He shook his head, but said nothing. When Brodie was on a roll, every word only gave him more ammunition.
“How I envied my big brother, the able-bodied hero always rushing to my rescue. Until I realised I didn’t need to be rescued any more, I could rescue myself. Then you found Gina, unstable and erratic and so in need of someone to take care of her.” Brodie smiled savagely. “Interesting that as soon as she died, you took off to the Middle East, in search of new victims to rescue.”
“It’s not like that.” Mac crossed his arms. “You don’t understand a thing about me.”
“Don’t I? If you say so.” Brodie struggled into his car seat, put the key in the ignition, and stopped, with his hand on the door ready to slam it shut in Mac’s face. “I’ll tell you one thing I do understand. While we were kids, I was the one our parents had to worry about. Now we’re grown up, you’ve made sure it’s you they have to worry about. Think about it. Be sure your motives are clear.”
The statement held uncomfortable echoes of Dad’s question before dinner, but that didn’t mean they were right. Brodie shut the door and started his car engine before Mac could argue.
So Brodie thought he was attention seeking? He barked a short bitter laugh that hurt his chest.
Time to go get some attention, in that case.
He marched upstairs to pack his bag. He’d leave as soon as he could.
Tomorrow, he’d see Tiffany again. The day after that, he’d be back to his real work. If that made him a rescuer, then so be it.
Chapter 23
As she sat in the train carriage, hemmed in by suitcases nearly as big as she was, Tiffany stared for the twentieth time at the email on her phone. Maybe she’d been crazy to agree to meet Mac at the airport this afternoon.
If he was coming back to stay, it would be different, but he was leaving.
Sadness buried any possibility of joy, a heavy weight pressing her down into the hard plastic seat. The day matched her mood. Dull winter rain streamed down the windows.
When they’d already said their goodbyes, why go through it all again?
But she couldn’t refuse, even though his turnaround time was so short, they’d probably only have ten or fifteen minutes together. This would be her last chance to see him. Perhaps forever.
Until the email arrived, she’d held on to a glimmer of hope. Maybe that last night hadn’t really been goodbye. Maybe he’d fail his fitness test again. Maybe he’d change his mind, decide he loved her and wanted to stay.
Her lips twisted. Fat chance.
He’d passed his medical, of course. And as she’d expected, he was on his way back to the Middle East as soon as he could arrange it.
As soon as today.
He wasn’t even going back to his room in his shared apartment. Just flying in from Edinburgh, then transferring onto the next plane to Dubai. From there, another flight to wherever the Army unit was. He hadn’t told her his final destination.
Probably, some sort of military secret. She wouldn’t ask. The less she knew, the less she’d worry.
Or so she hoped.
The train stopped at the Heathrow terminal she needed, and the crowd of cheerful Germans shifted their huge bags for her. On the way up the escalators, she forced herself to take slow steadying breaths.
They didn’t stop her heartbeat galloping as she found the coffee shop he’d said he’d wait for her at. They didn’t stop her knees shaking as she searched for him in the crowd. They didn’t stop excitement leaping in her like a fountain when she spotted him sitting at a corner table, his dark head bent over the newspaper.
She walked right up to him before he glanced up. His expression gave away nothing of how he felt, though she detected lines of strain around his eyes.
“Mac,” she said quietly. She longed to say so much more. The lively bustle of the packed coffee shop felt so at odds with the way she felt.
“Tiffany. Thanks for meeting me.” He smiled at last, a stilted unnatural looking smile. “It’ll be short and sweet, like you.”
She wrung out a laugh at the corny line, though there wasn’t much happy about the sound. Finding the glad thing to praise God for in this was a struggle, when everything in her wanted to beg him not to go. Even if he didn’t want to keep seeing her, to stay here, safe.
“I’m grateful to have the chance to see you again. It might be the last time. I’m going to miss you.” Her voice wobbled on the words. Playing games now made no sense. She was losing him anyway. Being honest about how she felt couldn’t make things any worse.
