LUCA (Leaves of a Maples Book 5) Read online

  Some of us don’t have a choice. The simple sentence is balancing on my tongue, ready to deploy, but I don’t want to talk about me anymore. I don’t want to acknowledge the broken organ struggling to beat within the confines of my chest.

  “I’m excited to see you two get hitched.” I opt for avoidance. He accepts it, sorely, the regrettable frown turning his lips down.

  “Really looking forward to Aubrey being my wife.”

  I bark out a laugh. “Married. Hmm… maybe I’ll get some sleep. You ever had a noise complaint?”

  His brow furrows in question, his bottom lip tipping out. “Noise complaint. From playing guitar?”

  I smirk. “Nah, baby, I’m mean from how loud you and Aubrey fuck.”

  He coughs out his shock, his cheeks shading in embarrassment. A self-conscious grin slips onto his face, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “You can hear us?”

  I lean forward. “Dude, Mrs. Whitter downstairs can hear you,” I whisper conspiratorially, my eyebrows rising in teasing.

  His hand comes up to cover his face, a pained laugh groaning out. “Fuck. You’ve really heard…”

  “Oh yeah.” I sit back on the couch. “I know intimate details on your strategically placed jewelry, and how talented you are with your tongue. Aubrey too, for that matter.”

  The blush on his cheeks deepens and I chuckle.

  “Shit, I’m sorry, Frankie.”

  He doesn’t sound sorry. Embarrassed, sure, a little apologetic, but not sorry. And he shouldn’t, I’m only teasing, and he knows that.

  “Nothing to be sorry for. Just playin’ with ya.”

  The blush on his cheekbones sticks around for the next ten minutes or so, highlighting the dimples on his cheeks.

  He moves to make us another coffee and I use the time to duck into the bathroom. It’s nice spending some one-on-one time with the guy. We were friends in high school, not tight, but I consider that Jake and I could be good friends, and right now, I could use one or two of those.

  The soft strum of his guitar hits me before I exit his bathroom and I pause. I’m not exactly sure of the reason, all I know is my body has frozen in place and I can’t tell if it’s anxiety or jealousy coursing through my veins. The quiet melody dances along my skin in a warm embrace and my body craves to give into the subtle strum. To let it tangle me up in its harmony.

  My ass has hit the couch again before I can second guess returning to the room and tucking my knees under my chin, I watch Jake candidly. His eyes are closed, his fingers dancing along the strings of his acoustic in familiar affection. A small smile tickles at the side of his mouth, forcing the dimple in his cheek to appear. An indent that only generally appears when his face breaks into a large grin. But it pushes in with purpose; the joy in loving his instrument so deep, his happiness is unbridled. His eyelashes continue to kiss his cheeks, hiding his eyes as the opening lyric of a Keith Urban classic floats between us.

  I watch his fingers, longing to touch his guitar the way his do. Moving my gaze upward, I let my eyes linger on his smile, wishing I could find the joy in the sadness of the song like he does.

  Before he’s hit the chorus, my body has unfolded from itself. I shift closer without conscious thought until our knees are pressed together, the song moving through my body and ripping at the thorns constricting my heart.

  My heart beats faster, freeing itself from the chains I had convinced myself had grown around it. I swallow, wetting my lips before the soft tune of “Stupid Boy” is humming from my lips in time with Jake’s quietly scratched vocals. His eyes open at the sound, a smile dancing in the openness of his stare.

  I let the words he sings bury deep, cutting into the heartbreak I’ve held so tightly onto for months now. I let the emotion in the song meld with mine and on the second verse, my voice joins Jake’s. It layers his in soft hesitancy. Tears fall along my cheeks and I close my eyes to feel the lyrics the way I need to. My fists clench, dragging upward to rest against my chest and soon enough, Jake’s voice is lost under the fight in mine. I couldn’t tell you whether he stopped singing, if my voice just dwarfed his or whether I just stopped hearing him. But in the moment, it’s just me, Brandon’s face sitting behind my eyelids and my heartbreak finally escaping with the freedom music has always gifted me.

