Dramatic, Mushy, Complicated Love

Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue


Copyright © 2021 Leah Sharelle
Dramatic, mushy, complicated, Love.
By Leah Sharelle
All Rights Reserved.
Editing and Proofreading: R Corcoran
Photography: Chic Professional Photography
Cover Models: Mel and Eric Morris.
Cover Design: Formatting & Design by Jaye
Interior Design: Formatting & Design by Jaye
This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author, and your support and respect are appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
This author writes using Australian English and may include Australian diction


FROM LEAH
I have a real flair for the dramatics, I am definitely overly mushy, and I have been informed by a very good friend, I am a mite complicated. I apologise for none of this, instead, I wrote a book about it.


DEDICATION
Steve, thank you for the title. xoxo


I could feel the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, numbing the pain of the tattoo gun as the biker looking dude scratched and pricked the skin on my arm, permanently marking me with ink.
For years I had been waiting to get out from under my parents’ rules and finally have a life. I was making my own choices, hanging out with my mates until dawn, picking up chicks and not having to worry about being responsible. Going to uni and living away from my childhood home was the shit.
“You sure you want me to keep going, mate? We have half of the design done and dusted; looks good the way it is if you wanna book another session in a week or so,” the tattoo guy asked me for the third time since I’d started the sitting to get the tribal tat I chose. We were into our fifth hour and my ninth beer, and I was feeling no pain.
“Nah, keep going mate. I don’t want to walk around with half a sleeve,” I insisted, lifting the bottle of lager and tipping it at him. “This is helping me.”
“Ya know, you are only drinking that beer because you are my cousin’s mate and I have closed up for the day. Normally, I don’t allow drinking piss while getting a tat.”
Closing my eyes, I grunted in affirmation, not a care in the world. The tattoo guy might scare my mates, but seeing as though I had about thirty kilos of muscle and ten inches on him, his gruff voice and thinly veiled threat didn’t bother me.
“Appreciate it, bud.”
Sighing contently, I relaxed my head against the headrest of the chair and smiled to myself, fucking ecstatic that I was finally here. Not the chair in a tattoo parlour getting a sleeve done, but one hundred and thirty-seven kilometres away from my home town.
A niggle of guilt reared its head, thinking that way, but I quickly squashed it. All my life up to this point, I did everything to please my parents. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved my family. Mum, Dad, my four sisters, and the ridiculous amount of extended family. When my parents came to Australia, some of their siblings immigrated as well. While we weren’t incredibly close due to the fallout between my grandparents and my parents, we did see each other from time to time.
It also made for a lot of competitiveness between cousins when I was a kid. We attended the same primary school, and it didn’t matter what, whether it be sports, education, after-school jobs … everything was a race to be the best, and my parents always demanded I win.
Pleasing them with the best grades in high school, I got the best paying part-time job, and I excelled in every sport I went out for, just as was expected of me. Hell, I even applied and received a position in the best Civil Engineering course at the best university in the country, so I could follow in my father’s footsteps and take over the family business one day.
I did that, got my degree, had savings and the trophies were in my childhood room for everyone to admire. Job well done son, as my father would say, but now I was doing something for myself and no one was going to stop me.
University was the key to my future, but there was no rule against finally having some fun along the way. With no pressure from home.
“Dude, your phone is buzzing,” tattoo guy grunted at me.
Opening one eye, I looked over at my phone and saw my sister’s name flashing on the screen.
“Fuck me! First Phoebe, then Sandy and Holly, and now the family pain in the arse,” I grumbled, glaring at the device with disdain. If I don’t answer it, she will keep ringing. Kayla, the oldest of the girls and the most demanding. Kayla couldn’t do anything without needing help … mostly from me. I loved all of my sisters, but being away from the constant nagging, demanding and female overload, was one of the things I enjoyed the most.
Picking up my phone, I swiped the screen and grumbled a hello.
“Kayla, this isn’t a good time. I told you yesterday I will be home next Saturday—” abruptly I stopped when the sounds of soft sobbing met my ears.
“Kayla, what’s wrong?” I blurted out, sitting up straight, the jerky move causing the needle to dig hard into my skin inadvertently. My sister may be a pain in the arse, but she wasn’t a crier. Gripping the phone tight, I listened through the sobbing and heard the words that shattered my heart.
“Luca? You have to come home, Dad had a heart