UNBROKEN PROMISE

~66~ Jealous Fool

The morning sun had begun to spill through the kitchen windows. Logan sat at the table, his jaw set, his fingers wrapped tightly around his coffee cup. Across from him, Oma moved quietly, as she set down a plate of biscuits and eggs, but there was no warmth in the gesture.

They hadn’t spoken much since waking up. Logan had muttered a gruff “mornin’." when he came into the kitchen, and she had nodded in return, but that was it. Now, they sat in silence, the only sounds being the clink of cutlery against plates and the distant crow of a rooster outside.

The whole tension was still thick. She was never one to pick fights, never one to stir the pot when things were already bubbling over. But this? This was different.

She couldn’t just sit here, pretending nothing had happened.

She set down her fork, folding her hands in her lap as she took a steadying breath. "Logan, we need to talk about yesterday."

Logan’s grip on his coffee cup tightened. He didn’t look up. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

Oma’s brows furrowed. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about?” she repeated, incredulous. “Logan, you broke the man’s nose.”

He scoffed, finally looking up at her, his blue eyes flashing with irritation. “He’ll live.”

“That's not the point.” Oma shook her head. “You lost your temper, Logan. You let your anger get the best of you, and now look where that got us.”

Logan’s jaw worked, the muscle in his cheek ticking. He set his cup down with a little more force than necessary. “You sayin’ I was wrong to do it?”

“I’m saying you could’ve handled it better.”

Logan let out a short, humorless laugh. “Handled it better? You mean I should’ve just stood there, watchin’ while he put his hands all over you?”

Oma’s eyes widened. “He was just bein’ friendly, Logan!”

Logan shot up from his chair so fast it scraped against the wooden floor, making Oma flinch. He braced his hands on the table, leaning toward her. “That ain’t how it looked to me.”

Oma rose too, her pulse hammering in her throat. She wasn’t used to raising her voice, wasn’t used to standing her ground like this, but Logan was pushing her past her limit. “Then maybe you shoulda looked harder instead of acting like a jealous fool!”

Logan’s nostrils flared. “Why do you even care, huh?” he challenged, his voice sharp. “Why does it matter to you if Matthew got hurt?”

Oma reeled back like he’d slapped her. “Because it was wrong,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Because you’re better than that, Logan.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his frustration boiling over. He didn’t know how to say what he was feeling—didn’t know how to tell her that the sight of another man making her laugh had nearly driven him mad. That the thought of her looking at someone else the way he wished she’d look at him made something dark and possessive take root inside him.

But he didn’t know how to say any of that.

So instead, he did what he always did when things got too close, too raw.

He ran.

“I need ta cool off,” he muttered, snatching his hat off the hook by the door. Before Oma could say another word, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Oma stood there, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The room felt too quiet now, the lingering energy of their argument in the air.

She exhaled slowly, sinking back into her chair. She had never seen Logan so worked up before.