Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  Verdrena gasped. “Little bit of money? Blasphemy!”

  “I said quaint, Mom. And Christmas, which means having a small guest list is the perfect gift from you guys.”

  Waving a manicured hand, Verdrena laughed. “Then you tell your father he can’t invite his friends.”

  “What friends?”

  “Tsk. Associates. Your wedding, after all, is for us anyway. Another day to show off our biggest, most important accomplishment.” She grinned at her daughter. “And for me to use my event planning skills.”

  “Since when did you decide to become a party planner?”

  “Event, honey. Party just seems so uncouth.”

  “Okay, Mom. You’re reaching, and I mean reaching back to those Baudelaire snooty genes.”

  “Yeah, right. They wouldn’t have allowed me in the house. So, I’ll have nothing to do with them.” Verdrena giggled, rubbing a hand along her complexion.

  “Somehow, I believe your great, great, great, great, grand mommy’s peeples made it into the house, one way or another. I could tell you what Franny said. It puts that show Underground to shame. Damn, I miss that show . . .”

  “Humph, who are you telling. Where is the waiter?” Verdrena flashed a wink before hiding her face behind the menu. For the next hour, they caught up on Junior’s baseball games, the B&B, and talked about potential wedding vendors.

  36

  Donavan

  One week later . . .

  “Seven Nation Army” by The White Stripes blared so loud that his eardrums vibrated with each beat as he climbed the stairs. Dressed in black cargo pants and a black fleece, Donavan hustled up the steps of the condominium building; a black backpack completed his look.

  He’d broken protocol by telling Tripp where to meet him today if the bastard wanted to keep working for Vitality. Neither Green, Alexander, nor anyone else needed to know that minor detail—that Donavan had broken the seal and given away information to an outside source—Tripp being the outside source, now that he had chosen not to take the mission.

  At the 34th floor, Donavan stopped. This was the moment of truth. He headed for the door that led to the rooftop. The moment he stepped out into the dark of night, only a slither of a moon, a blanket of twinkling stars, and God knew his intentions.

  Removing the earbuds, Donavan pressed the off button on his iPhone. Crouching down, he moved toward the edge of the building on the westside of the street. Across the street was an even grander set of extremely expensive apartment homes. Unlike this one, with its bare rooftop, the one that his mark lived in, not only had concierge service, but a rooftop deck and swimming pool. The building jutted up higher, yet there was no light indicating that any of the owners were enjoying a late-night swim.

  His mark was on the 30th floor. His vantage point provided the perfect lookout. Donavan unhooked his backpack over his shoulder and unzipped it to take out a pair of binoculars. He adjusted the lenses then searched for the approximate location of his mark’s living room windows.

  “Where the fuck are you, Tripp?” Donavan grumbled, eyes on the Caucasian man with a premature head of white hair. The signature glass of scotch or whiskey turned lazily in the man’s hand as he used his other hand to read a file. The Dead Businessman was what Donavan had dubbed him to add an additional layer of anonymity between them. The Dead Businessman spent much of his time at his accounting office. It was unfortunate. From sun up to way past sun down, he was there, and here, it seemed he was not even aware of the possibilities he had to really live. Like enjoy the last moments of your life, sucker. With a shake of his head, Donavan rid himself of any more thoughts. He had to stop humanizing the guy.

  After about thirty minutes, The Dead Businessman placed the paperwork down and arose from a couch that probably was custom made. He returned to his room, obviously filled with the feeling of success, drink refreshed, and now picked up something. Donavan adjusted the lens to read the outside of a silver envelope, with posh calligraphy, before the mark took out its contents and laid down the envelope.

  “Sup brother?” Donavan called over his shoulder, hearing footsteps. He’d heard the door softly closing a few moments ago.

  Tripp huffed.

  “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  “Remind me not to sneak up on you, just snipe your ass from afar, which I hope you ain’t tryna do right now,” Tripp grumbled, getting on his knees to crawl over toward Donavan.

  “Do you see a gun?”

  “Nah.”

  “Well, I’m just gathering a bit of intel. Tray was our number one hitter when it came to picking off insurgents from afar.”

