Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  He squatted before her, lifting her chin. “You tell me, AC. You taught me how to love. Should love be easy?”

  “We’re supposed to be a team—”

  Fingers clenching against her thighs, he shouted, “We are a team!”

  “Then stop keeping secrets from me, please . . .” There was longing in her eyes.

  “Avery, you don’t have to be at the center of every fucking thing.”

  He stood up. Where the fuck did that come from? Just as he ruminated over this internal, mysterious hunger, growing inside him, fueling their argument, Donavan blinked and saw himself in front of Hunter, pushing the gun from the kids face, so he didn’t shoot himself. He had wanted to pistol whip McIntosh for pulling that stunt. They were stuck in hell, and no matter how dark it seemed, they were brothers and had each other.

  When he came back to himself, Avery was to her feet on her tippy toes, attempting to get in his face. “I’m not stupid, Donnie. Did you even stop working for my dad?”

  “I did!” He growled. “You’re getting paranoid, AC. No fucking secret handshakes and shit, girl!”

  “Oh, so I’m crazy?”

  He lifted his head and grumbled. Why was she making everything hard on them?

  “All I do is try to please you, Avery. Give you the best that I can. You want me to stop? Do you fucking want me to stop?”

  Avery stopped staring at him. He knew he’d gone too far. The wind picked up, rattling the windowpanes. They stopped and went to check on their children and began to lockup all the rooms. On the way back into their bedroom, Avery stomped toward one of the windows while he went to another. They both stopped at the third. He planted himself in front of her. “Remember on Valentine’s day when you came upstairs to your old bedroom. You haven’t smiled like that since then.”

  “Oh, is it finally sinking in that when you do spontaneous shit, I love it! I love you, Donavan. Not because you can afford the life that my father—”

  “You want that life.” The words flew from his mouth before he could sensor them. A heavy weight anchored in his massive chest. All the while Donavan told himself that he was going about this all wrong, the blood in his veins rushed with rage. And everything out of his woman’s mouth grated on him.

  Avery’s lips hardly moved. “Whatever, you must not know me.”

  “Don’t ‘whatever’ me.” He held her hand up to her. “Look at that ring on your finger. You know good and damn well I couldn’t afford that without doing something that’s beneath you, AC. You never had a problem with it before.”

  “I didn’t?” She scoffed. “When you were a kid, working for Palmer, what did I do? I never accepted it then, and I won’t now. Because I can’t be bought, Donnie. Hello! I loved you when we were this tall.” She gestured low. “I loved you.”

  He was grumpy, sleepy, and horny. He nodded his head. “Yeah, you do? Really? After the way you acted when finding out that I was working for your dad—”

  “Oh, so now, will you tell me what it is you do?”

  “No. Avery doesn’t get to be at the forefront of everything all the gotdamn time. We have other problems to deal with, like your motherfucking lack of trust!”

  “Well, here’s to lack of trust.” She clasped her fingers over her engagement ring. “We aren’t getting married, Donnie.”

  No longer speaking with a single rational thought, Donavan spat, “AC, I swear—you take that ring off your finger—you’ll regret it.”

  “A threat, huh? Sounds like the new Donavan Hardy. More of a bad ass, even more untouchable. If I’m supposed to be some gold-digging rich girl, when clearly, you’re the one who won’t be satisfied with what we have, then—”

  “Me? I’m not satisfied, Avery? Gazebos? Flowers? Paddle boats? What the fuck else do you need?” He sneered.

  She flung the ring at him, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t need that, and I don’t need you.”

  Unable to stop himself now, Donavan taunted. “Then we’re done—says the girl who is okay with the little things but never satisfied.”

  “We’re done. Get out.” She shouted. She began slapping at him and pushing him. The sting of her hits finally penetrated, warning him that he’d crossed the line a long time ago.

  He placed her into a bear hug, tilting his neck so she could read his lips. “Stop hitting me!”

  “Let me go!”

  This time the animosity that was beginning to ride shotgun in his tone faded away as he said, “There’s a storm coming, Avery. I can’t leave you. I can’t leave the kids. I’m sorry, baby.”

  She shook with rage. “Get out!”

  He let her go. Mentioning all the upgrades was a low blow. Donavan knew she’d considered those things in excitement. Avery was so innocent and happy, like a kid in a candy store when it came to Franny. Despite the words he’d just said to incite Avery, each time Avery had asked, Donavan had craved the smile on her face when he could follow through.

  You fucked up, Donnie. Working for Castle just screwed this all up. He grabbed his leather jacket, stuffed his arms in it, and gave Avery one last look. There were words at the tip of his tongue, and instead of being in the position to always say “yes” to the woman he loved—like her father could—Donavan stopped himself.

