Echoes of the Heart

by Casey, L. A.

  “We’re ready.”

  Risk’s voice was so much deeper than when he was eighteen and I quickly found that I almost couldn’t cope with it. It gave me goosebumps. It was ridiculous how much his voice made my body react like a sex-deprived animal . . . which I basically was, but still.

  “Okay.” I grabbed my notepad and pen once more. “Fire away.”

  I jotted down both of the men’s orders as they spoke, ripped the page off my notepad and said. “That shouldn’t be too long of a wait.”

  “No problem,” Angel said.

  Risk said nothing, he just stared up at me like I was a zoo animal. I cleared my throat, smiled again then turned and hurried over to the hatch and hung the order up on the rack. Joe spun the order rack around until the order sheet was on his side of the hatch in the kitchen. He looked over at the booth, then looked at me and raised his eyebrows. I shrugged my shoulders in response. I had no idea what was happening any more than Joe did.

  The door bell sounded and I jumped when there was a sudden squeal.

  I turned and watched as Hannah Porter walked into the diner ready to start her evening shift, from five until closing time at eleven. She spotted Angel and Risk and just about lost her bloody mind. I stared as she literally rushed over to the booth and started telling the guys how much she loved them and what a huge Sinner she was. Risk said something to her that nearly made her die then and there.

  “You remember me!” she all but screeched. “I was the year below you and you remember me. Oh my god.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Joe huffed from the kitchen. “Hannah. Work. Now.”

  She waved her hand at Joe without looking away from Risk or Angel. I didn’t want to stand there and watch her gush over the men so I saw to the other three booths that had customers. They were all middle-aged couples and didn’t appear to see what the big fuss was over two ridiculously attractive men.

  “We’re lost on who they could be,” one man said. “Are they famous?”

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “They’re in a rock band.”

  “Ooohh.” The man’s wife grinned. “They’re lookers, too.”

  I chuckled. “That they are . . . can I get you both anything else?”

  “The bill, please,” the man answered. “We’re finished.”

  “No problem.”

  I went to the till, checked the couple’s booth out, grabbed their receipt and brought it to them.

  “When you’re ready, just come to the till and pay your bill. No rush.”

  I kept my eyes averted from booth one where Hannah was still talking with Risk and Angel. I knew what Hannah sounded like when she was flirting and she was hardcore flirting with both guys. More Risk than Angel and that hit me in the gut. She knew he and I once dated, but maybe because it had been so long ago she just didn’t care. I mean, we were co-workers, not really friends, so I guess she didn’t have a girl code to uphold with me.

  I turned my attention to my inventory list and reread it nine times before Joe called booth one’s order. Hannah didn’t move away from Risk’s booth to get the order so, with a sigh, I did it since it was my booth to wait on. I grabbed the plates and sides and put them on a tray then crossed the room to stand behind Hannah-bloody-Porter.

  “Excuse me, Hannah.”

  She jumped, obviously startled by me.

  “Oh! Hi, Frankie.”

  She stepped aside as I placed the correct plates in front of each man.

  “Enjoy. If you guys need anything, give me a shout. Or just ask Hannah since she’s already here.”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed slightly and I knew it was because she heard the slight sneer in my tone. Before I could turn and walk away, she touched my forearm and said, “Wait, Frankie. Have you caught up with Risk? You two used to date when you were kids, right?”

  “Date?” Risk blinked. “Weren’t we just friends in school, Frankie?”

  I felt my cheeks burn with humiliation.

  “We did date. That was a very long time ago though,” I said to Hannah, lifting my chin. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  I turned and walked back over to the counter to my inventory list and tried to focus even though I felt sick to my stomach. Risk didn’t agree that I was once his girlfriend, he referred to me as a school friend. He didn’t even look at Hannah when she mentioned we dated, he only stared at me as if daring me to say someone as good as him had dated someone as basic as me. I didn’t know what was happening but this kind of interaction with him wasn’t something I expected.

