Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  “Oh, I heard ya very well. But when you have a woman like the one you have—who I have the utmost respect for, by the way—and she says she doesn’t want her man hanging out with the likes of me, well a motherfucker like me heeds that warning.”

  The rage in him was beginning to build. He gulped down the urge to cuss Palmer and order the man to give him an assignment. “Avery doesn’t have to know.”

  There was a long, steady exhale coming through the receiver. “Donavan, my boy, she ain’t any girl, like I just said. She’s that Castle girl.”

  “You’re fucking telling me,” Donavan laughed gruffly, “that you’re afraid of Alexander Castle?”

  “I haven’t had the misfortune of crossing paths with him. I reckon I’m just gonna have to keep it that way.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Donavan’s truck pulled alongside Alexander’s dick car. His knuckles were white as he wrenched his hands around the steering wheel for a second, not nearly ready to get out. Why was Avery’s father here? He’d seen him twice in the past twenty-four hours, which, quite frankly, was more than enough to last him a lifetime.

  The entire day flew through his mind—his brother, Hunter McIntosh, though he had no right to call him that. Junior’s desire to hear, and how ramming his gun down the throat of the bully’s dad might change his outlook for the positive . . . at least from Donavan’s point of view. Not having Maxine Winters write a rave review about Franny’s. Anya was just about out of the oven. The list went on.

  Dad.

  That hurt him to his core, having Greg Hardy not acknowledge him, though the tables had been turned for much of his younger life. For Christ Sake, he could have been adopted the second he met the Hardys, but he treated them like crap, waiting for them to give up.

  Donavan climbed out of the truck. His hands clenching into fists as the sound of bullets and booms overwhelmed his mind. Forcing himself not to blink, Donavan stayed in the moment. A gentle wind sent the willow trees rustling.

  “I would save every tree in the world if I could,” a ten-year-old, Avery had said, laying in that very spot.

  He’d leaned over her, looking at her beautiful face. His heart pattering in his chest. All he wanted to do was taste her mouth. While other boys were running away from girls or snatching pigtails, Donavan was in the perfect position, following around the girl he loved, and she didn’t even know it. “AC, we spent half the night tied to that daggon tree on Baker Street last week. I don’t care.”

  “Yes, you do.” She had closed her eyes, ending the discussion on the topic. “When you’re done whining, let me know. You can tell me how the wind sounds.”

  Donavan almost cracked a smile. Leave it to Avery to pull him away from the storm. He hadn’t been arguing, but she was so good at getting what she wanted. He’d taken the moment to touch her arm, a soft caress, to gather her attention again, and he’d thought hard about what to tell her, always wanting her experience with sound to be perfect.

  As Donavan let himself into the house, he was now only mildly annoyed that Alexander was there. Their voices traveled from the dining room.

  “Princess, we will make that idiot respect you!” Alexander’s voice boomed.

  “Maxine and I have a lifelong rivalry going on, Dad. She’s acting like a kid. I’m not stooping to her level—”

  “Then take my money.” He spoke in an exasperated tone. Donavan stopped for a moment to listen, subconsciously begging Avery not to give in. Every time she took a dime from Alexander, his manhood took another hit.

  “Dad, stop trying to force your assets on me. Donavan and I have spoken with a few of the restaurants in Myrtle Beach and other establishments that are family owned. They’re going to let us put up flyers—”

  He scoffed. “Sweetheart, you should have a brochure. Look, alright, I’ll stay out of the business. But Maxine needs to be dealt with. She cannot disrespect our family. I have a friend at Gem on the Block.” He spat out the magazine name. “Maxine went back to the office ranting about your interview. She can be forced, one way or another, to either write the story that identifies the true character of your establishment or—”

  “Dad!”

  “You know what I do!”

  Donavan’s eyebrows came together. He walked into the room. “What exactly do you do, Mr. Castle?”

  Avery’s eyes widened. Her father, on the other hand, wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by Donavan’s entrance. On the contrary, the man may have intended it.