  Her head was down. She was going to ignore him.

  “AC,” he mumbled, knowing she couldn’t hear a single word. “I fucked up. Look at me, baby, maybe I have PTSD. Maybe I need therapy or something, but don’t give up on us.”

  Today, he’d broken her heart a little. She had a big heart, but every once in a while, he did something to snatch a piece of it. He’d torn a piece off by leaving her without a word said and enlisting in the army. And now, he’d just screwed up royally again.

  Chewing his bottom lip, Donavan stood in the doorframe. He waited a beat, hoping she’d lift her gaze to him. Seeing the tears in her eyes would add to the shame he felt, but he deserved it.

  Donavan went to where Avery sat on the ground. Crouching down, Donavan caressed her cheek. “Please, baby, look at me.”

  “Go, Donavan, I said go!” she screeched, hair masking her face.

  He walked out on her. To leave her so dejected tortured his soul but with Avery like this, there was no getting through to her.

  Later tonight, he’d get down on his knees and beg for her understanding. Right now, he’d let her have her moment.

  He closed the bedroom door and leaned on it, letting the realization that he might need therapy dawn on him. Donavan scratched vulnerably at his hands, knowing he wouldn’t be able to handle it without her.

  Hustling down the stairs, those old, unwelcome, yet familiar feelings tormented his abdomen. This was like leaving his fifteenth foster home. He never got used to the gut-wrenching angst in his stomach as he headed out the front door. The wind was picking up. Showers poured down on his head. He pulled out the keys to his truck, planning on spending the rest of the storm out there.

  57

  Hunter

  Subsequent to leaving the perfect bunch of pink oleanders laced through the knobs of the front door, Hunter had made himself at home. Room Six was his of course. He’d half-heartedly expected Avery to sneak into his B&B room to thank him.

  But she was still doing everything as planned while not blowing his cover.

  Pushing Donavan Hardy away.

  Coming closer to him.

  Last night, he’d locked the door to Avery’s room and sat on the chaise, watching her while she slept. When she awoke to feed Anya, he imagined himself beside them. The love of his life nourishing their child. Tranquility coasted through his veins. He had no concept of being cautious until Donavan had attempted to open the door this morning.

  When Avery met her family downstairs for breakfast, Hunter placed another set of pink oleanders on the cherrywood stand outside of Anya’s bedroom. He’d made it back to his room in the nick of time, since she didn’t stay downstairs. Luckily for him, when they went to close the shutters,
Hunter made another quick move into the closet, even catching a glimpse of Avery’s perfect bare feet padding over to the window and back out of the room.

  It had been a waiting game until now.

  The last nail was just hammered into the coffin of their relationship as Donavan stormed downstairs. Grinning and whistling, Hunter hustled down the steps where the front door had just been closed and locked. He unlocked it and pulled both doors open wide, stepping out into the rain.

  “Donavan!” he shouted, a swoosh of air carrying most of the remnants of his voice away.

  The big bull of a man, shoulders tensed and wide, turned around slowly almost as if looking through him. “McIntosh—Hunter?”

  Donavan’s skin paled like he’d just seen a ghost.

  “What sort of man leaves his woman and children alone in a storm? I almost thought you gave a damn about someone other than yourself.”

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Hunter?” Donavan pointed at him, moving with heavy steps.

  Hunter knew that there was no way in hell he’d win a boxing match with Donavan unless he’d signed his soul over. From the inside pocket of his hoodie, his palm gripped the LTG’s revolver. Face calm, he pulled it out and took a shot. “See, what happens when you don’t treat your woman with the respect she deserves!”

  Donavan clutched at his abdomen before crumpling down to the ground. Slowly, Hunter stepped toward him, gun at the ready to fire off another shot.

  “Grrr . . .grrr . . .”

  Hunter let out a screech. Teeth sunk into the back of his ankle. With one prosthetic leg, how ironic was it that the damn dog got him!

  Turning around he stomped down on the puppy until his yelps died away and blood coated Hunter’s boot. “You kept fucking with me even after I fed you!”

  Hunter stopped. He heard a voice.

  “Sheriff! Sheriff!” Hunter heard Junior yelling in the distance.

  He took a glance at Donavan. Rain pummeled the man’s face as he lay there. Water and blood pooled at his abdomen. Lips pulling into a wide grin, Hunter turned around and headed toward the house.

  * * *

  Hunter leaned down over Avery, gripping at her cheeks as she cowered, recoiling against the staircase. His anger torpedoed through his body at how she’d fallen back on the steps as if shocked to see him. He flexed his hands at his side, controlling his desire to slap some sense into her. This was the pivotal moment that he’d waited for—Donavan’s death and their union.