  I stayed across the room, doing inventory and checking booths out when people paid their bills. I noticed Hannah eventually leaving the table when Joe came out and got her so the men could eat in peace. They ate quickly, in less than twenty minutes. When Risk raised his hand and beckoned me over with his finger, my gut twisted. Part of me wanted to stick my finger up at him for addressing me in such a way, but I didn’t.

  I walked over to the table calmly.

  “Anything else I can get you guys?”

  “No, thank you. I’m full. It was delicious.”

  I smiled at Angel. “Happy to hear it.”

  “Frankie.”

  My body was weak for him whenever he said my name. Whenever he uttered the word, it was like I was the only woman in existence. It was distracting and embarrassing and if he ever found out, I’d likely drop dead.

  “Yes?”

  “Hannah reminded me about us dating, I remember now. It got me thinking. I was just telling Angel here about our first date right here in this booth . . . how long ago was that? Nine years? Ten?”

  I hated that it hurt my feelings because he couldn’t remember when we went on our first date, or that Hannah had to remind him about our relationship in the first place.

  “We were fifteen,” I shifted my stance. “So twelve years ago.”

  “Twelve years.” Risk whistled. “A hell of a lot has changed since then.” He glanced at my uniform, grimaced, then looked up to my face. “Well, for me it has.”

  I felt my face drop when he finished speaking. Judgment for working in the same job all my life was not something I ever, in a million years, expected from Risk. He looked at me like I was . . . nothing.

  “Good seeing you again, Frankie,” he stood up from the booth, making me take a couple of steps back. “Great service, you’ve got this waitress thing on lock. Have a good one.”

  He didn’t look at me as he stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out a wad of notes, and dropped them on my notepad like he was handing a homeless person money. My mouth dropped open, not because the notes he gave me were fifty-pound notes, but because I had never felt so disrespected by a person in my entire life. I never expected that disrespect to come from Risk.

  It hurt me deeply.

  “Thank you, Frankie,” Angel said after Risk walked on out of the diner. “Uh, it was lovely to meet you.”

  He turned and nearly jogged to catch up with Risk, who was already outside. For a moment, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe the person who had treated me so horribly was Risk. My Risk. I was flabbergasted but only for a moment because hurt quickly dissolved into anger and before I knew it I had his tip clenched in my hand and was out of the diner, rushing after the two men quicker than a hiccup.

  “Risk!”

  He paused mid-stride as he and Angel neared a flashy sports car.

  “No autographs, Frankie,” he said. “Sorry.”

  I nearly tripped over my feet with shock.

  “Autographs?” I sputtered. “Are you joking me? I don’t want your bloody autograph, Risk Keller.”

  He looked at Angel, who was looking at the ground, then looked back at me.

  “No pictures either.”

  “Jesus, man. Stop it.”

  I ignored Angel and so did Risk.

  “What is wrong with you?” I demanded. “Why did you treat me like that in there?”

  “Treat you like what?” He blinked. “I barely know you, Frankie.”


  Don’t you dare cry.

  “You knew me once,” I said, standing tall. “And I knew you too. Treating me like I’m beneath you just because I’m a waitress is downright disgusting, Risk.”

  “I can’t remember a time when you were beneath me, Frankie. Only when you were on top.”

  I couldn’t help but stumble back a couple of steps with the force of his hurtful words. It would have hurt less if he’d slapped me.

  “I can’t believe you just said that.” My voice cracked. “Who are you right now?”

  “Risk Keller.” He winked. “You don’t know me anymore, Frankie. People change.”

  “You’re right!” I snapped. “People do change because you aren’t the Risk I once knew. He wasn’t cruel like the person you’ve become.”

  “Maybe you didn’t know me as well as you think you did, Cherry.”

  Hearing my nickname come out of his hateful mouth was like a punch in the gut.

  “I knew you inside and out, you fucking arsehole!” I bellowed. “How dare you tarnish the relationship we had by treating me like this!”