  It hurts. So fucking bad. More excruciating than I even imagined, but Jake was right. It was a pain I needed. One that lets me claim my power back.

  Chapter Three

  Luca

  Linking my fingers, I push my palms outward, finding relief in the large crack that resonates through my truck. Fuck, my body’s sore. Muscles stiff from being confined to the cab of my truck for the past few days.

  Jake deserves a knee to his junk for pulling this stunt. Who the fuck texts someone telling them they’re getting hitched in three days?

  My best friend does.

  Jake Dean.

  Fucker.

  I wouldn’t do it for anyone but him. In truth, I didn’t even want to do it for him. Weddings make my skin crawl. I don’t waste energy on hate. It blackens your soul. It fires negativity in your psyche. But weddings, I hate them. Everything about the tradition gives me hives. It’s outdated. Archaic. A legalized union that makes the downfall of a relationship that much harder. You can’t just walk away, agree that your love failed, that the time, the commitment, the perseverance you bled into something was futile. No, a marriage is a glorified piece of paper that gifts you a lifetime of consequence, of regret.

  People call me cynical, accuse me of having no faith in the concept of love. That’s not true. I just gave up on the belief it can last, that it brings you happiness until the very end.

  Arriving back in Carnation, I should’ve gone straight home, but I wanted to check the bar first. I’ve neglected it for twelve months. I’m lucky I’m not coming back to a dilapidated building. But that’s all Janie. I owe her a bonus and a fucking holiday after my disappearing act. Not that she complained. Janie Dean is a fucking saint.

  Stretching as I step from my truck, I groan roughly. The pull on my muscles is as close to fucking heaven as I ever care to be.

  I enter through the back-access door, not wanting to get stuck in mindless conversation when I’m dreaming of a steaming hot shower and my own bed.

  My office is clean. Papers separated neatly into orderly piles. I busy myself for the next hour or so, catching up. Sorting through mail. Checking stock orders and levels. Paying bills. But Janie’s kept it so well managed, I almost feel redundant.

  “Luca.” I beam at Janie’s welcoming smile. “I didn’t know you were back.”

  She moves forward, and I stand to embrace her tightly. “Your son made me fly like the flash to get back in record time,” I tease, and she laughs, her hand coming up to cup my cheek softly.

  “I’m sorry about your mom, babe.”

  I breathe in the easy show of affection. Taking more comfort in the gesture than I realized I needed. “Appreciate it, Janie. Appreciate you running things while I’ve been MIA. Can’t thank you enough.”

  She steps back, moving to her locker to grab her bag. “Happy to do it, sweetheart. I’m heading out. Need my beauty sleep for tomorrow.” She winks, and my lips break into an easy smile.

  Janie Dean, even in her fifties is smoking hot if you’re into older women. Fit body. Massive cans, long dark hair, icy blue eyes. She needs as much beauty sleep as I do. Still, I wave her off with a wave.

  Pausing at the door, she glances back over her shoulder. “I hired a new bartender when you were gone. To cover you. We’ll probably need to look at getting someone else pretty soon. Mick’s getting on. Can’t keep him doing close shifts for much longer.”

  I nod in agreement, trusting her without hesitation.

  “Good to have you home, Luca,” she offers tenderly before moving out of sight.

  Home.

  I swallow back the sudden onset of emotion the simple word brings on. Fuck. I haven’t felt like I belon
ged anywhere in a really long time.

  Caught up, I shut down for the night, ready to head home. I consider that more than anywhere else, the bar is my home. It’s the one thing, my truck and bike aside, that I own. Not that anyone with the exception of Janie knows that. I bought it soon after moving to town, knowing this was where I wanted to dig in roots. I would’ve loved an apartment upstairs; being able to come and go as I please. Jake’s apartment isn’t a bad compromise. It has all I need; a bed, a couch, a TV, and most importantly, quiet.

  Stepping from my office, the music from the bar thrums loudly in my ears and I move down the small corridor into the mayhem, looking for any familiar faces.

