Last Love of Luka Hale

by Eden Butler

  ©2019 Eden Butler

  Warning: Massive spoilers for Eden Butler’s Thin Love are present in this novella.

  It is advised that you read that story before beginning this title.

  Last Love of Luka Hale does not spoil the plot of the current Saints & Sinners novel, Roughing the Kicker.

  Copyright © 2019 Eden Butler

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Author Publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the any word-marks and references mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Edited by Julie Deaton

  Cover Design by Lori Jackson

  Cover Image by ShutterShock

  Formatting by Tee Tate

  ALSO BY EDEN BUTLER

  THE SERENITY SERIES

  Chasing Serenity

  Behind the Pitch

  Finding Serenity

  Claiming Serenity

  Catching Serenity

  THE THIN LOVE SERIES

  Thin Love

  My Beloved

  Thick Love

  Thick & Thin

  GOD OF ROCK SERIES

  Kneel

  Beg

  SAINTS AND SINNERS SERIES

  Roughing the Kicker

  Offsides (September 2019)

  STANDALONES

  I’ve Seen You Naked and Didn’t Laugh

  Platform Four

  Fall

  COLLABORATIONS

  Nailed Down, Nailed Down Book One, with Chelle Bliss

  Tied Down, Nailed Down Book Two, with Chelle Bliss

  Kneel Down, Nailed Down Book Three, with Chelle Bliss

  Stripped, Nailed Down Book Four, with Chelle Bliss

  Find out more about Eden’s books on her site www.edenbutler.com

  ***

  For everyone who loved Luka.

  You weren’t alone.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ALSO BY EDEN BUTLER

  WORDS AND PHRASES

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  INTERLUDE

  ELEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  WORDS AND PHRASES

  HAWAIIAN

  Ko`u Aloha – My love

  Kuku – grandfather

  Lolo – crazy/stupid, an insult.

  Makamae – Darling

  Makuahine – Mother

  Milimili – Sweetheart

  Moʻopuna - grandchild

  Nani – Beautiful

  ITALIAN

  Cara – dear

  Cazzo – shit

  Chooch – jackass or moron

  Cuore mio – my heart

  Dio santo – Good god!

  Madonna santa – My god!

  ONE

  New York City, February 2017

  Gia Jilani’s niece told her glitter was the herpes of the arts and crafts world.

  “It gets everywhere, on every damn thing,” Bianca had announced, as she pulled Gia along the wide aisle of the craft store on Columbus Avenue, muttering something about decorations for the party. “It’s impossible to get rid of once it’s spilled.” She stopped walking, glancing at Gia, head tilted. “I think Annaliese mentioned a sorority sister of hers putting a pound of glitter in the AC vents of some stalker that wouldn’t leave her alone, but… Oh…holy shit! They have champagne glitter!”

  Bianca abandoned Gia and the story of her twin, Annaliese’s, Tri Sig sister, somewhere between gold streamers and the clay molds meant for newborn handprints. She’d found her niece scanning the row of glitter bottles, pulling two at a time in her basket. “Silver and gold,” she’d said, waving what looked like an eight-ounce bottle at Gia.

  “Arts and crafts herpes?” she reminded her niece, earning a low laugh and a half-attempted shrug.

  “What? It’s still shiny. Besides, you kissed that security deposit goodbye after the New Year’s eight years ago.”

  Gia smiled remembering the wreck they’d made of her downstairs dining room during an impromptu drinking game—something she reminded herself she’d been far too old for every new year’s after that night. “The flaming shots?”

  “And the singed wood floors.”

  Bianca’s champagne glitter had ended up in black and gold balloons—the team colors of Gia’s new employer, the New Orleans Steamers. That night, those balloons got popped in the fray of music, drink, and stupid things Bianca talked Gia into during her farewell party.

  Bianca promised to help clear away the mess. Instead, Gia’s niece tucked a bottle of Moet under her arm four hours into the party and passed out on the small tufted armchair near the back corner of the living room, after she’d twirled around the equally drunk crowd, popping each balloon as she passed them.

  After Gia led the last guest through her door at four a.m. and stumbled to her not-at-all-empty bed, she’d spotted the mass of glitter coating the dark hardwood floors off Gia and Bianca’s rent-controlled Upper Westside apartment. Melted wax fixed to the dozens and dozens of squat, white candles Bianca had insisted on placing along the fireplace mantel and up the small staircase leading to the second floor den. Empty wine glasses and discarded plates and silverware littered around the dining room table and chairs and filled Gia’s kitchen sink and counter.

  She left it all for Bianca to manage, something she knew her niece wouldn’t mind. Gia had been the one to buy the apartment and let Bianca continue to live in it until she finished up grad school and landed her first professional job. That might take a while, but Gia didn’t seem able to let the apartment go. Something kept her from letting go of New York completely.

  Now it neared nine a.m. Just a few hours before the cab would arrive to bring her to JFK. A few hours to wake Bianca and remind her to meet the UPS driver when he came for the last boxes Gia would need sent to New Orleans. Only a few hours to finish packing up what remained of her decades-long life in New York.

