Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  Down to his knees he went, Donavan caught him before he could hit the floor. “Calm the fuck down,” Donavan growled. His dark gaze locked onto Tripp’s. As Tripp regained his strength, coming in for another punch, Donavan wrapped his hands around Tripp’s throat again.

  “Boss,” Green said.

  “We’re all men here. He can tap out again. Donavan can be a pussy and cave, though I’d never recommend making the same mistake twice.”

  Donavan glared at Alexander Castle, seated high and mighty. The glower in Alexander’s eyes told him to finish the job—past the point of choking Tripp out. Donavan glanced back at Tripp, recalling a time when the man had told him he could go far in the army. His hands loosened from around Tripp’s throat because, this time, he doubted the shark intended to submit.

  He sunk down into a seated position, leaning against the side of the couch. Head falling back, Donavan felt like he’d been plunged into the deepest, darkest pit.

  All the guilt he had ever known lay in a heap a few feet away. Tripp grunted and rolled over onto his stomach. “This ain’t done, Hardy. I said on my motherfucking life that one of us was dead the next time I crossed paths with you.”

  Licking his lips, Donavan mumbled the words, “I am sorry, brother.”

  “You ain’t no brother of mine! You’re nothing.”

  Tripp stood up.

  “Actually,” Alexander cut in. “If it weren’t for him, Tripp, the probability of you rising up within the company to gain my attention was slim to none.”

  Tripp’s angry, rage filled eyes turned toward the rich man. Donavan turned his attention to Alexander as well.

  “I always kept my eyes on Donavan. He did surprise me with the moves he made in the army. Albeit, it would’ve been years before I knew of you, son.” He nodded to Tripp. “Maybe, I would have, but who’s to say nothing else unfortunate would’ve occurred before I got to know you. I admire you, Tripp, but cannot kill this man. If this were ten years ago, I’d place a stack of cash on my desk and tell you to fight him like a dog on the street. And you would have because I have the means to elicit such a response.” Alexander slipped a hefty diamond money clip from his tailored suit for emphasis.

  Donavan shook his head. Tripp wouldn’t have fought him for money, not the Tripp he had once known. They were patriotic. The sharks on his team were all good friends. It had just taken himself and McIntosh a while to mesh with the other guys, but after Donavan had saved him from suicide, well, they were brothers.

  Donavan’s Commanding Officer, Tripp, had become his brother too.

  “Do you understand?” Alexander gritted.

  “Yes, sir,” Tripp shouted. “But if this bitch so much as looks my way, sir, I cannot attest to how I’ll respond. Leash and gag ‘em like the other one.” He glared at Green and walked out.

  Clearly, Green didn’t hold the same rank as Tripp. Even though this wasn’t the army, it seemed like there were levels of power. Donavan decided he’d have to ask Green about that. Tripp wasn’t going to give him an answer. Obviously, there was no way in hell Tripp planned on forgiving him since his body was marred with burns.

  Alexander clapped his hands together. “Donavan.” He cocked his head.

  Hands out in front of him, Donavan shoved off the ground and stood up with ease. In a few moments, he’d be in tip-top shape.

  “What is it you’d like me to do, Alexander?”

  Alexander nodded to Green who went to the bar and started pouring whiskey. He reached down and ruffled through a few files, before saying, “Ah, yes, here it is.” Alexander held a manila envelope. “Now, before I hand this over, you must know that once your eyes see what is requested of you, the mission is yours.”

  “What kinda mission is it?” Donavan shifted in his chair. Green placed the whiskey down. He shook his head. Green picked it up and downed it all in one gulp.

  “A little of this, a little of that.” Alexander shrugged.

  “Killing people?”

  “Why of course, I did say a little of that didn’t I?”

  “What does Avery think about—”

  “She isn’t aware of the magnitude of what occurs here, not at all, Donavan. Listen, there are various assassination organizations around the world. You have your contract killers—the loan sharks who take unvetted assignments. And let me tell you how faulty those are—the legalities of being caught—Vitality members have immunity.”

