Free Heart by Garrett Leigh Page A

avoiding confrontation.
    But even hidden by the crockery stands and towering plate racks, he couldn’t escape the worsening wrath of Rick and the other chefs. He knew their aggression wasn’t personal, but he buckled under the weight of it, lost his focus, dropped things, and drew attention to himself—a grave error where he came from, and a big mistake during a dinner service that was fast becoming a war zone.
    Chefs shouted. Waitresses cried. Even Bernie came in from the bar and got involved, until eventually Rick snapped and hurled a metal spatula across the kitchen.
    There were several people between Dex and missile, and he would never be sure Rick even meant to hit him. But it did hit him. It sliced into his temple in a bruising blow and knocked him off balance.
    Dex blinked, more surprised than anything. Rick’s temper had been boiling over all night, but getting whacked with a spatula caught Dex off guard.
    And scared the shit out of him. The kitchen became a dark, deserted alleyway, his face mashed into a brick wall. A cramped, grubby car with a sweaty, heaving body behind him. Chained to the bed in Uncle Braden’s mobile home….
    Bernie stepped in front of him, her expression one of fury. He flinched and stepped back, but she persisted and caught his arm, and he realized her anger wasn’t aimed at him. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go outside.”
    No one looked their way as Dex let Bernie lead him out to the frost-covered bin yard. Service went on despite the violent disruption, and were it not for the sharp pain in the side of his already aching head, he’d have thought he’d imagined the whole incident.
    He shrugged out of Bernie’s grasp and walked out into the night. The air was cold and the sky was clear. He stared up at the stars, wondering if his ma’s bedtime tales of long-dead gypsies haunting the skies were really true. Maybe his nan was up there somewhere. If he closed his eyes and thought about it really hard, he could just about recall her pinched face and bony fingers.
    “Here, put some ice on that shiner,” Bernie said. “You’re going to feel that tomorrow.”
    Dex took the ice-filled cloth Bernie passed him, but didn’t press it to the throbbing bruise on his head. Couldn’t see how it would help.
    Bernie took advantage of his silence and stepped closer, rubbing his shoulder. “What’s the matter, sweetie? You’re not yourself. Do you still feel poorly?”
    Dex rolled his eyes. Rick, Bernie, and his coworkers were constantly on his case for being too quiet. “I’m okay.”
    Bernie eyed him, unconvinced. “Go home, Dex. Get some sleep. You work every day. It’s about time you took an early finish.”
    Dex snapped his gaze to her, alarmed. “I’ve still got stuff to do. Rick—”
    “ Rick will answer to me when this bloody service finally ends. Don’t worry about him, sweetheart. It’s just one of those days, and you got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. This isn’t your fault.”
    Rick had proved himself a formidable foe tonight, but he had nothing on Bernie. She was a towering force of Liverpudlian menace, and wasn’t taking no for an answer.
    Dex slipped upstairs, got changed, and left the restaurant without encountering another soul. He walked home in a daze. He hadn’t felt right since he’d woken that morning, and the disastrous shift at the restaurant topped off a bad day all round. All he wanted was to curl up on his bare mattress and forget it’d ever happened. Or maybe forget he existed at all. It had to be a sign… an omen of some kind. He’d known from the start he was living on borrowed time, and perhaps that time had come to an end.
    He collided face-first with something warm and hard… warm, hard, and stinking of hay.
    “Oi! Watch where you’re going.”
    Dex stumbled back. The voice came from somewhere above him, and he looked up to see he’d walked straight into the side of a patrolling police horse. He felt his eyes widen. He’d spent