  “Dad dropped off DJ. Donavan can you make sure he hasn’t found his iPad and is working on his homework?”

  “What do you do, Mr. Castle?” Donavan slammed a fist onto the cherrywood table.

  “I—”

  Avery pressed herself against Donavan, her gorgeous face set into a frown. “Doesn’t matter, Donnie. Because my father doesn’t mix business with family, and we’re all family now. Am I right, Dad?” Her gaze flitted to the rich man.

  “Right.” He signed the words in disinterest.

  “Good.”

  “Avery,” her father said. “Go check on DJ. You’re right about his addiction to YouTube. Although, he’s not watching video game strategies like the other children his age, which is very odd as well. But we cannot humor his obsession with becoming a cook.”

  “A chef.” Donavan cut in. “Our son loves to help cook; he would like to become a chef.”

  Alexander’s eyebrow raised. “I would presume that is unacceptable as well.”

  Donavan smiled. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that his only son, Antonio, had changed majors in college. After photographing Donavan and Avery’s engagement proposal, Antonio had gone to college. He was receiving a first-class education on photography when business management was his legacy.

  Avery cut her eyes at Donavan, and he stopped smiling. Alexander seemed to notice the secret between the two but got his daughter’s attention. “Avery, please. I have a right to speak with your fiancé.”

  Donavan kissed her forehead and then signed, “Babe, you just said we’re family now. He agreed.”

  She hastily walked out of the room.

  “Avery doesn’t really want to know my job, Donavan. Trust me, she doesn’t know the half of it. But what she’s privy of scares her.” Alexander started into the adjoining kitchen. “I’m going to make myself a plate of dinner. We can chat about how you’ll be more financially responsible for my blood.”

  “We haven’t asked you for a single dollar.”

  “Of course, I admire your pride. If I were in your position, my stance would be the same.” Alexander turned toward the stove, with napkin in hand, surveying the basket with the fried chicken. Donavan’s jaw tensed. The bastard was finding the best piece of his favorite meal. “Albeit, I am not you, and I’m more than capable of offering Avery, Junior, and my granddaughter a better life. That is what you want too. To give the woman you love and your offspring a better life.”

  Alexander plucked up a piece and dug in, eyes closing momentarily. “It’s not that I have anything against Junior’s hobby. I’ve watched a segment of what was it, Children’s Chopped on YouTube with him. The environment is challenging, and the balls of some of those chefs . . . I will agree that those are superb characteristics for my grandson. He also tells me that he’d like to hear.”

  “It’s Chopped Junior, and he does.”

  “And you only have cheap insurance?” Alexander inquired.

  “What do you want?” Donavan asked, slumping into a chair. “First, you’re cryptic while speaking about Maxine, then you’re talking shit about my son’s interest. Have you realized I haven’t put you in your place today?”

  “I’ve noticed. Today, and well, the other day when my assistant found you outside of that dive bar. You weren’t your usual self—no meaningless threats.”

  Donavan’s head tilted. “You love pushing my buttons, don’t you? I find it easier not to give a fuck about what you’re saying no matter how many airs
you put on.”

  “Oh, airs?” Alexander laughed. “I didn’t know your vocabulary was so diverse. And as for what I’m doing, trust me when I say, I do not waste my breath, nor my time. But this situation warrants it. Initially, I was waiting for you to break. You’ve been through so much, Donavan.”

  Much in part to you. Donavan stared at his hands, rubbing his callused palms over each other. Alexander was not an easy read, and he didn’t care enough to try.

  “You took the ASVAB before I started suggesting that you leave for the army. Checking up on you in that regard gave me hope. Did Avery know you planned on leaving her?”

  Donavan’s lips pulled to the left in a half smile. He had always planned on going. He’d planned on telling Avery that while she attended New York University that he’d be working toward a free college education for himself.

  “What’s it to you?” Donavan folded his arms.