“Can I get you a coffee,” he offered. It seemed he’d chosen not to reply to what she’d said.
She sat opposite him, clenching her hands together in her lap to still their trembling. One glance at the customers thronging the counter convinced her she didn’t want to spend their last ten minutes together watching him wait to buy her a cappuccino. And her nerves were jittery enough as it was, without adding caffeine to the mix.
“I’m okay.” Shaking her head, she bit her lip as she gazed over at him, without attempting to hide her feelings.
He looked at her then, truly looked at her. Sadness shadowed his dark eyes.
“Are you?” he asked. “Are you really?”
She needed to push the words past the lump in her throat. Her lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “Of course I’m not. I want you to stay. I’m worried you’ll get hurt again. I don’t understand why you’re insisting on leaving.”
The struggle to find words to reply played out on his face. He rubbed his hands over his eyes before answering.
“I don’t know.” Something raw and honest in his answer seared her. “I just do. I’ve never felt I belong here. It’s my work. And if you could see the people there… I can help them. I can make a difference there. No one needs me here.” He trailed off, and she saw his throat work as he swallowed.
“I need you.” The words were almost ripped from her.
He shook his head, anguish etched into his face. “No, you don’t. Not really. You’re so much stronger than you think you are.”
“I don’t feel strong. Mac, I worry that you aren’t as strong as you think you are. I know you still need to take pain meds.”
His face closed up, like a door slamming in her face. “I’m fine,” he snapped.
She knew then, she’d lost him. But still, she made one last try.
“I was reading the Psalms last night, trying to find some meaning in all that’s happened. I found this verse, ‘I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfils his purpose for me.’ I don’t want to preach at you, Mac, or tell you what to do, but are you sure what you’re doing is God’s will for your life? Are you letting Him fulfil His purpose for you? For us?”
His lips tightened, and a muscle jumped in his jaw.
Tears scorched her eyes as she dragged in a deep breath. Her hands clasped together while she waited for his reply. Not that she expected he’d change his mind. At least, she’d said the words she felt led to say. When he left, she’d know she’d done all she could.
Though she still didn’t want him to go.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I even believe God has a purpose for me any more. I don’t know what I believe. I’m sorry, Tiffany. All I know is, I have to go.”
The flight to Dubai was called. The impersonal bustle of the airport spun around her. He was leaving.
“I have to go,” he repeated. “That’s my flight, and I need to get through security.” His expression showed no sadness, no reluctance, no regret.
She sighed. “I know.” Her face raised toward him, like a flower seeking the sunlight. “This is it then.”
Her heart burned, a hard painful knot in her chest, at the thought of letting him go, but she knew she had to. A man like Mac couldn’t be made to stay. He had to choose to stay. And he was choosing to leave.
Mac pulled her to him, and kissed her urgently, with a longing and a hunger that made a lie of his pretended indifference. Then
he let her go and stepped back.
She saw something him his eyes that could have been regret. Hope blossomed in her heart. Maybe, please God, he’d change his mind and stay.
Please?
Instead, he stooped to pick up his battered old war bag.
She’d seen him interviewed about it on YouTube. Knew what it contained.
His flak jacket, designed to stop AK-47 shots and armour piercing bullets. His helmet. His first aid kits, ready for a stabbing or a gunshot wound. His cameras.
Stupid, crazy, pig-headed man.
And yet she still loved him.
“Goodbye, Tiffany.” He touched her cheek with a gentle finger. “Have a good life. You deserve the best.”
Then he turned and walked away.
Her vision blurred, as she watched the automatic doors close behind his retreating back. She swallowed the tears she couldn’t allow to fall.
Please be with him Lord, and keep him safe. Keep all the people serving our countries in all the wars safe, but please, him especially.
Then she straightened her shoulders. God would give her the strength she needed to carry on, even if she didn’t feel it right now.
