Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  “Oh, you gotta brain in that head of yours. Remembering all the whining my brother did.” Willie laughed to himself. “I made breakfast. Later, I’ll follow it up with some oldie but goodie, you know, passion is the key.”

  Donavan bit his bottom lip and slowly tilted his head in agreement.

  “You got a girl? Crazy fool like you? I reckoned a young’un like you didn’t even know how to treat a woman. With the way you act a fool.”

  “Shit, who you telling?” Donavan said, leaving them both to laugh. He’d expected a drink, something to wash a dose of reality through his veins. Mere moments ago, Donavan had walked past the most prestigious jewelry store in Myrtle Beach. After all, Avery grew up wearing diamonds and other trinkets, gifts from her father. The cloudless diamonds that had adorned her ears did nothing but enhance her natural beauty.

  But who was he kidding? She was worth more than he could give. Donavan pulled out his wallet, but Willie said, “Heh, I’m a man of my word. It’s on the house.”

  Donavan stood up to leave in his scuffed boots. They were still splattered with dried mud, though he’d washed them with a hose after working on a landscape project. He and Avery had put a sizable amount of their money into her great-grandmother’s land. They barely had two pennies to rub together now, since he’d spent a fortune on her engagement ring as well. But with the bed and breakfast launching this spring, and baby Anya on the way, they didn’t have extra money for frivolous things. Donavan had felt like shit this morning, just giving Avery a bouquet of flowers.

  His chat with Willie got him to thinking about Leroy Palmer, the man who had made it possible for him to give Avery a small fortune—his last—for her dream. Their dream.

  Avery would kill me if she knew I considered talking to Palmer, he told himself, opening the door to the bar. Two women in business suits, lips curved into smiles, perked up as he held it for them to enter. One winked at him. He offered a polite smile and stepped out into the bright sunny day.

  A masculine voice growled, “Doubt my boss would like you flirting with other women.”

  Donavan’s slitted gaze trailed to a jarhead with a thick neck, standing next to his dark blue and lime green Kawasaki. The man wore a black suit that was tailored across his broad arms and dark shades that made him look even more like an asshole. Donavan hadn’t been flirting, and he didn’t owe the stranger a response but decided to give him one.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Green.”

  “I take it you work for Castle?” Donavan mumbled.

  “C’mon now, Alexander Castle. He’ll be your father-in-law soon, son.”

  In a second, they were nose to nose. Donavan’s glower matched Green’s. Alexander’s lapdog wasn’t even ten years older than Donavan and had no right to call him son. A horn bleeped, neither man took his eye off the other.

  “Donavan.” A familiar voice broke through the tension.

  Donavan glanced over to see Alexander’s profile in the backseat of an SUV. “We need to talk.” The window rolled up.

  Donavan had a complicated relationship with his soon-to-be father-in-law, which had started when Donavan was a child. Avery and Donavan had fallen in love very early on, but Alexander had never approved. He’d even taken steps to remove Donavan from Avery’s life; however, Alexander had found out that his wife could be even more conniving than himself. Verdrena, in all her wisdom, had a doctor and nurse at the very exclusive hospital, where Avery gave birth to their son, fake Donavan Junior’s death. She had thought Avery wouldn’t be able to take care of their child and recover from her depression after Donavan’s disappearance. Their son was adopted and raised by another family handpicked by Verdrena. When Donavan returned, finding his way back to Avery, they had learned about her mother’s and father’s deceptions that had torn them apart.

  In attempt to make amends for his and his wife’s deceit, Alexander had pumped a lot of cash into the refurbishment of the Baudelaire Estate. Before that and before Donavan had come back into her life, Avery had been content with DIY stuff, which meant that, in her stubborn eye, she’d take a hundred years attempting to capture the grandeur of the estate. Not yet knowing her mother’s part in the destruction of her life, she’d blamed her father. Avery had been angry enough with her dad to do it all by herself. When Donavan had returned, he’d given her every last penny he’d saved up from the shit jobs he’d worked under the table for Palmer. Then came her pops, making amends and hashing out enough cash to make sure the place was historically updated. That meant the most expensive ebony and cedarwood as well as crown moldings that matched the original materials perfectly. The entire home was resurrected in all its glory, all the way down to hand-selected period furniture. It was still Donavan and Avery’s project, but with Alexander’s name on a fat-ass check, it was beginning to look as if his daughter’s fiancé hadn’t done a thing. And while Alexander had started off “Team Donnie and AC,” it seemed his favor was beginning to wear off.

