“Shut up!” he growled.
She slinked down into her chair, sobbing and fretting, attempting to talk to him.
Hunter grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table. “Where is your purse?”
“H-h--honey, I don’t understand? Please just talk to me.”
“Where the fuck is your purse!”
Her index finger trembled as she pointed to the bedroom. Hunter was up the stairs in seconds. He grabbed his mother’s keys and purse from the ottoman by the side of his parent’s bed. He hustled down the stairs and into the sunroom. She was no longer there.
Ears perked, Hunter went into the kitchen where his mom was mid-dial on the wall phone. He placed his finger over the button.
“I don’t need you people.” He tore the phone from the wall and handed it to her. “The next call you make, or whatever it is you intend to do, keep my name out of it.” He pulled out the wallet, dropping her credit cards at her feet. “I’m just taking a couple of bucks, lady. You owe me. And the keys to that shit car that nobody drives. Okay?”
With trembling lips and tear stained eyes, she nodded.
* * *
A few hours later, Hunter had ditched the car and his mom’s cell phone. He’d gotten a reloadable credit card with his mother’s cash. He sat inside of the Greyhound, clutching his ticket to Myrtle Beach in his hand.
He had landed the last reservation available a week and a half after the grand opening.
He told himself to lay low in South Carolina and get the lay of the land. Let them have their lofty grand opening. Then on his last night there, Hunter would murder Donavan Hardy, his wife, his son, that new baby that was mentioned in the magazine, and whoever else was staying at the hotel on that night—Let those bastards put that in a magazine!
18
Donavan
Spring…
The Butterfly. It had been years since he’d heard that regarding someone dancing. Apparently, Avery understood the shock that washed over him as she retorted, using her hands to sign, “Hey, I don’t need my son watching me twerk.”
He couldn’t help the roar of laughter that vibrated against his abdominals as she stopped doing the butterfly and jumped into his lap with the magazine in her hands.
She began to read from the centerfold article. “The revival of the Baudelaire estate is upon us. We are not only fortunate to see the land in all its grandeur but to be a part of history and stay in one of its beautifully restored rooms—but there is minimal opportunity as the B&B is only opened during the Spring until the Fourth of July and winter season. I, for one, would like to be snowed in at Francis’s—”
“AC,” he stopped her. “I read the magazine already. You read it twenty times and noted how enchanting this place sounds. Snow and all. Though I doubt it will be much of a white Christmas in Myrtle Beach. Then you went and glanced at the calendar—”
“Donnie, the calendar from the end of March all the way to July 4th is booked! Every single day, I cannot believe it! Maybe once we start paying ourselves back, we can get a gazebo . . . oh, a field of lavender. When people drive down the road,” she gestured with her hands, “they’ll see Baudelaire off in the distance while being welcomed by the perfect view of lavender. What? Too much?”
“Never. I’ll plant a million of ‘em once we have the money. You want a gazebo? You tell me exactly what kind, I got you.” He kissed her forehead and then glanced down at her. “Babe, tonight is the grand opening. Don’t place me in the position to ask you to be ready.”
“Oh, I see, Mister “I-Hate-Tuxedos.” Listen, we are one week away from being able to do the wild thing. Maybe I’ll toss you a celebratory fuck instead of waiting?”
He placed his hand along her breast, and then tickled along her ribs until Avery swatted and jumped up, moving away from him. “Hey, what’s the meaning of this?”
“I for one am enjoying being your teacher. Your head game has scored you one very special night when the wait is over. Secondly, knowing you, you’ll be scared as shit the moment my dick touches you and then you’ll second guess waiting per doctor’s orders.”
“You make me sound like Miss Goodie Two Shoes.”
“You are—when you want to be.”
“Damn right. And right now, I’m keeping these thighs snapped shut.”
He reached over and pulled her into a hug. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”
“Out of this world happy.”
