Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  Donavan sat across from him with a view of the kitchen. Instead of a hello, Carly plucked off her dishwashing gloves one at a time, eyes throwing daggers at him. Her tone wasn’t as sour as her face when she said, “There’s not enough.”

  Greg glanced back, and she straightened up. “I really ate that whole pie?”

  “Dad, you can have all the pie you’d like. But tomorrow. We were already arguing about how late it is now. Donavan,” her sickly-sweet smile landed on him, “what brought you by this time of night?”

  “Girl, he can come day or night. Is something the matter with Junior or the girls?” Greg asked.

  “No, Dad. Everyone’s good.”

  When Donavan’s eyes went to Carly, Greg glanced over his shoulder. “Carly, come right on around this couch before I get a crick in my neck. Would be nice to have my two kids around more often.”

  “Eh,” she started, “The day’s been long enough. The two of you can hang out since Donavan mysteriously came over so late.”

  For another hour, Donavan kept tabs of the time and watched an old John Wayne flick with his Dad. It always felt good to hang out with Greg, though tonight he felt like a slimy bastard. Carly had argued with him this morning when he’d asked her to call around 10 p.m., saying Dad was having another episode. Though she’d followed through, Donavan knew that keeping his business to himself was placing a strain on Carly and Avery’s relationship. In the beginning, when he’d first gotten the nurse to come during the days, Carly had asked why, but ultimately showed appreciation. Now, it was wearing thin by the second.

  Donavan had a midnight flight to terminate a mark in a different state and was using his father as a means to an end.

  Alexander was either trying to push him away from Avery using dollar signs with marks in different areas, or the man truly was coming around to having him on the team. Regardless of which, Donavan had a long night ahead of him.

  Luckily, Greg began to nod off. Donavan got up, patting his shoulder. “Ready for bed, old man?”

  “Reckon I can’t have the TV watching me,” Greg muttered. “Though I was just getting to the good part.

  “I can’t believe you still watch this stuff.” Donavan shook his head, wheeling him toward the stairs.

  “Oh, the rest of the channels are all junk,” he retorted, watching Donavan align the wheelchair with the ramp.

  “Don’t worry. Might not be as good as Carly, but I got this.”

  “Hey,” Greg paused to yawn. “Both of my children are worth their weight in gold.”

  Ten minutes later, Donavan softly closed the door to the master suite and was heading down the stairs when Carly came out of Joshua’s room, flicking off his lights.

  “Hey, Carly.” He shuffled down the stairs. “You can give me the silent treatment, girl, I still love you.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, that sounds just like you!”

  “What? Saying I love my sister?” He cocked an eyebrow. Donavan had enough guilt riding on his broad shoulders. He continued to walk. Before he made it to the front door, Carly had rushed down the steps and her expression was set for more arguing.

  “I’m doing what needs to be done, Carly.”

  “You say you’re helping Dad but won’t tell me how. Okay, great. I appreciate not having so much to do around the house when I get home, but damn! What are you up to?” She eyed him wearily.

  His hand fell from the doorknob. “You know me, Carly. What have I always done to get by?”

  She scoffed. “Yeah, even when you had parents who loved you, you did what you needed to do. That actually sounds selfish if you put some real thought into it. Not allowing family to help.”

  Grabbing a fist full of curls, Donavan growled, “Every day, AC wants something new. She wants the world. I’m gonna give it to her. My kids. Dad. You and Josh need more time without you having to help—”

  “That sounds like life, Donnie. So, I’m going to sleep on that note.” She moved up one step. “Before I do, I’ll just remind you that the woman you’re so hell bent on giving the stars to already has them. She knows that. One more thing, bro, Avery is also smart as a whip.” With the last word, Carly winked and sauntered back up the steps.

  * * *

  Donavan exited a coffee shop across from Central Park at six a.m. Expensive runner pants and a hoodie covered much of his bulky frame. The Nike backpack he wore appeared innocent enough and was even connected to a hydration line for his water bottle. He hustled toward the crosswalk where joggers and others were already moving along. Donavan made it across in the nick of time and heading over to the trail.