  Hands balled into fists, Donavan moved past his motorcycle and to the SUV. He opened the back door. Alexander had already scooted over. He had on a similar black suit as Green, but it was obvious that he’d spent more than a few grand. Without looking up from his iPad, Alexander said, “I anticipated you wouldn’t like Green following you, nor that you’d heed his request to come to me. Please get inside. We have business to discuss, and as you are highly aware, I am a very busy man, which has been further compounded by the fact that Verdrena had to host this evening.” His mouth tensed. “Another day to see our princess.”

  Donavan felt the dig, since their little family, Avery, Junior and himself, had spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with his side of the family.

  Donavan slid onto the buttery soft seat of the SUV. Holding his tongue had become a reoccurrence since the proposal. He could be a better man than Alexander Castle, not richer, but better.

  “How can I help you?” Donavan growled.

  “Oh.” Alexander placed the iPad at his side. “You can start by answering my calls and voicemails. Now, I have a proposition, and I implore you to—”

  “Mr. Castle, what exactly is it that you do?” Donavan cut him off. For the past few weeks, Alexander had messaged him about meeting up for a business proposal. This didn’t feel like the standard scenario of marrying into a dynasty and scoring a big, corner office at a family-owned corporation.

  He’d asked Avery about her father’s career, and she jokingly mumbled something about missing Olivia Pope while offering a shrug. With Anya on the way, Donavan had no intention of dealing in any activity that wasn’t on the straight and narrow. Something told him that the assignments he had done for Elroy Palmer to make a dollar didn’t have shit on what Alexander dabbled in.

  Alexander calmly responded. “Agree to the proposal, and you’ll be in the know.”

  Donavan sucked in a lungful of air attempting to calm himself.

  “Listen, AC and I will pay you back for all the additional updates on the Baudelaire estate—”

  “I advised my daughter not to. I understand that my princess is modest enough to try. Therefore, any funds she pays me back will go to her children.”

  “Our children.” Donavan shook his head, telling himself not to play into Alexander’s manipulations. This was all a test to make him angry.

  “Are you sick and tired yet of my daughter taking care of you?”

  Ice water flushed through Donavan’s veins, which was ideal over a rage of venom. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Donavan considered his options: toss a haymaker at the nose of the man who created the woman he loved or bite his tongue until the pungent taste of copper reminded him to stop.

  He did neither. For once in his life, Donavan Hardy wasn’t the lit fuse ready to implode.

  2

  Avery

  Donavan’s callused thumb teased over Avery’s full lips. It took everything in her not to pull his thumb into her mouth and begin to suck. Donavan clamped the nape of her neck with hi
s other hand, pulling her into a kiss. All the worries she had crashed down around her as her eyelashes fluttered closed. A deep exhale made her body, momentarily, feel light as a feather. The man she craved with every part of her didn’t know it, but he was her calm through the storm.

  “Mmmm . . .” She let go of him.

  Donavan played with the silk belt of her robe. “It’s Valentine’s Day, babe. We have time.”

  “We don’t.” Her bare feet padded backwards. It took sheer will not to smile as she slapped his hand away. “Hey, you know I can hardly tie this robe anymore.”

  He rubbed a hand across her belly. “What? My daughter is baking in the oven, getting just as pretty as her momma. So really, fine as you are, we have a whole lotta time.”

  Her giddy smile turned genuine. Before Donavan arrived home, Avery had spent thirty minutes looking in the mirror after her shower. Not one for vanity, Avery still couldn’t help but notice that her nose had spread along with everything else. The circumference of her ankles all but matched her thighs. Avery Castle no longer had a coke bottle shape; she was shaped like an apple—and not a good tasting one either—a big, ugly red one. Now, the almost funny, yet really sucky body shaming she had silently tormented herself with earlier had fully faded from her mind.