  “I think that relationship was tarnished the second you dumped me, soft lips.” He tilted his head, clearly remembering more about us than he let on. “What? Is my money not good enough for you? It’s easy cash, you can put your feet up for a couple of weeks with that tip.”

  Risk’s friend Angel shifted as he looked from his friend to me and back again. A surge of fury shot through my veins and I felt my face burn with heat. I bunched up the wad of notes he’d tipped me and threw them in his face like they were nothing more than scrap paper. Risk didn’t flinch, but his gaze did harden and his posture went rigid.

  “I have worked in this diner since I was sixteen years old.” I lifted my chin and looked him dead in the eye even though I knew that mine were filled with tears. “I’m not a millionaire like you. I don’t have the luxury of money and I never will, but every penny I have ever earned is worked hard for and you have the fucking audacity to treat me like less than you because you’re rich and famous and can tip someone over a thousand pound like it’s nothing. Are you better than me now, Risk? You forget where you come from, you forget you were one treated lesser and I was the person whose shoulder you cried on because of that.” I looked him up and down, thoroughly disgusted. “There’s no need for the likes of you in Southwold. We might not be the most glamorous people, but we are honest and hard-working. I’m heartbroken that someone as fake as you came from here.”

  “Is that all?”

  His voice was so raspy it sounded like music all on its own.

  “No,” I stepped forward, tilted my head back to glare up at him. “Fuck you, Risk Keller, you piece of shit. That is all, arsehole.”

  Now I was done.

  I turned and walked away from Risk and returned back into the diner, where I went straight into the staff bathroom and locked the door behind me. I fisted my hands and pressed them against my eyes to keep from crying. I tried to take deep breaths in and out, but the urge to sob was overwhelming me. I slid down the door until my bum touched the floor. I drew my knees up to my chest and tried to battle away the horrendous pain that ached within my chest. It had nothing to do with an asthma attack and everything to do with my heart breaking.

  Risk somehow managed to break me all over again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  RISK

  I was a no good, rotten piece of dog shit.

  No one needed to tell me so, I knew it without anyone else’s input. Angel, however, felt like I needed to hear how much of a prick I was the entire drive back to May’s house last night. He didn’t stop there either, when I woke up the following morning and went down to the kitchen to make some food, he was already seated at the kitchen table. He glared at me as he drank from his cup of what I guessed to be tea. I felt my jaw click from clamping my teeth together to keep from saying a word. I left the kitchen hungry, but it was worth it to get away from Angel’s judgemental eyes. It freaked me out how he could glare at you and make you feel like he knew exactly what you were thinking when you were thinking it.

  I felt bad enough without him making me feel worse.

  We agreed that we would sleep in May’s house until the first of our three concerts at Wembley Stadium took place in London next week. We wanted the nostalgia of the best part of our childhoods which was this house and the studio attached to it. Angel wanted to experience where we grew up too, so he was on board to bunk in the house with us, but I think he was regretting it after how much of an arsehole I was to Frankie the night before. I got it. What I did . . . that wasn’t me. That was a prick who wanted revenge on a woman because she hurt his feelings in front of a group of kids.

  I was massive fucking fanny.

  Angel had told me not to do something that I would regret and I went and did exactly that. I treated Frankie exactly how she made me feel, worthless. It didn’t feel good in the slightest. I didn’t get that moment of ‘screw you for hurting me’, all I got was a wave of regret that Angel said I would have.

  I fucked up.

  I fucked up the first chance I got to see the very woman who didn’t deserve a bad thing in the world. I knew I had to apologise, I knew I had to get on my knees if need be. I knew most people would just say sorry and go but Frankie . . . I had too much respect for her to do anything less than beg for her forgiveness.