  “You did well on the ASVAB, and that was just the practice test during sophomore year.” They’re eyes locked. This was the point where Alexander was making it highly evident that he’d watched Donavan like a hawk over the years. “Nine weeks of boot camp, you graduated, highly prepared to join the honorary legacy of the admirable men and women who served before you. Donavan, you fast tracked yourself through the 82nd Airborne Division out of Fort Bragg. You were highly impressive within your unit. Your command, Tripp, now, he raved about you. Or he used to.”

  “What do you know about Tripp?” Donavan asked.

  Alexander’s lips pulled into a huge smile. He set his napkin down, reached into the inside pocket of his blazer, and pulled out his wallet. Seconds later, he was sliding a business card across the table. The matte card was soft to the touch and stark white, with silver glossy, calligraphy.

  “Vitality,” Donavan murmured. A single phone number and address were on the back, no other identifying information. “What do you do, steal organs?”

  “Lives. We steal lives.”

  * * *

  Donavan headed up stairs. He glanced into Junior’s bedroom where Avery was standing to the side of his computer chair, pointing at a piece of paper. Junior was writing something then he turned to look at her. She smiled and signed, “Handsome and smart.”

  “Oh, mom,” he huffed, returning to his work.

  Avery glanced toward the door as if feeling Donavan’s presence. “Is my dad still here?”

  “No. He left.”

  “What did he want?” Avery asked.

  Donavan entered the room, kissed her softly on the lips, and went to rub the top of his son’s hair. Junior, eyebrows kneaded together pensively while completing his homework, hardly responded. He was studious like his mom.

  “Donnie, really, what did he want? If my dad said or did anything out of line, I’ll set him straight.” Avery followed him out into the hallway.

  Donavan chuckled softly, turning around to lean against the wall. “You know your dad. He offered to help with marketing, a specialist, all the money we needed. The works.”

  She huffed. “You didn’t—”

  “I’d never ask that man for a nickel. Wait.” Donavan snaked an arm around Avery’s waist and snatched her toward his chest. “You’re in trouble for the magazine article—we were banking on that. Avery, just tell me what happened, beautiful. That’s all I wanna know.”

  “I know, baby. I tried to be cordial. Maxine just got under my skin, which is no excuse.” Biting her plush lip, Avery looked down for a moment.

  His thumb grazed along her chin. Eyes stern, he said, “You two are like oil and water. Under any other circumstances, I would be wearing a hashtag AC shirt—”

  “But she pissed me off. A lot.”

  “Maxine said that you went off on her. She can exaggerate. Though, not many people have ever accused you of being a pushover.” He cocked a grin, pushing a tendril of her hair behind her ear. “Avery, don’t you think we need that feature for the sake of the B&B?”

  “No, we do not.”

  “Yes, we do,” he signed with large, stiff fingers.

  She pouted, silently agreeing that she’d been in the wrong. “I made your favorite meal.”

  Donavan’s hands went to her shoulders. His thumbs caressed her collarbone. “AC, we have a pot left for the chef that you’re interested in hiring, doll, and it ain’t that big of a pot. Hell, we halfway don’t have a pot to piss in for ourselves. The deep freezer is stock piled with food for us and for the first week of Franny’s B&B, which is booked, but we haven’t even gotten all of April set. Whatever Maxine said, can you get over it?” Unless you want me to work for your dad, then you’ve gotta stop being so stubborn.

  “I know. Thank you for being so money conscientious, Donnie. I canceled the chef.”

  “You did?” She nodded her head, but still looked miserable. Donavan took her hands aware of all the dreams she had for their business. The chef was a big part of it. “Hey, this was Franny’s vision. So, I get it.”

  “I’ll reach out to Mad Max,” Avery grumbled.

  They hugged each other, chuckling, recalling the times that Maxine had been called by her nickname for something or another. She’d always had some sort of attitude with Avery, but Donavan hoped that they could set aside their feelings. Because finding a job with years missing on his resume—due to working for Palmer—wasn’t easy.

  He’d already tried.