  It’s the ass that stops me. Bent seductively as she leans across the bar, laughing with patrons as her arm moves swiftly to fill a row of shot glasses with tequila.

  Her long legs are on show in black cut-offs that barely cover the ass cheeks that stopped me in my tracks. Feet encased in a pair of tan Timberlands, her top half covered in the simple black t-shirt that makes up the only requirement of the bar’s uniform. Problem is hers is tied at her waist, showcasing a sliver of toffee’d skin along her midsection. Dark hair is piled on top of her head and I curse that Janie would hire a bartender that I’d want to fuck.

  Jesus.

  I haven’t even seen her face yet, and I want her so bad, my cock is twitching in my jeans, begging me to make contact.

  That’s when it happens.

  She turns. In slow fucking motion. Or maybe that’s just the way I saw it. Whatever happened, she twisted her neck to look over her shoulder, and her midnight eyes hit mine, freezing me in place.

  If she recognizes me, she doesn’t let on, her gaze moving on as quickly as it fell on me. I don’t know whether to be irritated or impressed. She sure as shit made an impression on me. A deep one. I haven’t been able to fuck another woman since her. Her black eyes, dirty little mouth and greedy pussy haunting all my thoughts.

  And now here she stands.

  In my bar.

  And I don’t know what to think.

  “Either start serving or get outta my bar, Viking. You’re too big to stand around as decoration.”

  Did she just… she did, she just… ordered me out of my own bar…

  What. The. Fuck.

  I don’t know whether to be turned on or pissed right the fuck off.

  Likely both.

  “Dude.” She pushes around me, pulling a bottle of tequila from the wall at my back. “Seriously. Help out” —she gestures at the huge crowd— “or get outta the way.”

  My face twists in irritation, anger crawling up my spine at her dismissing me with so much disdain. So much ego.

  I have no idea who the fuck this woman thinks she is, throwing her weight around in my bar. I should fire her, here and now. Rid myself of her presence in my life. But watching her do her thing, Janie was right. Mick’s slowing down, Crazy Girl is serving at least four customers in the time Mick manages one. The queue wants her too. Understandably. She’s prettier than Mick. Nicer too, smiling, winking, laughing. Tip jars are overflowing and the crowd is consistent.

  She’s good for business.

  Undecided on how the fuck to proceed, I focus on the here and now. The barrage of customers waiting to be served.

  I move along the bar, blocking her from sight to serve. For the next hour, I artfully avoid any type of contact with the woman I can. Which, may I add, is really fucking difficult, impossible almost. Especially when all I want to do is drag her into my office and demand to know how the fuck she ended up in my town, working in my bar. Maybe fuck her when she admitted that’s all she wanted and then send her on her way.

  Crazy ass.

  Eventually, as the crowd eases, I breathe a sigh of relief. I need to get home, fucking rest, but first things first. I glance along the bar, but my crazy girl seems to have disappeared.

  “Where’s the girl?” I ask Mick, moving from behind the bar to the few stragglers hanging behind. “Closin’ up, guys.” They nod without issue, tipping the last of their beers down their throat before leaving on a wave.

  “Frank?” he asks, and I glance over on a shrug.

  Frank. Weird fucking name for a chick.

  “She left nearly an hour ago. Hard worker that one. Nice to look at too,” he smirks, and I shrug offhandedly.

  “Didn’t notice.”

  He laughs loudly, stacking dirty glasses, readying them for the dishwasher. “Sure you didn’t.”

  Finishing with the glasses, he works to wipe down the bar and restock fridges.

  “Feel free to head off, Mick. I’ll close up.”

  Standing, he arches his back, stretching the muscles causing him grief. “Appreciate it, big guy. These close shifts are gettin’ to me. Too old. Too tired.”

  Placing a stack of dirty glasses on the bar, I pause. “We’ll switch you out for a bit, I’m back permanently. Happy to cover the late shift.”

  His chin dips in appreciation before waving two fingers in the air in farewell and disappearing through the front entrance.