  The sole focus on his mind was the profile that he’d been given. The mark lived three miles away in Greenwich Village. The information that he had received indicated that the target was a well-known restaurateur. Though Alexander did not tell him much, Donavan had made it his own personal mission to work the angles. He wanted to know if this new, soon-to-be-dead man, was connected to Rich Boy and the others. So far, he was not.

  Two miles away, and breathing contently, Donavan pressed the button on his iWatch, without so much as glancing at it. Alexander was the only one who’d call him on this phone line, and the phone he’d given to Donavan, he’d stressed was a secure line, meaning they could speak freely.

  “You in position.”

  “Five minutes.” Donavan paused to press the button at a crosswalk. “Or six. I’m a mile away.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t have any additional info, Castle. Not even a how you’d like this handled.” With the other deaths, similar to Rich Boy, he’d had to figure out how to isolate the person and make their death appear like an accident. One, whom he had murdered in plain sight, wasn’t too bad, despite the bastard’s in-demand lifestyle. But Donavan had time to figure out those dynamics. “I don’t feel comfortable winging it.”

  “How about torture? Can you be comfortable doing that without needing a booklet?”

  Donavan stopped running on a dime, right in front of a brown stone, similar to the one that would have cops in front of it soon. Images of Tripp and Hunter in a mangled mass of blood haunted him so real, so close for a split second. Pausing for a beat, Donavan cleared his mind and inquired, “What do you mean?”

  “Any torture. Asphyxiation. Got a revolver? Play Russian roulette. The possibilities are infinite. When you’re done, my cleaning crew will ensure there is no DNA left behind.”

  A wave of nausea swelled over Donavan. I don’t need this . . .

  Carly was right. Sure, Avery had one thought popping up into her mind after another regarding updates for Baudelaire, but she was content no matter the circumstance. He could comfortably pay Greg’s nurse now. But the Donavan that had gotten out of Fort Leavenworth and was on Palmer’s payroll doing shit jobs always wanted more.

  He bit his lip.

  “You saw the price on the man’s head.” Alexander encouraged him. “You bought my daughter a necklace. When are you giving it to her?”

  Jaw clinched, Donavan knew that Alexander’s minion, Green, was still keeping tabs on him. This even after the heads up about being ready to fight before entering Alexander’s office the first time. Donavan continued with running, speaking in a low voice. “I’ll kill your mark. No torture. That shit’s not fucking with my head.”

  He pressed the off button.

  At the mark’s home, Donavan went around the side of the dominating brownstone. Along the alley, he glanced up until he saw a fire escape. Jumping up, he gripped the wrought iron ladder, pulling it down. He was up and inside an open window in seconds.

  On the fifth floor, Donavan’s hard gaze swept the room—crown moldings, original wood flooring, and exposed brick. Those were words that Avery loved. Franny had given her an appreciation of old structures.

  He told himself not to think of them while passing by custom furniture. Though the profile information had been rather vague, the mark lived alone. And as a famous Italian chef and restaurant owner, he did not
have a chef, nor was it reported that he had any maids.

  Hearing acute, Donavan moved silently down the stairs, noting the luxuries that each level held. There was even an elevator to the left of him. And who the hell had multiple kitchens?

  Donavan found the Italian on the first floor, in yet another kitchen. This one rivaled the one on the third floor. The man was stout, humming and murmuring a song in his native language as he chopped vegetables. His peaceful, baritone melody never ceased. A knife went sailing from his hand before he’d even turned around.

  Donavan ducked, moving toward the opposite side of the island with its waterfall marble.

  “Tell Alexander that he cannot scare me.”

  “I’m here to murder you, but I promise to relay the message!”

  Grabbing the Glock from the back of his waistband, he placed it over his opposite forearm and peeked up. The Italian was crouching down as well, but he could hear his breathing. Cautious and with his finger on the trigger, Donavan stood up and moved around.