  7

  Avery

  She stretched onto her tippy toes, kissing Donavan fiercely. They were like Klimt’s The Kiss brought to life. In an instant, Donavan’s arms were around her, and she savored the feel of his embrace, since much of today was all her fault.

  “I’m really sorry,” she murmured against his mouth.

  He leaned back. “AC, we are a team. We will make it.”

  Her heart melted as he pulled her closer again, her belly making it hard for him to get as close as she’d like. As if aware, Donavan lifted her up and headed toward the bedroom, nudging the door closed behind him with his foot. He placed her on the bed. His tongue danced across her lips, vanquishing all remnants of the guilt she felt for screwing up the meeting with Maxine.

  His finger glided along her jaw until he tilted her chin. Hard as it was, Avery focused on his mouth in anticipation for his next move. He kissed her gently before looking into her eyes. “Though you’re forgiven for being a bad girl today, I want you on your hands and knees.”

  A sly grin spread across her lips as Avery went to do his bidding. Her mouth turned into a full-blown grin. His hand tangled up in her hair as she kneeled on the floor before him, and Donavan sat at the edge of the bed. She positioned herself between his legs.

  Hard yet smooth was the luscious feeling of his cock against her tongue. Avery flicked her tongue up and down the base of his shaft, loving the feel of his muscular thighs tensing around her. It was as if the tip of her tongue were signing her name on his dick until she engulfed him with her mouth and held him there. Her jaws were wide, slack enough to fit his girth. She pulled his cock all the way in until her tonsils bumped against his heavenly crown. Then she went to work sucking Donavan in and out.

  His hand fisted her hair, driving her rhythm to match his desire. Faster and faster she went, her wet mouth gliding along his shaft, and sucking as if she were attempting to suck his cum into a vortex.

  She moaned, placing her hand at his base. Donavan readjusted her palm until she was cuddling his balls instead, massaging them. She felt the vibrations of his rock-hard abdomen. He had to be growling, a deep groan. Encouraged by her beautiful, strong fiancé’s movements and how his fist gripped her head, vigorously pumping her head up and down, Avery moaned, ready for his cum to go splashing down her throat. A giddy feeling overtook her at the precise second Donavan’s toes curled under. His crown was half way down Avery’s throat when the volcanic eruption exploded. She drank him down to the last drop.

  Avery laid her head on his thigh, giving him a dreamy sigh. Donavan’s fingertips caressed her cheek.<
br />
  “Am I still in trouble,” she asked, looking up between thick long lashes.

  “Do you want to be?” He skimmed his hand along her throat.

  “Hell, yes.”

  “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

  8

  Hunter

  They were ten hours into a twenty-six-hour drive to where their parents lived in Alabama. In the heart of Texas, a spray of stars blanketed the dark sky. As far as the eye could see, it was all open land. Each time Hawk had turned on the radio, Hunter had slapped the off button. Hawk had snapped about “having a talk” whenever he was ready.

  Hunter finally broke the silence between them. He turned in the front seat and asked, “How’d you find me?”

  “You’re my baby bro. I’ll always be able to find you.” Hawk reached his hand to clasp the back of his neck. Hunter slapped his fingers away. “I love you, dumbass.”

  Hunter chortled, leaning back in his seat. “It was this cell phone,” he said, pulling the cheap hunk of crap from his front pocket. He zipped the window down and tossed it out.

  Hawk laughed.

  “Don’t ruin that golden boy rep in the Army by stealing tracking devices.”

  “Don’t surprise me, Hunter, by putting two-and-two together. I won’t—if I don’t have to sneak another tracking device on you. You know, I thought you’d burned up the rest of your brain cells standing out in the heat, not talking to anybody for days, and just holding up that piece of shit sign.”

  “Ain’t as hot as it was in Iraq.”

  Hawk laughed again then glanced over at Hunter whose face was emotional as a brick.

  “I didn’t reckon you had the cojones to mention your time in the war, without, I mean . . .” Hawk returned his gaze toward the slither of a moon before them. His thumb pressed the up volume on the steering wheel.