  A few hours to make the dead weight laying across her naked body stir and dress and leave.

  Problem was, he smelled good. Too good for Gia’s liking.

  She gave herself five full minutes to remember the feel of Joe Kupa’s body over her last night and the half a dozen nights before when they’d been together. He was perfect, really. On paper Joe ticked off every proverbial box Gia pretended to require. The same requirements her niece swore she knew were made up.

  Joe was a smart, handsome New Zealand expat with beautiful dark skin and black hair. His body was wide and muscular, big, just as Gia preferred. Like Gia, Joe was pushing close to forty, but still managed to look no older than thirty. Unlike Gia, though, he was an analytical CPA with a wild streak who liked to party and travel and do mad things Gia would never attempt like skydiving or taking the subway after midnight.

  But Joe, like the men before him, like everyone, would never be enough. New York wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t quite let go of and it was that tight-held grip she couldn’t loosen that kept Joe at
a distance. It kept Gia from being more than the occasional convivence most men wanted. She liked things that way. It suited her.

  Gia inhaled one last time and slid from the comfortable weight of his massive forearms, she admitted to herself no one would ever be enough.

  He stirred, coming to his side and curled that big arm under a pillow, his strong features were almost as delectable as his chest, all cut and defined, muscles sharp and chiseled. The sheet slipped below his navel and Gia inhaled, closing her eyes to keep herself controlled. The inclination was there, to slide back under the sheet and wake Joe with her mouth or tongue licking over that smooth, brown skin. But that would distract her. That would keep her from walking away and not bothering so much as even a glance over her shoulder.

  Gia Jilani wasn’t a look back kind of woman.

  Looking back did nothing but remind you of where you shouldn’t be again.

  Instead of waking him, she grabbed the heavy, refurbished Polaroid camera from the carryon bag near the foot of her bed. Joe didn’t move when she got closer, leaning one knee on the mattress as she focused the lens toward his sleeping form. The shot was beautiful, that much she knew before she snapped the picture and pulled the thin image free. It was her waving it back and forth, trying to dry it faster that woke him.

  Joe stretched, blinking his long lashes as he watched her.

  “Morning,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face as Gia smiled, putting her camera back into her carryon and the drying picture on top of her empty dresser. “I warrant another picture?” He wasn’t mad, at least he didn’t seem that way and Gia shrugged, staying non-committal to the last. This wasn’t someone who expected anything more that answers that weren’t answers at all or maybes that would never be certainties.

  Her half grin dimpled her right cheek and the expression earned a laugh, a nod of his head, and a “come here” waggle of his fingers.

  “Just for a second,” he said, voice calm, but not needy.

  “This isn’t our MO,” Gia offered even as she slipped under the sheet Joe held open for her. “You and me…we aren’t…”

  “Ah, love, I know what we aren’t.” Joe pulled her close, nuzzling his mouth along her neck. “You’ve told me heaps we aren’t for months now, haven’t you?”

  She meant to argue, say something that would pull the frown he tried to hide off his face, but Gia only nodded, agreeing with the obvious. Joe knew her. He understood what she wanted and what she couldn’t have. Not with anyone. But that didn’t mean she’d let him distract her. There was that whole not looking back thing she had to consider.

  “This isn’t going to be…”

  “Hush, you,” he told her, holding Gia’s face between his large hands. “I’m only keen for a long, slow kiss goodbye.”

  And Joe took what he wanted, covering her parted lips with his, stealing her breath and sense right along with a slip of tongue, turning her to lay under him, hair tousled, sheet falling around her waist.

  When she was good and breathless, he pulled away, watching her, moving her chin with his curled knuckle before he sighed, head in a slow shake. “You could’ve ruined me good.”

  “Could have?” she asked, smiling at the practiced complaint he made to her every time they said goodbye. Some small voice reminded her she’d likely not to hear that from him again. Not ever, but Gia pushed back the slip of disappointment she felt and let the man go on with the schtick he’d perfected.

  “I think I’m safe enough to just walk away, keeping you in my head as a nice memory.”

  “Good.” Gia pulled him close, kissing him swiftly, deeply before she slipped out from under him and left the bed, grabbing a pair of dark jeans and a cream cardigan. “Wouldn’t want you getting attached or doing something silly like asking me out.”

  She knew he watched her, could feel the heat of the attention he gave her as she dressed and brushed her long hair, twisting it up into a clip. When Joe didn’t comment, she looked over her shoulder, dropping her arms as she caught his head shake.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t notice, did you?” If Joe was angry, it didn’t show itself in his features. There was no scowl, no irritated glare. There was only that handsome face and awed expression. That, Gia would admit to herself, she’d definitely miss.

  “Notice?”