  Locking the door after him, I spend the next hour cashing out the till and finalizing a restock for tomorrow. I should be at home, sleeping, but now I’m wired. Crazy Girl, Frank, has put me on edge. Why? I have no clue. She was a random fuck. A nobody. But my reaction to her is anything but the casualness it should be. We should’ve been able to laugh off running into one another again.

  That was before she acted as though she’d never seen me before. That and the fact that I wasn’t able to conjure up a single word from the moment we locked eyes again. Which confused the hell out of me. I don’t like feeling unprepared, more I fucking hate feeling out of my depth. And that’s exactly how she makes me feel; drowning in uncertainty.

  Dropping into my office chair, I drag a palm along my face. Glancing at my watch, the early hour of the morning taunts me and I groan out loud. I need to sleep. I resolve that there’s nothing I can do about ghosts of fucktown past right now.

  Driving home, I keep my window down, letting the cool air of the morning blast along my face. The streets are deserted, the sounds of everyday lulled into nothing by the sleepiness of the town. It’s nice. The quiet. The idle balance of time, as if it’s stopped. That life isn’t continuing while this part of the world sleeps. Truth is, we’re all aging, the world keeps spinning and tomorrow we wake up to a new world, maybe a little different than from who we were the day before.

  The apartment building is cast in darkness, my headlights flashing across the brick in a bright yellow hue.

  Shutting my truck off, I breathe a sigh of relief. Home. Fuck, but I like the sound of that. Grabbing my duffle bag, I jump from the truck, working to be as quiet as I can to shut the door.

  Rubbing my eyes, I climb the stairs, the cold night air stinging my nostrils. One thing I didn’t miss about this town is the cold. Not one fuckin’ bit. It filters into my bones and I’m sure as shit looking forward to a scalding shower. Needing the release on my coiled muscles. Between the non-stop driving, throwing myself back into work, unnecessarily I might add, and the stress from running into Frank again, I need something to take the edge off.

  I trudge along the landing on leaden feet, my body exhausted but my mind a frazzled mess of fatigue and confusion. I can’t move her from my mind and that’s a problem, especially considering she clearly lives in town now. She sure as shit didn’t live in Carnation before I left, but she seems to have put down roots since my departure. I can’t help but think it’s a little too coincidental. She didn’t strike me as the stalker type, shit, she bailed on me as soon as we were done, refusing me her name, sprouting some shit about fate intervening.

  Fucking kidding me?

  Fate.

  Fairy tales.

  Don’t exist.

  How can the universe intervene in something like that?

  She’s either a complete nutcase, deranged to the point I need to be watching over my shoulder. I don’t need any fatal att
raction type shit. Or, in a total mind fuck, it’s a really big fuckin’ coincidence.

  I shake my head, pressing into my eye sockets to relieve the stress from my day. Unlocking my door, I use my shoulder to push it open as I pull myself through, bag held tightly in my fist.

  Home.

  Sweet.

  Fucking.

  Home.

  Or maybe not so much.

  My eardrums almost burst with the high-pitched squeal piercing through my apartment and I glance around, my eyes landing on the woman standing at the side of my bed.

  Fatal. Fucking. Attraction.

  Figures.

  I move my eyes to the door and back to her, trying to work out how the fuck she managed to get in.

  “Look.” She pulls my attention and I glower over at her. “I’m sorry I pretended I didn’t know you at the bar, I was just incredibly shocked to see you there. You didn’t need to follow me home.”

  My glower morphs into a scowl and my head tips back. “Home. The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

  My voice cracks over my words, the exhaustion I feel, obvious in the sound. Needing to break away from her worried eyes, I scan my apartment for the first time since walking through the door. It looks much like I left, maybe a little tidier. But glaringly, shit that most definitely ain’t mine sits alongside my belongings. Neatly scattered in a way that seems lived in.

  What the fuck?

  Scratching my head, I drop my bag, the heavy thud sounding through the room. She focuses on my bag in shock, confusion furrowing her brow, creasing her forehead.