  Dark brown orbs twinkling, Avery said, “Well, you can’t see what’s beneath this robe anyway. It’s your Valentine’s Day surprise.”

  Donavan growled. “Oh, I can’t?”

  Though Avery couldn’t hear his voice, she felt the rumble in Donavan’s abs as he pushed himself closer to her. He reached around, grabbing her ass and trying to feel what she was wearing. With a chuckle, she waddled away from him.

  “Not fair, I’m about to bust, Donnie!” She took off toward the side of the bed. He whipped her around, pinning her against the bed. Every move Donavan made was spontaneous, though he completed it with extra support and nurturing, which he’d become accustomed to bestowing on Avery since finding out she was pregnant. This time his thumb staked claim to her chin, and he caught her eye.

  “Show me, AC, or I take advantage of that beautiful body of yours before we leave this house.”

  Lips tensed, though curved upward, Avery signed, “You are dirty—and although I mean that metaphorically, I also smell earthy soil on you. You must shower; then go put on the tux—”

  “What tux?” He mouthed.

  “I rented a tux for you, Donavan. For tonight. I’ll show you what I’m wearing, but are you willing to cooperate?”

  He gave her a little more room. Avery untied her robe while moving toward the bedroom door. She gave him a quick flash of her ruby-red licorice thong. “You be a good boy at the event; I’ll be your bad girl when we get home.”

  Donavan advanced on her. Avery quickly tied her robe, and she rushed to open the door with a blossom of laughter. Just outside the double doors, Donavan caught her, pressing her back against him. He cradled her belly, hand skimming up her thigh. She glanced back at him. “No bad girl tonight, boy? Is that what you want?”

  “Shit,” he said. His hand squeezed the flesh at the inside of her thigh. With her gaze on his mouth, he reluctantly loosened his hold on her and added, “I’ll spank that ass, Avery. Don’t tempt me.”

  Pushing her ass back against him, Avery moaned at the strength of his arousal. This morning, Donavan had awoken her with flowers in bed, and tonight, she would be damned if she didn’t put him to bed, big belly and all. Every moment in his arms, she was living her dream.

  Avery’s stomach clinched. She told herself not to worry. Throughout this pregnancy, she’d been wound up tighter than a rubber band. She looked toward Donavan again, and he was straightening up. Avery glanced forward to see Junior meandering out of his room, fussing with his tie. A thought that had been nagging her crossed her mind. What she wouldn’t give to hear him say “Mommy.”

  What would you give to have heard him cry as a baby? Or Anya when the time comes, huh, AC? . . . you won’t hear that either. Avery tormented herself. The smile on her face faded for half a second. She reminded herself to speak with Doctor Blaine, the obstetrician who was there during Junior’s birth. A time when Avery had wished for death. Doctor Blaine would oversee the birth of Anya as well, and they’d already taken precautions due to her psychological history for possible post-partum depression.

  Junior came down the long hallway. He stopped fretting with his bowtie and signed, “Mom, I just can’t fix this. Can you—never mind. Dad, can you fix my bow tie?”

  Donavan gave half a smile as he signed back. “Sorry, buddy, your momma has bow tie duty for us both.” He rubbed the top of Junior’s wavy sandy-brown hair, looked into his eyes, and spoke. “How was school?”

  “Uh . . . good.”

  “Hey.” Avery cut in, waving at her son to get his attention. She glanced between her two boys. “What’s this transpiring between you two? What’s going on at school?”

  Junior shrugged, mumbling that school was cool.

  “You’re worrying too much, AC,” Donavan said.

  “I’m not.” She fixed her son’s bow tie in a few seconds and kissed his cheek. “And if you wipe it off, like I caught you doing last Saturday, I’m going to smack your butt.”

  “Aw, mom. I love you. But you can’t kiss me when I’m about to play baseball with my friends,” he whined. “That’s why I had to rub it off!”

  “You’re my heart, Junior. I love you. I can smack you.” She pointed stiffly. “Donavan get dressed.”

  He saluted her.

