Navy Seal Dad. Metsy Hingle
Sergio murmured as he picked up the folio. “You and your lady will come to Irene’s again soon and ask for Sergio, yes?”
“Sure,” Mac replied.
But don’t count on it, Mac added silently because he didn’t hold out a lot of hope that he would be dining with Rachel at Irene’s or anywhere else in the near future. Picking up his hat, Mac headed for the exit. Even if he hadn’t completely blown things by showing up out of the blue at the hospital today, the chances of Rachel wanting to share so much as a cup of coffee with him were slim at best. While she hadn’t thrown him out, she hadn’t exactly welcomed him with open arms, either. Her crack about his reasons for coming to see her had gnawed at him all day. Was that how she remembered him? As some sort of stud who had used and discarded her? The idea that she might believe such a thing filled him with self-disgust. If she did believe him so callous, she’d probably only agreed to meet him in the first place in order to get rid of him.
Not that he blamed her, Mac conceded as he stepped outside into the chilled night air. If whatever she’d once felt for him had been replaced with resentment, he supposed he deserved it. And probably a lot more. To say he’d handled things badly two years ago when he’d left was an understatement. He’d flat-out bungled it, he admitted. The truth was he hadn’t wanted to leave her, and that fact alone had left him scared spitless.
Lost in thought, he scarcely registered that the weather, unpredictable as always, had gone from a balmy breeze to a brisk November wind. Unfazed by the sharp bite of cold air that met him when he turned the corner, Mac walked down the dimly lit street. As a SEAL, he’d been trained to master his body’s reaction to swift temperature changes, be it Arctic winds or desert heat. What he hadn’t been trained for was this sense of…uselessness.
Picking up his pace, Mac continued determinedly, striding headfirst into the cold gusts that swept through the narrow French Quarter streets. He walked faster, needing to burn up some of the restlessness churning inside him—a restlessness that had begun long before the minefield explosion that had damaged his hearing and had only worsened since he’d been placed on medical leave. But as he walked the historic streets of the city, Mac’s thoughts kept turning to the last time he’d walked these same streets. It had been hot then. Hot and humid as only New Orleans in September could be. And he’d been with Rachel.
He cringed at the memory of her face when he’d told her he was leaving and that she should forget him. As long as he lived, he’d never be able to erase the image of her brave but tremulous smile, of seeing the light go out of her eyes. He’d handled the situation with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. The fact that he’d been in over his head and had been shaken by how important she had become to him, to where those feelings for her would lead him, didn’t excuse his actions.
Nor did it excuse the fact that he’d hurt her. Deeply, he suspected—despite the fact that there had been no tears, no accusations, no pleas for him to change his mind. But he’d known he had hurt her just the same. He’d seen the hurt in those sad gray eyes when he’d told her a clean break was best. He’d heard the hurt in her voice when she’d told him that she understood. And he’d tasted the hurt when she’d kissed him goodbye and wished him well.
And now here he was more than two years later showing up to ask her…
To ask her what, McKenna? To give you a second chance?
Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to ask her or even how much he wanted to tell her. Maybe it was just as well that she had stood him up tonight. He would have probably made a fool of himself if she had come. His thoughts turned inward, Mac barely noticed the sidewalk musicians as he crossed the street and continued down to the next block. As a SEAL he hadn’t been able to offer Rachel any future. No way would he have asked her to commit herself to him knowing that the very nature of his job meant he might not make it back from one mission to the next. He’d learned firsthand the damage that kind of selfishness could cause. But now…
Now what, McKenna? What kind of future could he offer her now? Why should Rachel settle for a man who was damaged goods. Not even the SEALs wanted him anymore.
Anger and frustration stormed inside him as he recalled the conversation with his captain three days ago….
“Damn it, Mac, this sucks. But you know as well as I do that a SEAL’s got to be physically 100 percent. Loss of hearing, even in just one ear…” Captain Mike Rossi rammed a fist through his hair. He looked Mac square in the eye. “I’m sorry, kid. I really am. But I can’t risk the safety of the rest of the team.”
Standing at attention, his back ramrod straight, Mac felt as though he’d just been plowed down by a tank. It didn’t matter that he’d known it was coming. He’d expected to be cut loose from the team for nearly two months now, ever since the explosion in the raid on that embassy had left the hearing in his right ear diminished. Yet even anticipating the inevitable didn’t lessen the impact of the blow when it came. “I understand, Captain.”
“You’ve got a lot of leave coming. Take it, Mac. Go to New Orleans. Talk to the specialists at the base hospital there. I understand they’re doing some great things. Find out all you can about that new surgical procedure and then decide if it’s worth the risk or not.”
“I’ve already decided to have the surgery, sir.”
The captain frowned. “You should check it out first. Weigh all the risks before you make any decision. Forty percent hearing is better than none.”
“Forty percent isn’t good enough to be a SEAL, sir.”
“Being a SEAL isn’t everything.”
“It is for me, sir.” Which was the truth. For him being a SEAL wasn’t just what he was or did, it was who he was. And if he could no longer be a SEAL, he was…he was no one.
The captain’s frown deepened. “This isn’t something you should make a snap decision about, Mac.”
“I know. And I’ve given it a lot of thought, Captain. I want to have the surgery.”
“Check it out first, SEAL. That’s an order. Afterward if you still want to go through with it, it’s your choice. But if I were you, I’d think long and hard before I make any decision. And while you’re thinking, it wouldn’t hurt to look up that lady friend of yours who lives there and maybe see how she feels about it.”
Mac had hoped that the captain’s failure to comment on him getting dog-faced when he’d broken things off with Rachel two years ago and his lack of interest in any woman since had gone unnoticed. He should have realized that Eagle Eye Mike Rossi never missed a thing when it came to the members of his SEAL team. “I…we ended things the last time I was in New Orleans. Things weren’t that serious between us.” Or rather Mac had decided to end things because they were getting too serious, he admitted in silence.
Rossi gave him a knowing look. “Too bad. It might make a difference in your decision if she were still in the picture.”
Rachel wasn’t in the picture anymore, Mac reminded himself. Yet, here he was anyway because he hadn’t been able to stay away from her. Just as he hadn’t been able to forget her, regardless of how many missions he went on or how many willing women he could have had in his bed since he’d left her.
And now that he’d seen her again, he was no closer to banishing Rachel from his thoughts than he had been when he’d walked out of her life two years ago. If anything, he wanted her even more.
So what are you going to do about it?
Dammit, he was still a SEAL, Mac reminded himself. A member of the U.S. military’s fiercest, bravest and smartest band of warriors. A SEAL didn’t walk away from a battle because the odds were stacked against him. A SEAL found a way to even the odds and win.
“Hey, sailor,” a sidewalk barker standing outside one of the nightclubs called out in that unmistakable drawl that marked him as a New Orleanian. Opening the door a fraction, the giant of a man offered Mac a glimpse of a long-limbed woman dancing onstage to the seductive wail of a sax.