  Donavan sat forward in shock.

  “The next step up from self-employed guttersnipes are those psychotic X-Members. They sometimes work with our guys, depending on the assignments. But those fucks are oddballs, even the best of them.” Alexander grinned. “You look shocked. Think of it this way. The general public is shit talking the POTUS for the war. The Navy Seals go in first. They can’t quite handle the gig. Vitality gets a call, and we send in our best. Sometimes we outsource to X-Members, but that international hitman squad is a bunch of gaudy entertainers with guns in hand, if you ask me. Vitality is the crème de la crème, and we also have my friend—excuse me—the president’s backing.”

  Donavan rolled his eyes.

  “You don’t like him? That’s fine. I have to make them my friends. He isn’t the first one I’ve worked with.” Alexander tapped a hand against the manila envelope. “Now, of course, you will not be given such an extreme assignment. That is for Tripp and others who have proven themselves. This one is quite easy; I assure you. And with you being family, I can continue to make this a smooth ride. If you weren’t family, I wouldn’t even be speaking to you until you’ve proven yourself.”

  Donavan sat back in the seat, wishing he’d taken the damn drink. This was a bit much to digest.

  “So take the envelope.”

  “And I’m stuck completing whatever shit job you have for me, regardless of my morals?”

  Alexander nodded.

  The phone beeped. “Hold that thought. Speaking of men who’ve showed themselves worthy of my presence.” He pressed the speaker button. “Is it Reiss?”

  “No, it’s your daughter. She’s at the gate.”

  Donavan gulped.

  “Let her in. I’ll be down shortly.”

  “I thought you said Avery didn’t come here . . . hadn’t been here since she was a kid?”

  “I did.” Alexander waved a hand. “She’s angry. I settled the issue the two of you had with Maxine.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t look at me like that. The woman has learned her lesson, not to screw with a Castle. She’s simply resigned from the magazine and may have issues finding a new job, but that’s a personal problem not pertaining to either of us. You’re staying right?”

  Alexander stood, smoothing the fabric of his suit jacket and headed toward the door. “I’ll keep Avery busy, and she’ll be none the wiser.”

  Donavan reached over and pressed his hand along the seal of the envelope. Bold red words were stamped across the top: “If this seal is broken—”

  He moved his index finger from the seal but did not break it. Placing the envelope on the inside of his leather jacket, Donavan started out of the room.

  Green stepped forward. “I assume you want to hit the road before Avery knows?”

  Donavan’s eyebrows kneaded together.

  “Of course, I know of her. She’s Castle’s daughter. There’s another exit. I’ll take you to it while he speaks with her. Good idea to sit on that for a while. But this mission has a timeframe that expires within the month, got that?”

  A few minutes later, Donavan sped out of the parking lot. Had Avery spoken with her father? Donavan decided he didn’t need to know while zipping down the street toward Baudelaire. For now, he had secrets of his own. It would be a shame to start their marriage off tied to an anchor of deception. But Donavan told himself that he’d work with Vitality until he had enough money stashed.

  Just enough to help his father, prepare for the birth of his baby, pay for any surgical procedure that Junior needed, and make
Avery happy.

  11

  Avery

  “This is blasphemy.” She pursed her lips with each word. Though she was unable to help the whirlwind of emotion rising through her, stars twinkled in her eyes brighter than the fourth of July, and it took everything in her being not to break out in a grin. “Foregoing a Taco Tuesday tradition for a Spaghetti Tuesday? Well, I agreed, but this is crossing the line.”

  Against her proper upbringing, Avery rested her elbows on the wood countertop. Her stomach didn’t allow her to sit any closer to the island. She was about ready to bust.

  The kitchen was a wide-ranging mix due to restoring Baudelaire. They had kept some of the original amenities while upgrading others to meet the needs of running a bed and breakfast. The original cast-iron wood stove, an antique, that neither Avery nor Donavan could get rid of remained alongside the Viking oven that would not be fired up by a well-known chef anytime soon.