  The guy had opened a cabinet. A wrought iron skillet flew in Donavan’s direction. He caught it and threw it over his shoulder. An overhead display of champagne flutes and wine glasses went crashing to the ground. The Italian picked up a copper pot, but before he could throw this one, Donavan’s knee was in his gut. He put most of his weight on the mark. His steel forearm slamming into the meaty folds of his neck.

  “Listen, Castle wants me to torture you. I ain’t gonna do that.” His hard gaze was just to the left of the Italians. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look the man in the eye and murder him.

  The man’s fleshy lips puffed out, and he enunciated every word. “Then torture me, you fuck!”

  “Before you die, tell me why Castle wants you dead? You were friends?” he asked, though it seemed farfetched since the man was marked by Alexander, but the Italian had mentioned Alexander by his given name. Something told Donavan that Alexander had the same regard for him as he did for this guy. It didn’t matter that Donavan was marrying his daughter. Alexander would still have Donavan killed some day if he wanted.

  The Italian laughed. “He got you by the balls, eh? You work specifically for him?”

  “Just tell me!” Donavan threatened, pressing the barrel of his gun against the Italian’s temple.

  “I refuse.”

  With one look in the man’s eyes, Donavan knew that the mark would stand his ground until his death.

  “So be it.” Donavan issued a double tap to the area between the man’s eyes with the butt of his gun. He stood up, glancing around. He opened draws until he found a sharp carving knife. It was overkill, but he’d been given a verbal. He slid the knife across the Italian’s neck then stabbed into his abdomen, pausing to stop himself from puking.

  Donavan lodged the knife into the man’s leg where it would stay. “That’s all the torture I’m gonna do.”

  Once completed, Donavan grabbed the Clorox wipes from his backpack. He went about wiping down every area where he had been. The clothes that he wore were new, but he changed, tucking them away for later disposal. Donavan took every precaution in his distrust for Castle.

  Once he was satisfied that every step he took had been cleaned, he stood outside on the railing and dialed the only other number that was programed into the iPhone Alexander gave him.

  “Clean up, Greenwich Village.”

  48

  Avery

  The therapist that Dr. Wang had referred her to was well versed in ASL. Avery sat across from the Mexican man in an office with calming gray walls. This was their first in an undisclosed amount of sessions. Unsure of what to expect, Avery chewed on her bottom lip.

  “You make this sound like a means to an end.” The therapist signed.

  “I was under the impression that it is.” Avery shrugged, hoping that her tone didn’t come off as being too rude. If this was part of the process to having a cochlear implant, then so be it.

  “Is this an intrinsic desire, Avery? Is attending therapy and having surgery something that you,” the therapist paused to point at her. “You personally want?”

  “If I say ‘no,’ then do you send a note to Doctor Wang advising her that I don’t qualify?” she asked. Though Dr. Wang had said not to stress about it, it was hard to keep positive since Junior kept asking when she’d have the surgery.

  “Not at all.”

  “I’m sure you’ve been informed that I’ve chosen this option solely for my son.” She let her hands lift to the heavens. “Just for my son. He also had hearing aids as a kid, just didn’t take to having them in his ears.”

  “What are your thoughts regarding Donavan Junior’s asking you to have the process completed first?”

  “I dunno.” She sighed. “What? Do you want to hear that I won’t be mad if I have the surgery, and he decides that just maybe hearing isn’t what he wants after all? Then I’ve done this life changing thing for no reason?” Avery sighed again, aware that the therapist wanted her to do all the talking.

  Sitting back, she shrugged. “I’ve been through a lot. This will change my worldview. Trust me, I’ve been slapped in the face, left to right, about how I’ve lost my identity for doing this. Nobody even knows the true reason why. I can’t understand, Dr. Wang. She’s nice and bubbly in one instant, showing me photos of her family, empathizing, saying she’d do the same if one of her children asked. Yet, here I am.” Her hands fell to her sides as she gasped, frustrated.

  “Tell me more about your feelings of losing your identity after deciding to have the implant.”

