How is it that I’m parked at yet another police department to pick up yet another one of my guys? Mack was told that he’s free to go after being detained for a couple of hours. He called and asked me to pick him up. Of course I said yes, but not because I’m happy to do so. Him and I need to have a serious talk. Things have gotten out of control.

Mack must have spotted me when I pulled in here, because he’s quickly crossing the parking lot toward my car. From his casual strut and easy smile, you’d never know he was the same guy who dragged a poor man out of his car in a terrifying melt down this morning.

He opens the door and ducks his head down to look over at me. “Hey gorgeous, thanks for springing me from the joint,” he teases, his eyes sparkling.

“Get in, Mack.” My voice is like a flat line on a heart monitor. My happiness isn’t far behind it.

Mack’s smile turns down at the corners as he closes his mouth, but he doesn’t push it. He slides into the passenger seat and closes his door with a thud.

“How about we go out for dinner? I’ll buy us a nice bottle of wine and then I can make this all up to you when we get back home. Your sweet nectar can be my dessert,” his eyes narrow and his voice drops low.

He’s so sexy. I could lose all of my senses, my sight, my hearing, my smell, and still know that. It would still radiate from him and permeate my soul. The idea of his face buried between my thighs is certainly enough to distract me for a second.

But, it’s never going to be enough to fix what happened today.

“Mack, we have to talk,” his smirk slips off his face and he refuses to look at me. Instead, he pushes his jaw out as he stares straight ahead.

“Lauren, look, I know things got a bit crazy today, but it’s all going to be fine. The police didn’t think it was a big enough deal to press any charges, so I don’t think we need to rehash it.”

If this was a foreign film, the subtitle underneath him would be two words long: Drop It.

Part of me wants to let it go. To believe that this was just a one-off situation. That nothing needs to change.

That part of me is a fucking liar.

“No, Mack. We do need to rehash it ‘cause this can’t keep happening. Do you even remember what you did today? Do you remember dragging a father out of his vehicle in front of his wife and kids and trying to drive away? Because that’s a scene I don’t think I’m going to ever forget.”

Mack’s eyebrows furrow together like storm clouds rolling in across a darkening sky. I watch his face for a flicker of recognition. For some small sign that he does remember, but the vacant, million-mile stare in his eyes tells me he doesn’t.

“The police filled me in on it,” he finally mumbles.

His eyelids look heavy; like he hasn’t slept in days. It’s clear that he hasn’t left the war behind. He may have escaped Afghanistan with his life, but his soul is still trapped over there, a POW being slowly tortured to death.

“Mack, I …” my mind searches. I want to be gentle with him. I want to find the right words to say what I need to. However, I know he’ll just smell the bullshit through the flowers. “I want you to get help. I want you to go to therapy.”

“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 backfired, 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.