Heartache like this was something new, something she’d never experienced before. Mac was so different from every other guy she’d dated. How she felt for him was different too. Her emotions had never been involved so deeply before.
This time, she couldn’t simply shrug and walk away.
Something told her she’d always love Mac, even if she never saw him again. Loving him was part of her now, like having blonde hair and blue eyes were. She could pretend she didn’t love him. The same as she could tint her hair, and wear contacts to change her eye colour, but in her heart, she’d know the truth.
But all this must be part of God’s purpose for her. That verse she’d quoted to Mac and he’d refused to hear applied to her just as much as him.
Help me Lord, please. Show me Your purpose. I trust you enough to know you have one for me, even though right now, I have no idea how this fits with it. Show me how to find my way back from this, when I’m hurting worse than I’ve ever hurt before.
She walked to the escalators and down to the Underground, head held high. Only she knew how her pulse buzzed in her ears, how tight her chest burned, and how her feet dragged.
As she left the station at Baker Street, her phone beeped with a voicemail. Hope flooded her heart.
Mac?
Her hands shook as she pulled the phone from her bag and checked for missed calls. She didn’t recognise the number. Disappointment sagged her, and she put out a hand to lean on the exit gates, barely noticing the impatient commuters pushing past her.
The message was one that a month ago would have had her cartwheeling along the street. One of the designers Mac had sent her portfolio off to, enthusiastically offering her an interview.
The funny thing was, as she’d said to Mac that last day in the cafeteria, she wasn’t sure she wanted it now. Wanting to design and model pretty clothes simply didn’t seem as important as they did. She wouldn’t burn any bridges though. Right now, while she grieved over losing Mac, probably wasn’t a good time to make any decision.
Besides, she needed to pray about it first.
Suddenly, Tiff recognised something. Something that could be a hint of God’s purpose in all that had happened since she arrived in Europe.
The girl she’d been six weeks ago, before she met Mac, couldn’t have done any of this. The old Tiff wouldn’t have been able to set up the scheme. The old Tiff would have sulked and pouted and wailed and refused to let Mac go. The old Tiff would have jumped at the chance of any modelling or design job, no matter how unsuitable.
But she wasn’t the girl she’d been any more. She’d grown up.
She just wished growing up didn’t hurt so much.
Chapter 24
Mac’s plane wasn’t even over the British Channel yet, but he missed Tiffany already, with a physical ache. Arranging to meet her again at Heathrow had been a huge mistake. All saying goodbye a second time had done was make the pain of parting even worse.
But the pain would pass.
Once he got back to work and was busy with the realities of life on the edge, she’d be the last thing he’d think of.
When he sat in a chopper, surrounded by men telling crude jokes to cover their fear, with his flak jacket heavy on his shoulders and tight on his neck. When he was down in some muddy ditch, rocket propelled grenades and bullets flying, with adrenaline flooding his system. When he photographed the real heroes of war, parents in a burned out home, trying to provide food for what was left of their family, with tears in their eyes as they clutched charred photos of their dead children.
Though the thought of all that only made him miss Tiffany more.
He loved her, simple as that. For the first time in his life, he was in love, and he was leaving her behind.
He shook his head. The war zone was where his work was, where he belonged. Those people needed him to tell the story they couldn’t tell themselves. Tiffany didn’t need him.
At first, he’d seen her as weak, thought she needed rescuing, just like Gina had. But it turned out, she was stronger than he was.
And she’d forget him. Soon, she’d meet some other guy, someone far more worthy of her sweet trust. Someone who could offer her what she needed. She’d fall in love. If she ever did think of him, it would be as part of remembering her one Edinburgh Hogmanay, nothing more. That was as it should be.
He looked down at the luckenbooth brooch he’d discovered hidden in his luggage, when he’d gone through security, and traced its surface with one finger. His mother must have slipped it into his bag. The gold heart shaped brooch had been worn by every bride in his family for generations.
Mac shook his head. He tucked the brooch away out of sight, in the zipped inner pocket of his jacket. Tiffany would never wear it, because he would never see her again.