  Tripp stopped next to him and laid on his belly, resting himself on his forearms. “So, what’s your plan? I’m not here to help. My master plan is simple: observe, watch you fail.”

  “Damn, I see.” Donavan pulled the goggles from his eyes. “Alright, so our rich friend here just got invited to a charity event. You know the kind where you have to dress up really stuffy, then pay out the ass for a tiny meal.”

  “So what?”

  “The Dead . . .” Donavan paused from saying the nickname that he’d bequeathed to the guy. “Rich Boy has allergies. That was in his profile. Tripp, did you even read it?”

  The subsequent nod, with an “of course I did” glare came easy. “Didn’t I say I was here to watch you fail?”

  “Okay, so this is how it’s going down. If Rich Boy’s pockets are heavy enough, he’ll get the table. I’m going to poison him at the party.”

  Tripp laughed. It was exaggerated. After a while, he stopped because he had anticipated Donavan asking why. “Not going to ask why I’m laughing in your face?”

  They both ducked down when a Towne Car pulled parallel to the curb. The doorman came outside. Donavan growled, “I’m not that petty, nor do I care.”

  “I was just thinking, Castle gave you this little cunt assignment. No guns allowed. Just trip Rich Boy down the stairs like they do on every other Li . . .”

  “Lifetime movie?”

  He chuckled. “Your girl a big fan?”

  “That’s her only complaint about the channel. They’re like a broken record when it comes to folks slipping down steps due to some psycho stalker deciding not to use other means. And no, I won’t trip him down the stairs, Tripp. Rich Boy is a world-class runner. He has an adrenaline junky streak. Jumping from planes, climbing snowy mountains. Shit like that. It would be too dumb to just push his ass down the stairs. Who’d believe a freak accident?”

  “You forgot about the immunity, didn’t you? Or do you want to pass with flying colors—go all extra stealth mode on this wanker—which I doubt is something you need to do with Daddyo sitting on the throne. Or are you stalling because of the fact that you fail at every—”

  It came out of nowhere. First of all, it hadn’t seemed like Donavan was listening to a word Tripp had said. Then his elbow went flying. It slammed into Tripp’s nose. His nasal bone crunched to the left.

  “You done?” Donavan gritted out.

  “I’m gonna kill you now . . .” Tripp hustled to his hands and knees. Since they needed to keep a low profile, Donavan rolled away so as not to be pinned down. On their sides, they tossed a punch at each other, tussling on the ground, arguing, and trading jab for jab.

  “I’m tired of your mouth, Tripp. It’s the only cunt you’ve ever seen.” Donavan tossed a haymaker straight for Tripp’s teeth.

  “Oh, yeah?” Tripp turned, and Donavan’s knuckles slammed into the ground. “You’re a little pus—”

  In his attempt to back up his words with a punch of his own, Donavan also moved. The side of his fist slid across the asphalt, leaving a skid of skin and blood in its’ wake. Donavan jumped on top of Trip, assaulting his face with quick, bullet hard jabs.

  Tripp pummeled Donavan’s ribs. The onslaught burned like fire. Donavan’s forehead reared back and slammed into Tripp’s nose again.

  “Fuck.” Tripp gurgled up blood.

  Forc
ing out a huff, Donavan lay back.

  “Turn to your side before you choke and die, idiot,” he snapped, arm wrapped around his middle.

  Hissing and cussing under his breath, Tripp did as he was told.

  “Need me to reset that pussy sniffer of yours?” Donavan cocked a grin. His breaths came in heavy.

  Sucking in more oxygen, Tripp retorted, “Need me to reset all your ribs?”

  After a while, Tripp laid on his back again. They both groaned, glancing up into the sky each trying to suck in enough oxygen.

  Tripp mumbled, “Thank you for—”

  “Breaking your nose?”

  “No.” Tripp chuckled. “Letting me in on this deal. But you’re welcome for the black eye. At least, I hope it’s black by morning.”

