Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Gayle sat on the edge of the bed. It was a damn miracle they’d found two motel rooms, because of all the displaced people and rescue workers descending on the town. Thank God, because she didn’t know what she’d do without a safe place to tame the emotions roiling inside her.
She, Rick, and Mac had worked well into the night. Though most of the town had been leveled, there’d been only five fatalities. More could tally tomorrow. But considering the catastrophic damage and the homes without storm cellars, she knew the death toll could’ve been so much worse.
The destruction was devastating, showing how powerful this tornado had been. She’d found a roof tile embedded in a wall, and a kitchen fork driven so deep into the trunk of a debarked tree she hadn’t been able to wiggle it out—she was pretty certain this one had been an EF-5.
As she yanked off her hiking boots, a searing burn scorched her palms and she gasped. Mac immediately spun around. “What?”
She gently pressed her tender palms together. “Nothing.”
After what other people had lost today, she didn’t have the right to complain about a couple of blisters. He knelt before her and tried to take her hands.
She tugged them away. “I’m fine.”
“Baby, let me see.”
Sighing, she held them out.
“Jesus,” he hissed. “What happened to your gloves?”
“They only lasted about three hours.”
Open blisters exposed raw bleeding skin. A cut ran across one palm from a piece of twisted metal she’d lifted off a young woman. Since she kept up-to-date with her shots, she wasn’t worried about tetanus.
“Yours can’t be any better,” she mumbled at his horrified look.
He showed her his palms. He had a blister or two, a scrape here and there, but nothing like hers. “I fight, Gayle. My hands are used to taking a beating.”
“I suppose they are.” Tears pushed to be set free and she blinked, easing out a long breath.
The traumatic events of the day had festered all the emotions she normally kept carefully suppressed, and she was close to breaking down. Not surprising. She always had a really good cry after days like today. She couldn’t do it in front of Mac, though. She was so proud of him and the way he’d dealt with everything, she wouldn’t let her weakness bring him down. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Fine, but as soon as you get out, I want to treat your hands.”
She attempted a smile. If it made him feel better…
After she closed herself off in the bathroom, she awkwardly stripped and stepped under the steaming hot water, thankfully without too much pain. But as soon as she started lathering her hair with shampoo, her palms ignited in fire and she almost cried out. Trying to massage the soap in, let alone get it out, proved futile. Anytime she curled her fingers, intense throbbing heat pulsated through her hands. Soap slid down her forehead, stinging her eyes, too. She was close to losing it completely.
“Mac!”
“What’s the matter?” came from behind the curtain an instant later, filled with concern.
That’s all it took. The day’s emotions engulfed her all at once, and a sob bubbled in her throat. She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep it contained.
“Gayle?”
When she didn’t respond, he jerked back the curtain. All she could do was stare at him, tears blurring her vision as water from the overhead spray flowed down her body.
“Baby, are you okay?”
The sweetness of his words tore away at the last of her control. The dam burst.
She covered her face with her palms, no longer feeling physical pain, as sobs heaved out of her. Strong arms engulfed her, and she was dragged forward, her cheek meeting saturated cotton. The man had stepped into the tub with her, fully clothed, shoes and all.
Taking comfort in his embrace, she leaned into him, sliding the backs of her fingers up his back as her body shook from the force of her emotions.
What was she doing? After everything he’d been through today, everything he’d had to face, the memories that had resurfaced… She tried to pull away, reaching up to swipe at her eyes. He’d been so damn brave, and here she was being a—
He tightened his grip around her, refusing to let her go. “Gayle, you put the Man of Steel to shame. Let me be strong for you for a change.”
She hesitated for a brief moment, then she let go and buried her face in his chest and allowed herself to be weak for once, allowed herself to seek comfort from someone else—allowed herself to cry in front of someone. Really cry.