  I spent the whole day in the old studio with the guys trying to straighten my head out. I began to write a song that I didn’t have a title for yet. I was only a few words into it, but it didn’t take a genius to wonder where I got my inspiration from. Just like the majority of my other songs, they all stemmed from a once-beloved muse whose life still remained in Southwold.

  “I can’t get enough of your green eyes, your soft skin, your sweet smile.”

  I looked up as Angel read out loud what I’d written so far over my shoulder.

  “So, another song for Frankie is in the works, huh?”

  I didn’t answer him, I looked back down to my notepad and tapped my pencil against it.

  “Don’t you feel like a hypocrite, man?” Angel quizzed. “Writing so many songs about her then treating her like the scum of the earth when you first see her again after nine years? That’s a coward’s move as far as I’m concerned.”

  I wanted to punch Angel in the face but I couldn’t. I was mad at what he said because it was the truth. I wasn’t mad at him, I was furious with me.

  “I fucked up,” I acknowledged. “I know I did, she didn’t deserve that. None of it.”

  “So what are you gonna do about it?”

  I looked at Angel and frowned.

  “Writing a song about her doesn’t benefit her, it benefits us because your songs are hits. Even if a song doesn’t work out for us, it does for another artist. That woman has some of the most beautiful songs in the world written about her and she probably doesn’t even know it.”

  I had never considered that . . . surely she knew.

  “Whenever I mention an eye colour it’s green, or a hair colour it’s some variant of red. A blind man would know she’s my muse. I describe her in every way when I focus on her . . . her looks, her mind, her heart. I even have her personality in what I write. She has to know.”

  “Just because you know, doesn’t mean she does. You aren’t so forthcoming in your writing, bro. You don’t straight out say you love a green-eyed, red-haired girl. You wrap what you say in layers so they could mean a bunch of different things. Why do you think our Sinners made a big deal last week when one of them realised you penned a song that went to number one for that Bieber dude? They were freaking out wondering who you were talking about. They love breaking that shit down to figure out what you’re actually saying. They’re convinced you’re in love with Nora Maxwell.”

  “Good God.” I rolled my eyes. “I took her out to dinner twice. Twice!”

  “She has red hair and green eyes.”

  “She has brown hair that’s dyed ginger and
she has brown eyes, but wears green contacts.”

  Angel laughed. “To the world, she is the chica you sing about so much.”

  “Well, she’s fucking not. Frankie is.”

  “Maybe Frankie thinks they’re about Nora too. Maybe even more so after how you treated her last night.”

  I felt sucker punched.

  “You’re making me feel like shit, Angel.”

  “Enough to make you go and apologise to the woman?”

  “Yes!” I snapped as I got to my feet and threw my notepad at him. “Don’t lose that. Wazzock.”

  “I know you’re calling me an idiot, but that word still sounds like a Harry Potter spell.”

  I clenched my jaw as I walked away.

  “You’re welcome, puta!” Angel shouted after me, laughing. “And good luck. With how mad that woman looked last night, you’re gonna need it!”

  I shrugged my coat on, grabbed the car keys and left the studio. It was a cold February evening, but the sky was clear and the stars were out so I decided to walk to Frankie’s home to see if she was there. That was the plan until a flash went off on my right when I left the garden. I tried my best not to sigh because if the vultures got a picture of me looking sad, they would attach some ridiculous headline to it and piss me off.

  “What’s up, Risk? How are you?” a woman’s voice hollered. “Enjoying being back home?”

  I headed straight for the rented car that our manager had delivered this morning. None of us had wanted the flashy Audi, it made us stand out too much in Southwold, so we had a regular BMW SUV delivered to us instead. We were lucky so far that the residents didn’t bother us, even though they knew we were staying in May’s house. Throughout the day, teenagers and young adults would come to the gate of the front garden and take pictures and videos. May humoured a group of lads around lunch-time and went outside to talk to them, I joined him because they seemed like kids who were genuinely fans of music, just like we were. We took pictures and had a laugh with them.

  I knew it was only a matter of time until the paps showed up, though.