  “Heh, I have a feeling all your dreams will come true when the sun comes up. How’s your rib? Is it cracked?” They were returning to a comfortable place, where the same old joke became recycled and new.

  Only a beat passed before Tripp scoffed, “Ha, I don’t think you pack that much of a motherfucking punch, Hardy.”

  “Then I’m telling everyone who asks that I fell down the stairs, Eliot Tripp”

  “Calling a brother by his first name when I distinctly told you not to? Low blow, matter of fact, you can’t go any lower.”

  Though it hurt like hell, Donavan moved to his side. “You just called me brother.”

  “Nah, that’s all the head bashing you just took, Hardy. Making you delusional. That’s all there is to it. Now, let’s get out of here, and we can chat about how to take down Rich Boy tomorrow. My chick laid out a set of new lingerie on the bed when I told her I might be out for most of the night.”

  37

  Avery

  Eyes closed, Avery moved around in bed until she was snuggling against Donavan’s back. Her arm draped over his waist; her forehead rested against his muscular back. Last night, her eyelids felt like they were on fire even after she succumbed to a few tiny winks. Waiting for him to get home and waking up multiple times to feed Anya was the pure definition of torture.

  At the crack of dawn, Avery texted Carly and could only pray that she continued to be the dependable woman that she was before the heartbreaker, ‘Room Six,’ had glided in and ghosted back out of her life.

  She felt herself falling into the realm of the peaceful until she felt Donavan suck in a breath.

  She leaned over him and gasped. “Oh my god, Donnie!”

  He groaned as she shook him. With him half sleep, and murmuring the words, Avery could hardly make out that he didn’t want her to touch his ribs, which had to be the reason he’d breathed in heavily when she squeezed her arm around him.

  “What the heck happened to you?”

  There was a purplish rim beneath his eye. A few scrapes on his chin looked like he’d been dragged across the asphalt. And obviously, there was damage to his rib cage.

  With a grunt, he placed his hands firmly at his sides and sat up. Avery reached out, her fingers trembling in trepidation as they feathered along his jaw.

  “You should see the other guy.” Donavan’s hot abs moved as he chuckled, and he instantly grimaced.

  But there wasn’t a shred of a smile on Avery’s face. “Oh, trust me. I plan on seeing the other guy and ramming my foot up his ass.”

  “Babe, I doubt Tripp will let you ram—”

  “Tripp? That’s your army friend—well, not friend. The one who refused to . . . forgive you. He beat you up?”

  Donavan took her hand before she could continue to paw at his face and turned it until the vulnerable patch at the inside was visible. Donavan placed her wrist against his mouth and kissed it. “Sweetheart, don’t you ever accuse me of getting my ass handed to me. I’d die before I let someone whoop my—”

  She slapped him. “Oh shit, sorry. Reflexes. Don’t say you’d die, Donnie!”

  “That’s quite alright. You don’t hit as hard as you used to. I reckon being beat up by a girl might’ve been the reason I learned how to scrap.”

  “Hey, back on subject. Please tell me what happened? Donnie, this . . . this is not okay.”

  “Okay.” He scooped her up, grimacing while planting her on his lap. Donavan tipped her chin and said, “Babe, Tripp and I are good now. This shit,” he gestured to his face, “is how we make amends. Now, Anya is going to wake up any minute. How about you make me feel better?”

  She climbed off his lap and stood up. Avery placed her hands on her hips. “This is chapter five in my, why you don’t fall in love with your best friend—”

  “Damn, you’re five chapters in? Let me know when it’s in audiobook.”

  “Oh, because you can’t read?” She chuckled.

  He laughed, then gripped at his ribs. “Damn, AC. You ain’t right.”

  “Is it broken?” Avery signed slowly, gazing at him in sorrow.

  “Now, we have seconds before Anya wakes up. Avery . . .”

  She climbed on top of him, hooking her legs around his waist deftly so as not to add any additional pain. “You’re literally aching and wanna have sex?”

  “Avery Castle, don’t you already know that you’re the antidote to any agony. You should make me feel good.” He leaned up between them. His manhood speared his boxers.

  She sighed. “Oh, I guess I have a job to do.”

