Mac 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!”