When he finally told Gayle Matthews he loved her, it would only be when he was certain his demons wouldn’t surge forward and ruin what they had together. When he was completely confident he was the man she deserved. Not before.
They walked back into the house, and Lance flipped on the TV. Breaking news immediately caught Mac’s attention, and he froze at the grainy video clip of a monster tornado churning a path of epic destruction through a city in Oklahoma. His throat closed as dots formed before his eyes. His knees threatening to buckle, he reached around for something to hold on to. He finally found the back of a chair. He latched onto it, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Mac.”
“She fucking speeds ahead of these damn things to warn the people in its path. What if she doesn’t get out? We barely did the last time.”
Had she called while he’d been sparring with Lance? Had he fucking missed her call? He frantically searched for his phone.
Lance must have picked up on what he was looking for, because he reached over onto a side table and handed it to him. The phone trembled in Mac’s hand. No missed call. No text. Nothing.
Oh, God. What if he’d already lost her? What if the last time they spoke had been the last time they would ever talk to each other?
Just as he was about to press the number to autodial her, his phone rang and her name appeared on the screen. “Oh, thank God,” he breathed. “Where are you?” he demanded as soon as he answered.
“Mac?”
It was difficult to hear her from all the static filling the line—that, or howling wind. Something was also pounding in the background. Goddamn hail. She was near that deathtrap.
“Mac? Can you hear me?”
“Gayle?”
“Listen, you must know about the tornado by now. We’re not near that one. About fifty miles away.” There was a loud pop and a muttered, “Shit. Just wanted to let you know I’m—Rick! Watch out!”
Screeching tires sounded. Scrunching metal, screams, and muffled groans of pain.
“Gayle?” No response. “Gayle!” he yelled, his heart pounding hard.
What had he just heard? Had a tornado just taken out the SUV?
Terror quaked his body as his gaze snapped to Lance, who was standing ramrod straight, paler than usual.
“Gayle, please, baby, say something. Anything.”
But all he heard was the long, strident blare of the car horn.
Almost seven hours later, Mac rushed into the hospital in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Seven of the longest fucking hours of his life. He couldn’t catch a flight because the storm system had caused delays everywhere. Driving had been the only option.
The only information he’d gotten was what someone on the scene had told him after he’d stayed on the fucking cell phone yelling her name for what had felt like an eternity. An unfamiliar voice had finally answered him—a chaser from another team. They’d been driving behind Gayle and Rick when they’d wrecked. They were on their way to a chase target and got caught in a severe storm.
According to the guy, the wind had been intense and knocked a tree down in the road. Rick had swerved to miss it and lost control, careening down an embankment. The people behind them said the SUV had flipped about four times before landing hard on its hood. Both Rick and Gayle had been knocked unconscious. Because of the storm, it had taken a while for emergency crews to get to the accident. Once they did, the Jaws of Life were needed to rip open the car.
Rick, by then, had been awake. He hadn’t sustained many injuries—just a few lacerations and a broken arm. Gayle was another matter. All they could tell him was she still hadn’t regained consciousness when the ambulance had finally left.
After that, the doctors had taken over and fucking HIPAA kept him from finding out anything. And Rick wasn’t answering Gayle’s fucking phone.
When he and Lance finally got to the hospital, Mac sprinted up to the front desk. “Gayle Matthews.”
The woman typed on the computer. “She’s in room 350.”
She’d been admitted. He rubbed his forehead. “Fuck.”
Lance rubbed his shoulder, but Mac knocked him off. He really wasn’t in the mood for any comfort right now. He raced to the elevators and punched the button. What the hell was going to be waiting for him up there? She wasn’t in ICU. That was good. It had to be.
The elevator took its damn time reaching the third floor. The second the doors parted, he sprinted for room 350. As he passed the waiting area, Mac noticed Rick sitting there. Fury had him charging the man. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer Gayle’s phone? I’ve being going insane with worry the entire goddamn drive down here!”
Rick held up his good arm to stop him. “Her phone must still be in the SUV. I didn’t think to grab it. I just got in the ambulance with her. I didn’t realize until I got here that I had no way to get in touch with you. I’m really sorry.”