* * *
“So, you’re content being the gardener?” Alexander chuckled, clinking his champagne flute with Donavan’s. They were dressed in tuxedos, and the only reason Donavan was actually enjoying the evening, was to celebrate what he and Avery had accomplished for Franny.
“You don’t take a day off from the Devil’s advocate gig, do you?” Donavan asked, not in the least slighted by Alexander’s comment.
“Initially, I thought I’d get to break you, make you blow up like you did when you were a kid, and it proved to Avery what kind of person you are. Alas, I have underestimated you . . .”
“The two of you make a cute couple,” Tripp said, starting to grab Donavan’s cheek. Donavan lifted his fist to slam it in his face. Tripp blocked it.
“Don’t be a douche bag,” Hunter said.
“Oh, c’mon. I’m just improv-ing for y’all. I want to be a stand-up comedian when I head home.” He patted Donavan’s shoulder. “And I know you took no offense. The other day what you did with that insurgent after running out of a mag. That shit,” he said slamming his elbow into his other hand. “That shit was hard. But you gotta have more fire power on you.”
“It was my fault,” Hunter grumbled.
“Oh, yeah, I know that too. He tossed you his last mag, left himself high and dry. Kinda like this meatloaf.” Tripp held up his MRE.
“That’s why he’s got my lasagna,” Hunter joked. “And I’m eating powdered chicken—I mean powdered mashed potatoes with dusty chicken.”
They all laughed as if any of the food tasted better.
“Hello, are you listening to me?” Alexander asked.
Donavan shook the memory from his thoughts. “Look, I’m still not ready.” He started toward the archway of the ballroom. Hunter McIntosh usually haunted his nightmares. How could he be here? Donavan told himself that it had to be the guilt of doing so well these days. Avery moved around the room, networking with her father’s friends and playing the perfect hostess for the first guests who were staying the night. He told himself to be in the moment, after all, he had just entered the field of hospitality.
Later that evening, Donavan checked in on the first families that had signed into their bed and breakfast before ending up in his son’s room. Maggie had taken the head of the bed, while Junior placed his pillow at the foot of the bed, since the room she’d been sleeping in was previously booked prior to Jessica’s illness.
“You guys get in bed, no giggling all night long either,” he signed.
“We won’t,” Maggie chuckled.
“Yeah, we’re sleepy.” Junior’s eyes were filled with way too much life at such a late hour, but Donavan kissed his son’s forehead and warned them to be good.
19
Avery
After giving a tour of the grounds, Avery sank down onto the barstool in the kitchen, shoving a hand through her kink of hair. A glass of lemonade was placed before her. She looked up to see Carly. In less than two weeks, the women had gotten into the swing of managing Franny’s Bed and Breakfast.
“I’m seeing stars in those pretty blue eyes.” Avery tried on a dose of excitement, since it was clear that Carly wanted to talk.
“Okay, while you were out—”
“Wait, I think for the first time in my life, I can’t keep up with how quickly your lips are moving.”
“I had a basket of scones on the counter for the guests. Room Six has just arrived. And let me tell you, Room Six is hot.”
Avery tilted her head to the side. “It hasn’t been very long, yet I
’ve come to the conclusion that you sure do like calling people by their room numbers.”
“I do. Well, his name is Hayden Flint, but guess what, his nickname is Hunter. He’s buff, not too buff, his arms are perfect, and I want them to wrap around me.”
Avery blinked for a moment then offered a soft smile. Back in the day, Carly seemed to fall in bed every time her eyes landed on a guy, and for the life of Avery, she didn’t think a person could find someone physically attractive everywhere their eyes landed.
“Alright, so, Mr. Flint.”
“Hunter.”
“Is he here solo? No fam? Nothing to caution you from him filing a sexual harassment suit?”
“Ha! I’m not that horny. Anyway, not a wife nor is he here for a secret rendezvous. He’s—”
Carly’s lips stopped moving, and Avery followed her gaze toward the entrance where a man with thick, dark hair and calming gray eyes peeked his head into the room. He had to be Room Six.
