Echoes of the Heart - Casey, L.A. (digital ebook reader .TXT) 📗

you because you’re an abusive waste of space who made his life hell!”

I didn’t register Owen moving his arm until his fist connected with my face and sent me sprawling back onto the ground. I couldn’t even scream, I was too shocked to do anything other than lie back on the ground and put my hand over my throbbing face. Owen stood over me and I hated that I cowered beneath him, but I was worried that he was going to hit me again.

“Get . . . Get away from me!”

He took a step back then another.

“Tell that lad t’come and see me,” Owen said, shaking out his hand. “I mean it, Frankie.”

He turned and stormed towards the hospice’s entrance. I had heard one of his friends was dying of cancer and was a patient at the hospice; that was likely to be who he was visiting. It didn’t surprise me that he was heading inside as the staff were getting the patients settled in for the night; he did what he wanted. He always had. I got to my feet and before he changed his mind and decided to come back, I hurriedly got into my car, backed out of my space and drove out of the darkened car park. I didn’t realise that I was crying until I was on the main road.

My face was on fire, it hurt so badly.

I kept touching my cheek and eye to make sure there was no blood to indicate that Owen had cut me. I found nothing, which was a relief, but only just. I could see perfectly okay out of my right eye, but my cheek bone under it felt massively swollen. The throbbing hurt so much worse than I ever thought being punched would. I found myself thinking of Risk, about how he had experienced this pain at Owen’s hand when he was only a kid, and it made me cry harder. I made it home and into my cottage, where I grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, wrapped it in a tea-towel and placed it against my face.

I was too scared to even look in the mirror.

I looked down at my feet when a small body brushed against my shin, I reached down and picked up Oath, my eight-year-old ginger British Shorthair. I cuddled him then put him on the counter-top. I rubbed his head then put down my frozen peas so I could top up his food and water and clean out his litter tray. When I bagged up his dirt, I went outside and put it into the rubbish bin before returning inside and locking my front door. I went back into my kitchen and took two painkillers with some water before I filled my kettle up, put it on its stand and plugged it in.

I looked over my shoulder when a knock sounded at the door. I glanced at the clock and frowned, it was quarter to ten. I rarely had visitors, but none this late. I approached the front door cautiously and I said, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Frankie.” I stared at my door in silence. “Risk.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do. Then I huffed with annoyance because Risk Keller was standing on the other side of my door after everything he had said to me the night before. I couldn’t believe his nerve.

“Get lost, Keller.”

“Please, Frankie. I’ve come to apologise.” Risk pleaded his case. “How I treated you last night was horrible. I was wrong and I’m so sorry. I’d take it back in a second if I could, Cherry.”

The second he called me Cherry, my blood boiled as I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Don’t call me Cherry.” I snapped, brushing my hair out of my face. “You don’t get to call me that when you hurt me like you did last night. What you did was horrible! Sorry isn’t good enough, Risk!” I glared. “You hurt me and you did it on purpose so don’t you dare act like—”

“Frankie, what the fuck happened to your face?”

I felt my lips part and my eyes widen when I remembered how I must have looked. Wordlessly, I tried to close the door in Risk’s face, but the stubborn idiot threw his body forward.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, forcing the door open. “What happened to you?”

I stumbled back a few steps, staring up at Risk. I was gobsmacked. He was the last person I expected to be coming knocking on my door. My shock quickly melted away to anger when I remembered how he treated me the night before.

“None of your business, Keller.” I stated as I pointed past him. “Get out of my house. Now.”

“Fuck no,” he closed the door firmly behind him with his foot. “Your eye is bruised and so is your cheek, it’s red too and swollen as hell.”

I scowled at him before I turned and went back into my kitchen to grab my frozen peas. I removed them from the tea-towel, wiped away the water droplets and placed the bag against my face. It was freezing and brought much relief to my burning, throbbing cheek.

“I’m not dropping this.”

I grunted. “I walked into a door.”

“The fuck you did,” Risk stated. “Remember who you’re talking to, Frankie. You don’t get that big of a shiner from walking into a door.”

I didn’t answer him because I didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t an excuse that I could use that Risk wouldn’t see through. He had used every one in the book to hide his abuse at the hands of Owen and Freda over the years.

“Look at me, Frankie.”

“Risk,” I exhaled. “Just leave. I am none of your business so please, just go away.”

“Did someone hurt you?” he asked, ignoring what I said. “A boyfriend? Tell me. I’ll kill him.”

I looked at him and found him staring at me from the kitchen doorway, his hands were fisted and he looked as if any second steam would pour from