  “And take a shower,” she called after him as he retreated into their bedroom. He tossed a thumbs-up while going into their en suite bathroom. She shook her head and turned to Junior. “Go text Maggie and see if she’s ready.”

  He nodded and went back to his room. Maggie grew up with Donavan Junior, and his adoptive parents, Ted and Jessica Carlson.

  While Avery mourned what her mother had done—conceiving and perpetuating the lie that her baby had been stillborn then committing her to Sunnymead Resort, an ultra-exclusive crazy house, until she was eighteen—she felt blessed that Junior had grown up less than thirty minutes away with a good family in an older housing tract in Myrtle Beach. In a twist of fate, the Carlsons had named their baby boy Donavan because they’d attended the same church as Agnes Hardy, Donavan’s adoptive mother, who had fostered him for ages before he even agreed to being adopted. While Jessica would cry to Agnes about her attempts to become pregnant, Agnes would speak to her about having faith and the struggles of encouraging the son she fostered to realize she loved him enough to be adopted. Agnes had known Donavan was perfect, even with all his flaws.

  Lord knows Donavan Hardy was literally a golden child, with his beautiful complexion and honey eyes, but he sure as heck was not a good little boy. Avery’s smile tightened somewhat. The Carlsons had chosen not to pursue legal action after finding out that Verdrena had falsified records in order to sign away Donavan and Avery’s parental rights. Now, they had Donavan Junior on alternating weekends. They were at most of his baseball games and little Maggie had even joined the same baseball team. She had been at Junior’s side the first day Avery’s eyes landed on him. She was the cutest, and Avery and Donavan loved her like she was their own.

  * * *

  “It’s been almost half a year since you’ve had a real conversation with your mother,” Alexander began, placing a hand on Avery’s shoulder as they stood inside his office. The party was in full swing. From the cracked door, Avery watched a server in a black suit with a tray of champagne for all her father’s friends who were no doubt enchanted by the professional harpist and award-winning violinist.

  “Oh, a half a year? Doesn’t seem too long to me. I’ve missed seven years of my son’s life. Oh, and if I’m beating a dead horse with that statement, it also took you my entire life to decide that learning sign language was important to you.” She huffed.

  With parents like hers, it was no wonder Avery ended up at Sunnymead. For a
long time, Avery thought her father had poisoned her tea and had Donavan murdered while she was pregnant. Feeling the residuals of hostility rise in her, Avery stopped herself. “Okay, sorry. That was a low blow. They say forgiving and forgetting isn’t the same. I am working on that. It’s just taking me a little longer with Mom. You, I’m used to.”

  “Princess, I get it. For a moment there, you were considering a time when you did not trust your old dad all that much.”

  “I wasn’t.” Avery hesitated. Why did her father have to be spot on all the time? She sat down onto the chaise. Raking her gaze across the room, Avery eyed the duo Fabergé eggs on their white posts and the other posh trinkets. Avery glanced at her dad, giving him her attention. “I love you, Dad. It’s hard. And with what Mom has done, when she’s always been my go-to while you played King, well that’s almost impossible.”

  “I won’t speak for Verdie, Princess. I have always had the best intentions for you, my daughter. I took your side when Verdie made such a grossly imprudent mistake that is still bound to have lasting consequences for our family. But Junior has his little friend—”

  “Sister.” His speech had just gone downhill fast. “Junior and Maggie are still siblings, regardless.”

  There was something in Alexander’s eyes that she didn’t like. Something that she’d seen before. Damn, now she hated the thoughts that were swarming around in her head. “They’re thick as thieves. Respect that, Dad.”

  “And what of the other two? When you’re all out at zoos and aquariums, do they call themselves stepparents of Junior? Or does he call out Mother and Father, and the four of you are expected to comprehend just who he referred to?” She saw Alexander start to cuss under his breath. She caught some of his statement about wishing they’d made their son a Castle on her behalf and not a Hardy.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad,” Sarcasm dripped from her voice. “I’m not being empathetic enough for your need to be viewed in a Holy light. Forgive me. I’ll stop putting myself in my son’s shoes. I’ll stop giving a damn that the Carlsons made sure my son was fed, safe, and healthy for damn near all his entire life and—”