American Bad Boy(65)

“No.” There’s no anger attached to his voice, but his single word hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

“Mack, please, just listen.”

“No, you listen,” he drops his head and his voice is barely a whisper. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t need some quack analyzing me and asking me whether or not I loved my mother. I’m a soldier, Lauren. I’ve been to war and I watched my men die. I have bad days, that’s the way that goes. I don’t need to go to some Kumbaya preaching, hug-me sessions to know that.”

“Look, I’m not a doctor, ok? So, I’m not going to pretend I can diagnose you or anything, but I think you might have PTSD, Mack.” He puffs out his chest and his lips twist in protest. “There’s no shame in that!” I quickly add, trying to smooth over the blow to his ego. “Hell, after what you’ve gone through, it would be more shocking if you didn’t have some kind of residual scars that need healing. I just want what’s best for you, and our family. I can’t have you walking around like a ticking time bomb in Chris’s life.”

“Don’t talk to me about bombs, Lauren. I’ve seen enough of them go off. You’re the one blowing this whole thing out of proportion. I’m not gonna go sit on some therapist’s couch just because I had a bad day. It’s not happening. End.Of.Fucking.Story.” He slams his fist into his palm with every punctuated word.

A huge part of me just wants to let that be the end of the story. Our son’s face as he watched Mack in a fit of confusion and rage is burned into my brain though. I can’t let this be the end of the story. Chris needs stability, he needs a father, and Mack is in no position to be either.

“It’s not just one bad day, Mack, and you know it. Chelsea told me about what happened by the fruit truck, ok? I know about that. Chris told me about how you got shaky at the grave. Mack, you even threw me to the ground that day at the track. Do you remember? I thought you were just trying to screw around, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It was because of that car that back fired, wasn’t it? It’s not just one thing, or one day. It’s getting worse and I can’t let this become everyday of our lives.”

I reach across the car and place my hand on his. He peers up at me, just like his son does when he needs reassurance. Am I getting through to him?

Suddenly, he flings my hand off of his like it’s a mosquito about to bite. No. No, I’m not.

“You said it yourself, you are not a doctor, Lauren. You’re not a therapist. The last time I checked, you were a nurse. So, how about you let the big boys do their job and you worry about yours, ok?” His eyes flicker with rage and his face burns crimson. “For the last time, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not some delicate flower, got it? I don’t need to sit around and cry about my feelings. And I’m not going to fucking therapy!” He spits out the last words like they’re tainted in poison.

Silence builds like a tidal wave, drowning us.

“Fine.” I find my voice and look down at the steering wheel. “If you won’t get help, then you need to leave. I can’t take you to my place, Mack.” Tears sting my eyes as I realize what I have to do.

“What are you talking about? Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Blackmail? No. This is an ultimatum. You either get the help you need, or you can’t be in our lives anymore. I can’t always be wondering and waiting for you to explode again. This time you pulled an innocent man out of his car. Do you know how upsetting it was for Chris to see that today? What are you going to do next time? Beat someone to death? No. You either get help, or you leave.” My voice wavers, but my mind is made up.

Silence again. It hurts my ears more than anything Mack could yell or say. I keep staring at the wheel, hoping that Mack will listen to reason. That he’ll put his family, not to mention his health, above his inflated ego and pig-headedness.

“Fine,” he sighs.

Oh, thank you God. I silently pray. Thank you!

Mack reaches over to the door and opens it, stepping back outside of the car before I fully understand what’s happening. “Then, I’m leaving.” He slams the door in my face and storms back to the police station as I watch in disbelief.

Mack Forrester had only just walked back into my life a little over a week ago, and now he’s leaving me again. And this time, I think it’s for good.





36





Mack





2014




The oak table under my arm is solid and the beer in my glass is frosty cold. Both sensations are keeping me grounded in the present. After what happened on the drive today I know being grounded is just what I need. Lauren’s furrowed brows and soft eyes linger in my mind and all of a sudden I don’t want to be grounded anymore. I want to be fucking drunk.