  She chortled. “I won’t lose myself.”

  “But you believe that’s the reason you’re here.” His eyebrows rose. “Is that not true?”

  Avery sat back, trying to determine if it was a mixture of annoyance from her current situation or something else because clearly, they weren’t comprehending each other.

  “How about this? Try being seventeen, pregnant—and not just some statistic—I had Donnie. Who I knew actually loved me enough not to run away the second I said I was pregnant. But nope. I didn’t even get the butterflies out of my stomach in that regard because he was already gone before I could call him. And to think, I was going to do the pregnancy test after he came over.”

  The therapist nodded encouraging her to continue.

  “We were childhood sweethearts, but I had to navigate pregnancy while wondering what . . .” Avery paused, hoping the therapist didn’t think she was crazy. He had to know about her stint at Sunnymead Resort. But did he know that? she’d thought. Alexander had done something to Donavan? Okay, stop thinking so much, AC.

  The therapist pulled her back in with an encouraging opening. “You were wondering . . .”

  Licking her lips apprehensively, Avery measured her words. “So, losing my identity, I was seventeen, wondering why the boy I loved damn near all my life was gone. Trust me, I’m not even at the big bang of a conclusion—giving birth. Before that big bang, my father hid me away in a very nice home. I had my own maid and doctor while pregnant. A nutritionist, because of course . . .” she scoffed. “I was a broken-hearted teen who didn’t feed her growing son any food anyway. So, those months of depression compounded by the fact that I went through labor without my childhood sweetheart. Then no son. No little bundle of joy. My son was . . .” She knew telling him that her mother had technically given the baby up was not an option. “I couldn’t take care of my child at the time.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks at the lie.

  Head tilted, the therapist eyed her intently. “I’m sorry to hear that. This is the son who would like you to hear prior to completing the process as well?”

  “Yes.”

  He steepled his fingers for a second, placing his chin at his fingertips. Then he signed the words, “Avery, thank you for sharing this with me. It sounds like things are going well currently with your son and childhood sweetheart. He’s now your fiancée?”

  Sliding her tongue over her teeth, Avery thought. Asi
de from Donavan disappearing every once in a while, and a new puppy, well . . . she determined mentioning Donavan’s actions wasn’t necessary. “We have a three-and-a-half-month-old daughter. We’re running a B&B. There’s just one more week until the Fourth of July. After that, a little vacation before we settle back into just being a family for a while.”

  “Avery, you are a very courageous woman. I commend your tenacity.”

  “So, you’ll send Doctor Wang a glowing review.”

  The therapist laughed. “I hope so. Please stop worrying. You aren’t the first person to be given this additional step. Therapy is an unwritten clause in the cochlear implant process. It really is a life changing decision you’re making.”

  After the visit, Avery hightailed it to her parents’ home. Antonio was already backing out the front door with their mother talking to him as he wheeled his luggage out.

  Avery started to turn off the car when he signed, “Keep the engine running and be ready to floor it.” As he went to the trunk, Verdrena headed to the driver side door.

  “When are we talking wedding flowers and venues, my child?” Her mother smiled.

  “When Anya is ready to start walking so that she can be—”

  “Oh, girl. By that time, you’ll be pregnant again.” She winked, reaching in to pat Avery’s cheek.

  “Maybe. I was thinking two flower girls would be nice. But Donavan wants three. Two walking. One crawling, so we’ve got time.” Avery joked.

  Verdrena’s mouth went wide, and she shook her head. “The two of you will have an entire basketball team. Antonio, I’m not playing with you, son. Call me the second you make it back to the university. I don’t understand this need to rush off anyway.”

  “Why are you rushing off?” Avery turned in her seat as Antonio climbed into the car. “And why didn’t you Uber? I don’t have a PayPal thingamabob to slide your card, so you better have cash.”

  “AC, I am not giving you a single dime to take me to the airport. And I have a photography event that I’m heading to, Mom, if you’ve forgotten. I’ll be back by the Fourth.”