Heff was halfway down the stairs when he heard the first dish break. He didn't think anything of it—accidents happen—until a second crash followed. And a third.
"Goddammit!" Garland bellowed—and another dish bit the dust. "Fuck!" Fury infused his voice. The next roar formed no words—just an explosive cry of... anguish.
Heff faltered in the hall outside the kitchen, a bit uneasy about walking into the warzone.
"Goddamn motherfucker!" Garland wailed and—kicked?—something? Heff heard wood splinter and what sounded like a cupboard door break off its hinges. The man's shouts grew thicker, bogged down by emotion. "Fucking piece of shit!"
The hallway blurred before Heff. The pain in Garland's voice began to overpower the rage—yet seemed to fuel the destruction as shit hit the kitchen wall opposite of where Heff stood in the hall. He flinched, trembling. Last night in the barn... the tears... had it knocked down the precarious barrier between Garland and his grief? Though a little frightened by this outburst... Heff's only surprise was that it didn't happen sooner. At the funeral, Garland was so tightly wound, just trying to hold himself together. At Foster's office, he'd broken slightly, but not nearly enough to release his grief.
He was breaking now.
Except, it didn't feel like a random "blowout"—he was raging at someone.
Heff grew more uneasy; was Garland furious at him for "spying" on him in the barn? The depth of rage exploding inside the kitchen right now... was not a rage Heff wanted directed at himself. Garland wouldn't actually hurt him... or would he? Heff didn't know this Garland.
Taking his life in his hands, Heff tentatively stepped into the kitchen doorway just as Garland snatched a piece of broken plate from the counter and flung it behind him without looking.
Heff yelped as the broken dish zinged past his face, grazing his cheekbone. He grabbed his face. Though the cut was shallow, blood spilled down his cheek.
Garland whirled around at Heff's sharp cry. "Jesus!" He rushed to Heff and grabbed his face. "Fuck." Garland practically dragged him to the sink through the debris scattered across the kitchen floor and wet a clean washcloth. "Don't fucking sneak up on me," he muttered, a slight tremor to his raw voice. He washed the cut, his face pinching. "Goddammit..."
"I-I'm okay." The injury was minor, but Heff couldn't stop shaking. "It... it barely grazed me."
"It could've been worse," Garland growled low through a tight scowl. "Why the fuck did you even come in here? You got a death wish?"
"No," Heff whispered, staring the man in the face.
Garland avoided eye contact. "Hold this." He pressed the cloth to the cut. "I'll get some bandages."
Heff held the washcloth to his cheekbone as Garland left the kitchen, kicking broken dishes out of his way. Heff looked around the room; plates, glasses, bowls lay shattered on the linoleum. Small appliances had been launched at the wall. The glass carafe for the coffee maker was in the sink—smashed to pieces. A lower cupboard door hung by one hinge, splintered in half.
Amidst the debris? Garland's broken heart. Heff saw it in each piece of shattered dish, each dented or busted appliance, in the crack on the kitchen wall, the broken cupboard door. The kitchen screamed his anguish.
Heff recognized it, because inside himself... he was as broken and shattered as this room.
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YOU ARE READING
Saddle Up: a Cedar Ridge Ranch novella
Romance**PREQUEL TO "COWBOY UP (COWBOY GANGSTER SHORT STORY)"** Heff Wilder's world is shattered when he receives word that his sister and brother-in-law, Mandy and Frank Zayne, have died in a car accident. Since the death of their parents when Heff was te...