  There were splatters of red along the stainless-steel appliances, and somehow her son and fiancé had gotten their “murder scene,” science experiment tossed around enough to have tiny tomato specks on the antique basin.

  “Oh, so you can’t hear now either.” She cocked an eyebrow, watching the back of Donavan’s stocky build as he stirred the rosemary, and oddly sweet scented, concoction.

  DJ went from the refrigerator to the stove, holding up a slab of bacon.

  Avery waved at her son. He turned to look at her after handing over the bacon.

  “Son?” She signed, “What in the heck are you two making?”

  “You’ll love the spaghetti, Mom.”

  She smiled at him. Other than playing baseball, like Donavan had done as a child, DJ also loved to cook. YouTube was his best friend—much like any other kid his age. He’d stumbled across cooking while searching for a videogame hack. It sparked a love.

  Donavan finally turned around with a grin. “Maybe we need to fry the bacon first? What do you think, AC? Might not get a good crunch if we add it so late in the game.” He stood behind his son, rubbing the top of his head, and mouthed, “Play fair.”

  She glanced at both and shook her head. “Okay, just fry it in a skillet and add it, guys. I wash my hands of this.”

  “You can’t.” She caught Donavan saying it before he turned away.

  “Why not?”

  He turned back around. “Because I distinctively recall you being the one to say we needed a family tradition. I fucked up my mom’s recipe the first time I attempted to cook for you when we got back together, God rest her soul, you said . . .”

  Avery’s hand darted sideways cutting him off. With effort, Avery held the bottom of her belly and got up from her stool, walking around the island. “I know what I said, Donnie. You were being a big baby. I was just showing support, and this is the thanks I get?” Her lips moved into a full-blown smile. They could experiment with adding anchovies and mayonnaise to the spaghetti, and she’d still love this moment, including the pain she was now feeling in her cervix.

  “My little bird.” He murmured the words before pulling her into a hug.

  “Yuck,” their son coughed.

  Donavan’s hard muscles vibrated against Avery as he laughed. She pulled away. “What?”

  “Your son thinks we’re yucky. I suppose we should get a room?”

  Separating the pain she was beginning to feel from these good heartwarming moments, Avery gingerly pressed her hands against his rock-hard chest. Donavan played nice by pretending he could be pushed back by her.

  “I can assure you that we’ve tested and confirmed the comfort of each guest room.”

  “We could always—”

  Her eyebrows kneaded as his lips stopped moving. “AC, baby, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She responded all too quickly, hands balled at her side. It was the only sign that the pain was becoming a little less bearable.

  “Like hell.”

  Avery bit her lip. “It’s just these darn Braxton-Hicks. You and Carly could’ve taken a road trip across America with all the times we have gone to the hospital in the last few months. They’ll pass. We have one more week. So, add snails to the spaghetti if you like. I want to enjoy this moment, without fussing over a few pains.”

  His callused knuckle felt ever so soothing against her cheek. They’d already talked about her feelings. More than half the times, Avery had been overly worried. He’d validated and enabled her concerns since he’d been a million miles away during the birth—and subsequent tragedy—surrounding DJ’s arrival into this world. Though Avery had yet to forgive her mother for coming clean about DJ’s being alive half a year ago, it didn’t stop her mind from racing with worry about the arrival of baby Anya.

  “Damn, my little bird, if you have a worry, I’m there for you.”

  The pain had grown a little too much to take. She grabbed his arm.

  “Fuck, AC, don’t hold it in. Don’t tense up.” His tone became serious. He was more concerned with what the Lamaze instructor had advised rather than Avery’s fingernails clawing into his hard muscle. “When you hurt, you tell me.”

  She nodded, body tensing again.

  “No tensing.”

  “Hello!” DJ piped in. “We need to cook the bacon. Mom, what’s wrong?” DJ signed the words, “You’ll love it, Mom.”