  His honey orbs seared, and he dragged her shirt over her head. Avery adjusted herself over Donavan’s waist. “Let me know if you feel—”

  “Girl, I can handle anything.”

  Mouth tight, she grabbed his jaw. A flash of pain zipped before his eyes, but he pressed his mouth to hers as Avery pushed her panties to the side. She rocked down onto his ferociously hard cock, her hips instantly moving.

  “See, beautiful.” He leaned back. “I feel all better now.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, after Avery performed her housekeeping duties for two checkouts, she breastfed Anya and then headed downstairs with her daughter strapped to her chest. Anya was dressed in a cream-colored onesie, which brought out the light brown of her eyes, and a bright turquoise tutu with cream colored sprinkles. She smelled like heaven, and Avery couldn’t help but stop walking to kiss the silk curls of her hair.

  Anya peered up at her, tiny lips curving so she could coo.

  “Oh, you’re really chatting today, honey bun. But of course, we will go on your walk in just a second.”

  More coos.

  “I’m just going to ask Carly first.” Avery’s heart warmed as Anya continued to babble. “One day, very soon, I’ll get to hear you, too.”

  She clutched her baby as tightly as possible for a moment then headed down the wide, airy hallway. Avery found Carly in the library, legs to her chest at the very comfy, cushiony window seat that Jess had all but ruined with a similar bad vibe.

  “Hey, this room is for losing yourself in a whirlwind romance or adventure,” Avery said.

  The edges of Carly’s lips hardly pushed up as she sat forward.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Nah, yes. I guess.” She shrugged.

  “Let’s take a walk though. Anya has a routine already, and if she doesn’t have a juniper breeze for her afternoon nap, in a few minutes she’ll cry. Trust me. I know these things,” Avery said, patting her daughter softly on the back so that she could get out the last few bits of air out of her tiny stomach.

  “What about guests that are arriving or returning from an outing? This land is humongous. I won’t be able to hear the front door.”

  Avery reached into her pocket and jiggled her iPhone. “That’s what Ring is for. If someone comes, you can run back over.” She winked.

  “Tsk, me, run? I’d rather sit in this spot.”

  “And give everyone the sour face, hell no. I’ll have to send you home.”

  Moving as if her limbs weighed a thousand pounds, Carly got up from the seat. They locked up the entrances of the home.

  They meandered across the bridge and tow
ard the juniper trees that marked where the rice fields once grew. Avery could almost imagine having a field of lavender blossoming in this spot, but she knew the last time she came up with an idea, Donavan was a bit hesitant. She couldn’t help wanting to do more and more for Franny’s home. As a matter of fact, Franny had made the place sound so magical when she talked of how it used to flourish, and how she’d have brought it back to life. Lots of money was what was needed to turn this place into a haven. Avery was content with the changes that she and Donavan had made. One day, they’d be able to do more.

  After about thirty minutes of being lost in their own individual thoughts, Carly stopped walking. She spread the knit blanket that was underneath her arm on the ground.

  Anya slept, grinning and displaying a tiny mouth filled with gums. Avery slowly squatted down into a seated position as not to wake her beautiful daughter from sweet dreams.

  “Remember when I was a CSEC kid?” Carly bit her lip and stopped speaking.

  Avery nodded slowly. The term Commercially and Sexually Exploited Children had been explained to her by Carly using crude words when she’d come around pregnant. Carly had been really nasty about it and for no reason other than fear. She was jealous of Avery’s relationship with the Hardys. One day, Carly even threatened to screw Donavan too if he had money, but that was just something she’d added on when she’d grown tired of Avery not feeding into her need to be a ball of rage. Dammit but Avery never argued or fought with her.

  “I was such a little slut. No amount of intensive therapy, I finally started to participate in, was going to help, AC.” She pressed her face down into her palms and began to cry.

  Avery unhooked the baby carrier with careful movements since Anya had a knack for waking up at any given moment. With Anya still swaddled in the carrier cloth, Avery placed the baby down on the knit blanket. She scooted over to Carly, rubbing a hand over her shoulder.