Avery stood up, hand out stretched. “Mr. Flint.”
He clasped her hand in his, pulling it toward his lips for a kiss.
“Oh, that.” Avery moved her hand back. Even when she was meeting with her dad’s associates, these mannerisms almost felt slimy. “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Flint, I’m here to service you—uh, I mean—I hope you like your room.”
She felt like an idiot for a moment. The guy was obviously attractive, but Carly’s jittery behavior was making Avery uncomfortable. She could almost feel her drooling.
He said, “I do have one tiny problem.”
“How can I help?”
“The light in my bedroom.”
Almost like a jack-o-lantern, Carly jumped to her side. Avery caught her saying, “I can fix it!”
Catching a vibe of discomfort from Mr. Flint, Avery turned around and frowned at her soon to be sister-in-law. “Um, Carly, I’ll just do it. You’ve made such lovely Danishes this morning, take a break.” She silently added, “No sexually assaulting our guests.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She started out of the room with Mr. Flint following her. When they were halfway up the stairs, she could feel his stare boring into her ass. Avery turned around and tried to make small talk to redirect his gaze. “So, what brings you to Myrtle Beach?”
“R&R, I guess.”
She smiled, clear that he wasn’t going to divulge any more information. “You should join our tour, no additional charge to guests, either.”
He didn’t respond.
They arrived at room six.
“Which light isn’t working?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
With him staring at her for a few silent moments, Avery held her chin high. If he was going to be a creep, she’d tell Donavan.
Mr. Flint flicked on a switch and pointed to the ceiling fan.
“Oh, sorry about that. All the bulbs are new. I hope it’s not a short.” She started out of the room when the man blocked her exit.
“What are you doing?” She inquired with authority.
20
Hunter
He had expected her shoulders to jolt and for that pretty brown gaze of hers to brighten with fear, but Avery Castle stood her ground as he plucked the juniper twigs from her hair.
“I like the smell of these,” he said, holding it out for her. What he’d rather do was squeeze his hands around her neck until her eyes popped out of their sockets.
“One of my favorite trees, and you’re gonna wanna take the tour then because Juniper trees line the lake.” She moved swiftly out of the room.
The veins in his left eye twitched. Hunter rubbed his hands together, disgusted at himself for playing nice. That was the only card he had available to him until he took each and every one of their lives tonight.
A few minutes later, Avery entered the room with a ladder and a lightbulb box under her arm.
“I’ll just do it,” he grumbled. This was dumb. He’d been an asshole to his mother the other day, but that wasn’t him.
The way he’d reacted after seeing the magazine was something, he, himself didn’t condone.
Then what the fuck are you doing planning on murdering everyone in this daggon B&B? Hunter rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that ruining Donavan’s life was of the utmost importance. But wait, she hadn’t responded to him. As Avery started climbing up the ladder, he reached out to touch her arm, and she misplaced her footing. Hunter caught her.
“Hey, damn. I’m sorry.”
She glared at him. “What are you doing?”
“I just said I’m sorry,” he gritted out. “I offered to help, but you ignored me.”
“Well, I didn’t hear you!”
“I find that hard to believe. We were inches away from each other when I offered to hel—”
“Oh, you don’t know?” She cut him off. “Did you read the note about Franny’s B&B while making your reservation?”
The automatic blinking on his part spoke volumes. No, he was too busy plotting his revenge.
“I can’t hear, Mr. Flint. I’m deaf.”
Hunter took a few staggering steps back. Avery grabbed his arm, trying to help steady him, but it was no use. He slid down to the edge of the bed. She stood back.
“Are you okay?”
“I had a sister when I was a kid. She went deaf.”
“I’m so very sorry. It’s like that saying, ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’ ” Avery shoved a hand through her hair. “Sorry, I don’t even know if that was the proper response. You just seem to have really taken this badly. But you said I ignored you . . . So I’m going to place my foot into my mouth—literally, because metaphorically speaking, I won’t stop talking.”