  Donavan locked his gaze onto their son while sweeping Avery into his arms. “Mom’s in pain, okay. No bacon today, buddy. Let’s turn off the stove and—”

  His forearm was instantly drenched with a warm, sticky liquid. The blood under Avery’s cheeks burned like fire, and she began to apologize until she clutched her arms around him again. Another contraction rolled through her.

  “Your water broke,” Donavan said.

  This was the part she feared the most, giving birth again. She wouldn’t close her eyes until Anya rested safely in her arms.

  “DJ,” she called out. But he was doing as instructed. Another wave of pain was searing through her belly. “Awww.”

  “Just breathe,” Donavan said. “I’m not going to leave your side.”

  “And DJ?”

  He kissed her lips. “Beautiful, don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. You’re having my baby today.”

  12

  Donavan

  He glanced down at Carly. They both had a mass of curly blond hair, resembling true siblings, except his was a darker blond and hers had an imaginary birds’ nest in it. The bags under her eyes were a complementing gray to her dental assistant scrubs.

  “Shit, you look tired.”

  She slinked her arm around him. “I don’t have time for tired, and you don’t either, buddy. We have some cheerleading to do.”

  “Yeah, I know. But when I saw how tired you were, I thought about Dad.”

  “Dad’s staring at infomercials as usual. How’s AC?”

  “Antonio is trying to convince her to let Verdie—Verdrena,” he gritted out her mother’s name, “at least look through the nursery window when this is all done.”

  “No comment.” Carly walked past him. Donavan arched an eyebrow as she stopped a few yards away and turned around, head cocked to the side. “Oh, that was supposed to be me using body language to imply that I don’t give a damn about her mother’s wishes. In retrospect, it didn’t work that well because I’m not sure which way Avery’s room is.”

  If the muscles in Donavan’s abdomen weren’t as stubborn as a billy goat, he would’ve belly laughed.

  “But someone has to watch the kids.” He gestured toward Joshua who had already taken a place next to DJ on the floor.

  Carly nudged her chin behind him toward the sliding glass door. “They came anyway.”

  He turned around to see Alexander and Verdrena. Carly mumbled about asking the triage where to go. Avery’s parents were both in pant suits, balloons in hand. Her father’s tailored suit radiated his influence and power.

  “How is my daughter?” Alexander inquired. He may have been a hard man, but he was alw
ays looking out for the benefit and well-being of his children.

  “Yes, how is she?”

  Donavan cut a look at Alexander’s wife.

  “Honey, you should’ve stayed home. We mustn’t add any undue stress to Avery. Actually, you stay here. Someone needs to look after the boys.” He gave her one last cold look before waving a hand for Donavan to lead the way.

  The men headed toward the elevator.

  “AC, decided not to have any meds,” Donavan offered, aware that he hadn’t gotten a chance to answer either of their questions before the husband gave his wife the cold shoulder. “She’s about seven centimeters dilated,” he added pressing the button to the elevator.

  They stepped inside. Alexander played with his cufflinks for a moment.

  “Your time is running out.”

  “I’m still considering it.” Donavan got out of the elevator, striding quickly down the hall. They entered the suite where Avery had a prestigious doctor and an arsenal of highly vetted nurses from the premium insurance her father had.

  Dr. Blaine, with her pencil thin dreadlocks, spoke in a soothing voice. “Alright, Mr. Hardy, are you ready for your second child?”

  “If he isn’t ready, I’ll kill ‘em myself,” Avery gritted out.

  Even with her head metaphorically spinning around exorcism style, Donavan took his place at her side. She alternated from saying she loved and hated him, to cursing her brother for recording everything.

  “Men are shit!” Carly screamed out, facing Avery so she could see her.

  “Yes,” Avery agreed.

  Donavan did a double take. “Why would you—"

  She gritted out. “Sorry, Donnie, I love you.”

  Carly said, “Trust me, any form of man bashing while in this immense amount of pain helps. It helps a lot.” She rubbed at Avery’s hair from the opposite side of the bed while on the other side a colorful tattoo of a gray, blue, and yellow swallow was now trickling with red crimson as Avery squeezed Donavan’s forearm.