The fact he felt as if he was bleeding inside didn’t matter. That pain would numb, the way the painkillers numbed the pain of his shattered leg. He could take two now. Down them with a couple of whiskies, like the suited-up business man in the seat beside him, who’d ordered a double the moment the flight attendants started bar service. The drugs and the drink would numb more than his leg.
He pulled the foiled strip from his pocket, and contemplated the pills in his hand.
Nothing to them. They weighed only a few grams. Yet for these, he’d sold his integrity. He’d lied at his medical about how many he was taking, pretended he was strong. He’d known, opiates were easy to get in the Middle East. But his lies and his dependence on the drugs could put others at risk. He hadn’t told the doctor about the flashbacks either, the way he reacted to loud noises.
Not the behaviour of an honourable man. Lies and false pretences got him on this flight out, running away from home and from Brodie, and most of all from Tiffany.
And from God?
He closed his eyes as a shudder ran through him.
Did God want him to be in pain?
The drugs numbed more than his leg. They numbed his sense of failure. His guilt and resentment of Brodie. His guilt over easily-led Gina, over not being there to stop her getting in that car with her drunk friend that night. And over the Arab boy he’d been too late to save.
The feeling of always having to do it alone, of never being able to rely on anyone. His sense of never ever, being enough on his own. And the aching knowledge that he wasn’t good enough for Tiffany, that inevitably, he’d fail her too.
The realization hit him, harder than an RPG. He was just as much of an addict as Darren. And less of a man, because Darren had told the truth about his weakness and done something about it.
Meanwhile, he still hid behind his strong act, his knight-in-shining-armour rescuing act. Brodie had been right. Brutal, but right. He needed someone weaker to rescue, in order to feel strong. But inside that armour, all he felt was small and bro
ken. He’d realised it, that day at the photoshoot, when Tiffany had modelled the white wedding dress, when he’d seen himself reflected in the clear pure mirror of her eyes, and hadn’t liked what he saw.
That was the real pain he wanted to numb.
But maybe, small and broken was how he was supposed to feel?
The words of an old hymn came to him. ‘I am small, but Thou art mighty.’
Until he accepted his smallness, he had no room for God in his life. Gulping in a harsh painful breath, he prayed, seriously prayed, for the first time in a long while. Maybe, he’d never prayed this way before.
He dropped the strong act. He dropped the ‘I don’t need anything or anyone, not even You’ act he’d lived all his life. He came before God, in his smallness, in his brokenness. And he prayed from his heart.
Can you heal this pain, Lord? Can you take my stupid stubborn pride and my smallness and my brokenness and make me whole in You? I feel like I’m a boat in a storm, thrown around by the waves. Can you show me the way You want me to go? Is Tiffany right, do you truly have a different purpose for my life?
He remembered something else from his childhood, besides the hymn.
An old framed print had hung on the wall at his grandparents’ house when he was a child, in the bedroom he’d slept in when his parents were at the hospital with Brodie. It showed Jesus, walking on the water, while the terrified disciples huddled in the boat, frightened by the storm, afraid of the light that shone out from Jesus in the darkness of the night.
Grandpop had read him the story from the Bible. Told him how Peter stepped out of the boat and walked toward Jesus. As long as he kept his eyes on Jesus, he walked on the water too. Only when he looked at the waves and the storm instead of Jesus, did he get afraid and start to sink. When he cried out for help, Jesus stretched out a hand and lifted Peter, and got him to the boat.
So Lord, have I been looking at the storm and not at You? Have I been drowning, because I’ve seen only the waves and not You there in the middle of them. Worse, have I been pretending I’m not drowning but swimming, because I’d rather struggle to do it on my own than ask for help? Taking Your hand and letting You lift me means admitting I can’t do it on my own, without You.
Love In Store Books 1-3: Collection of three sweet and clean Christian romances with a London setting: The Wedding List, Believe in Me, & A Model Bride Page 49