He clasped hair from the crown of his head and glanced at the woman that his hands refused to murder. Not in a hundred years would Hunter McIntosh be able to murder Avery Castle. Gaze sweeping up and down her frame, for the first time, Hunter noticed that she was beautiful. There was a confidence in her stance, and a dose of humanity he hadn’t seen in another being, not even while lugging around his sign, begging for food.
Eyes warm as hot chocolate on a snowy day, she stared at him in sorrow. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Mr. Flint. I’ll fix the light and—”
“Hero was a suicidal kid when that term didn’t make sense,” he began. “Kids these days off themselves left and right. When we were kids, shit like that didn’t happen. Forgive me for my language.”
“That’s alright.” Avery took a chair and sat down across from him.
Hunter stared at her—so ready to listen—so innocently prepared to be the ear that he needed. The ear that he hadn’t had since Donavan Hardy was his brother. And try as he might, he couldn’t help but tell her about Hero McIntosh.
“Hero could walk into any room—I know it sounds like I’m going to say something cliché—and like light it up. She shined like a star everywhere she went. I’m telling you, tension thick as hell, and everyone would stop to look at her.” He paused, feeling as if the words were spoken to him. In the McIntosh home, they did not utter Hero’s name, let alone any other single thing about her. “She was outgoing. Honor classes. One of those pageant babies that grew up with all eyes on her. At this point, she was not quite yet the captain of the cheer team, her buddy still had the spot and was going to keep it for one more year. But then look out,” he chuckled, his tone faraway with longing. “Hero was born to lead.”
His gaze connected with Avery’s, though she didn’t say a word, he could see that her entire body language was attuned to him as he continued. “She was a junior in high school. Had the perfect life until she came home early one day because of a headache. For a kid who rarely got sick, my mom wasn’t her usual coddling self.”
He snorted. Or maybe Mom hadn’t started getting down on her chubby knees, waiting on her children hand and foot until Hero had died—when she needed another pastime instead of fashioning pageant dresses.
�
��She had meningitis?” Avery asked.
Slowly, he nodded. “Yup. Took them too long to realize that though. Everyone thought it was just the common cold. After that, the light in her eyes . . . the confidence . . . all of it was gone.”
Avery murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
“My father got the best of everything for her. A personal ASL instructor. A buddy who was also deaf to hold her hand. He spared no expense to help her.”
She smiled softly. “Sounds like my dad. You might not get a moment to let it all sink it before he’s helping.”
“Tossing money at the problem is what it is.” He snorted.
“Yeah,” she murmured.
“I just wish Hero had just a small seed of the life she once had. Lord knows there were folks coming by after school, on the weekend. They wanted to help her. She just continued to shrink even more into herself until one day . . .”
Hunter stopped speaking to look into the innocent, sweet eyes of Avery Castle.
No. Killing her wasn’t in the cards. He didn’t save Hero from herself. But he’d save Avery from Donavan Hardy.
21
Donavan
He held out his hand, giving the man a firm shake, before taking the seat at the table. It felt like he was sweating bullets. This was the first job interview that Donavan had had in ages, and not due to lack of trying. Every opportunity denied him.
“So, you called my hiring manager twenty times in one day. Mr. Hardy, you’re sitting here now. Tell me why you want this job.”
“I don’t just want, but need, this job, sir. I have a family that I need to take care of.”
“But your resume is all sunny skies, not a cloud in sight, it’s that damn empty, Mr. Hardy. Not an education, no previous drilling or oil rig work, no nada. Far as I’m concerned, you may as well be sporting pimples on your face. But because you keep harassing me, I’m gonna do you a favor in a world that ain’t ever owed nobody nothing.” The desk phone shrieked. The manager plucked the phone up in his hand and turned in his seat. “Hello . . . Uhn-huh, uhn-huh . . .”
Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance Page 11