  “It’s been five months almost you’ve had me in your bed, love.” She didn’t like the tone he’d taken or how the easy smile he always wore had dropped a fraction. Gia moved, kicking her packed bags aside looking for something to do with herself that would make Joe think she wasn’t uncomfortable about his declaration. “Months of me wanting…more. Me, who never wanted more from any woman.” He shook, leaning on one elbow as he watched Gia return to her dresser with a small leather pouch in her hand. “You don’t remember how many times I asked for dates or weekend trips?”

  “I never counted,” she admitted. It wasn’t a lie. Gia had never kept track, but she would admit that he’d been persistent. She grabbed a small pair of diamond earrings and added them to the gold bracelet she stuffed into the pouch.

  “You’re like a man, you know that, love? The way you carry on. How casual you are about sex.” She slipped him a glare and Joe held up his hand. “I know. I sound like a right pig.”

  “A little.”

  “Six times,” he said, tugging on a pair of black shorts, looking beyond tempting as he stood from the bed. He came to Gia’s side, watching her profile as she abandoned the pouch and picked up the Polaroid of Joe she’d just taken. He glanced down at the image, only half formed, indistinct shapes darkening, coming together in muted colors. “Six times it took me to stop asking after you for dates and things I wanted beyond this bedroom.”

  He’d understood, Gia thought. At least, he’d promised he had. No commitment. Nothing at all but the occasional dinner and most of them had been served right in this room, that’s what they’d agreed to. So where was this coming from?

  Gia felt a small ripple of irritation burn in her stomach. “Do you want me to apologize?”

  “No, I don’t.” He touched her temple, brushing away the flyaway hairs that had loosened from her clip. “I’m just realizing, I’m too old for casual. I want to settle. I want…more.”

  She stopped his fingers as they rested against her face and pulled his touch away. “I can’t help with that.”

  Joe laughed, but Gia didn’t think he was amused. “How’d I know you say that?” He moved behind her, chin on her shoulder as they both stared down at the Polaroid photo in her hand coming into focus with the white border around the picture of himself sleeping, naked chest exposed as he rested under her white sheets. “I’m name in your contacts, I get that, but I also get the feeling one day, love, someone will come along and make you forget you don’t count the times they ask more of you.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  She wanted to push him away, even moved her palms over the hands that rested against her waist but didn’t follow through. Joe’s body was warm against hers as he held her, his arms strong, touch comforting and because it would be the last time she saw him, she didn’t mind so much his complaining or how tightly he held her as the image on the Polaroid paper became clearer.

  Joe left a soft, warm kiss against her cheek. “It’ll happen, love, trust me. And when it does, when it’s the right fella that makes you count every second, every look, every deep, sweet touch, then you’ll be in a right mess.”

  “What kind of mess?” she asked, curious what ridiculous cliché he had ready for her.

  But Joe paused for one final kiss. It lingered, that kiss, his searing mouth, melting against hers, the demand of his tongue working something old and sweet and blistering deep inside her as he kissed her.

  He took all that heat from her as quickly as he’d set it blazing. “The kind of mess you never want to be out of.”

  She watched him dress, the slow movements he made remind
ed Gia just what had drawn Joe to her. He was feline in his gestures, strong and powerful even as he slipped his jeans over his hips and fastened his casual button-up. A mock salute and wink and Joe left Gia’s room.

  She felt…relieved? Melancholy? A little disappointed? She wasn’t sure what to make of the jumble of thoughts and the burn of emotions that ran through her head just then. She did know it was good he’d left without much fanfare. Any passionate arguing or fruitless efforts to convince her to stay in New York would have been out of character for Joe; it would have been out of character for them.

  On the dresser, the picture had dried completely, and Gia held it by the white edge, sitting on the bed to look it over, brushing her thumb against the stretch of glorious muscle and dips that made up his torso. He was beautiful. He was kind and good and would make a mess of someone’s life, but not like he’d predicted, Gia’s.

  No one would do that to her again.

  Gia closed her eyes and his face surfaced. Not the strong, angular edges of Joe’s bones, but ones that were rounded, softer, and much more appealing. Ones that had been seared into her memory like a brand she’d never be rid of.

  “Enough,” she told herself, leaving the bed to kneel in front of the open suitcase near the bathroom door. It was the smallest but held the things Gia couldn’t part with; the things she’d keep close on the plane. Important things. Necessary things.

  In the farthest corner of the bag, under a neatly folded pair of jeans and cotton Blue Devils t-shirt—the ‘in case we get stuck in an airport’ emergency outfit—Gia pulled free a small cigar box. It was the same kind of box she’d carried to elementary school as a kid, full of pencils and pens and pink erasers that left marks and smudges on the page after use. The top creaked a bit when she opened it to pull out a wrinkled, well-worn Ziploc bag. This was where Gia would keep Joe. This was where they all lived—those men she’d loved. Dark skin and eyes. Wide mouths and full lips. Names like Joe and Arturo and Rua. Jose and Ricky, Randel and Nelson. All lived in this bag, hidden beneath the top of the cigar box that still smelled like Mrs. Howard’s fifth grade classroom.