?”
He stared at her and realization dawned. “I don’t need babysitting, Gayle.”
“What are you talking about? I need sugar.”
He lifted an incredulous brow at her, which she returned in spades, then shook the cup at him. “Sugar, Mac. Please.”
He’d give her mad props, she was damn convincing, but no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he didn’t believe her trek through a downpour and crazy wind was because she wanted to bake any damn cookies. He took the cup from her and went to the cabinet. After he dried it out and filled it with sugar, he turned back to find her with her arms wrapped around her body, shivering.
He put the cup on the counter. “You’re going to be stuck here for a while. Let me get you something dry to put on.”
The fact she didn’t argue was just more proof she’d come over here for him. What was she worried about? He’d tear up Lance’s house? His eyes cut over to the pool of beer and shards of glass on the floor. Meh. Maybe she had a reason to be concerned.
After he tugged a T-shirt off a hanger, he snatched a pair of jogging shorts out of the drawer. The shorts probably wouldn’t fit her, but he took them anyway and handed them to her. Mumbling thanks, she disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. The storm was still raging outside, but just having her here seemed to calm the horrific images that had tortured him.
When she returned, a weird sensation crackled under his ribs. His black Zac Brown Band concert T-shirt was huge on her. Pretty much swallowed her whole. The hem reached right above her knees, while the sleeves were below her elbows.
She was the most gorgeous sight he’d laid eyes on in a long time.
She held his shorts in her hands. “Um. Yeah. These came to my shins. And as much as I’d like to look like Kid ‘n Play, it’s not really the time of year for costumes.”
Taking them back, he chuckled. It felt good. Real good. The last time— Wow, holy shit. The last time he’d laughed was the night they’d slept together. “Somehow, I didn’t think they’d fit.”
A crash of thunder shook the house and he went rigid.
“Why don’t we find something to occupy ourselves?” Gayle suggested.
“How long is this storm supposed to last?”
She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “There’s a long line of them coming in. Could be hours.”