  “Flaws and all. You taught me to embrace those flaws, AC. Stop letting that motherfucker control your mind! It’s you, me, and our children now!”

  When his ranting ceased, Hunter noticed that Avery was still trembling. He forced himself to concentrate on the ribbons of peace exercise that Dr. Rembrandt had taught him during their sessions. It wouldn’t do to beat the fear out of Avery. His hard gaze tracked down to her hands. Shock warmed him.

  Hunter rubbed the raised whelps on her brown skin where he had dug his fingernails in. “You-you aren’t wearing your engagement ring.”

  “I . . .” She thumbed her bare ring finger.

  “Good. I’m glad you’re seeing things my way.” Hunter caressed Avery’s cheek as he stood over her. He bent down to taste her lips. For the first time in his life, things were going magically . . . perfect.

  58

  Avery

  Her eyes locked onto Junior’s, his mirroring hers—glossy, scared, angry. His hands clutched the railing as he froze on the opposite side of the banister above her. Just then, Hunter’s mouth descended on hers, and her teeth tore into his bottom lip. Forcing her leg up, Avery’s knee met her target. Hunter went stumbling back, gripping the railing with one hand and placing the other over his privates.

  “Run!” she shouted up to her son before hurrying over to Hunter and clawing his face. His fist landed on her chin, sending her teeth sinking into her tongue. It was a blow much harder than she could return.

  “Donavan!” she shouted. Her fists flew in a frenzy while Hunter attacked her. Though her heart cried, she fought for her life.

  He’d come. If he were alive . . . he’d come. Those old, familiar thoughts swarmed her mind from when she assumed her dad had done away with Donavan. Before the heartbreaking shock could take seize of her, Avery wrapped up in a pretzeled position with Hunter, they both went slamming down the stairs. With each tumble, the edge of the steps assaulted her back. She landed with him pummeling exactly where her spine screamed and pulling at her hair. Avery tossed her elbow back, getting Hunter in the face.

  She started to scramble to her feet. Blood trickled down her lip. Her eyes fixed on a milk glass vase in the center of the foyer. With no time to spare, she grabbed at it. She turned around with it high over her head, and the vase slipped from her hands, it crashed down before her. Glass scattered across her feet.

  “Donavan,” she murmured, fingers shaking.

  Hunter was coming after her. Then Donavan came through the door like a freight train, sending him slamming into the wall. Hunter’s temple cracked against the glossy, wood paneling, and she knew it was the end for him.

  But Donavan’s fists were a blur as they slammed down repeatedly on Hunter’s face.

  “Stop! Stop!” she shouted.

  “I’m not stopping. I sent him and his family cards, called, everything I could to get this motherfucker to forgive me. He tried to kill me. He hurt you!” Donavan shouted. Each word came with a bone shattering blow to Hunter’s face. And then he stopped. Donavan’s knuckles were bloodied and scraped. He wrapped his hands around Hunter’s throat. “I apologized . . . I fucking . . .”

  As if the massive weight lifted from his shoulder’s, Donavan let go of him again. This time he noticed Hunter’s face lull to the side.

  “He’s dead,” Donavan realized.

  Avery could see the years of regret cling to him. She went to him, taking his hand.

  “I—when I woke up and saw you two on the ground fighting—fuck! I lost it.” He grabbed tufts of blond hair. His honey gaze was a searing blaze, far away.

  Avery tried to touch his cheek, but he couldn’t see her. He had to be somewhere else. “You did what you had to do.”

  Avery stepped back. Donavan finally saw her again. He bulldozed her, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her tightly, eyes warming over her skin. The blood beneath her cheeks pounded. She wiped away the blood trickling down her nose and lip.

  “You okay?”

  Nodding her head vigorously, Avery’s bones trembled. If Hunter hadn’t fallen and died, hitting the wall, she knew Donavan planned on murdering him with his bare hands. And being okay with it scared her.

  “Avery, you okay?”

  She felt the vibrations of his shout. “Yes. Donnie, I love you.” She kissed him. Her fingers stroking along his strong jaw as she deepened the kiss. “I’m so sorry for our fighting. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Me too. And the answer is yes.”

  “To what?” Avery asked.

  “PTSD. Not just the military. All the shit before it—foster care, your dad, us . . .”

  “I’ll help you.” Her eyes searched his. She would be at his side through anything he needed . . . if he would allow it.

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t gonna do the whole deal without you, AC.” A brief smile crossed his lips then a grimace. Donavan tensed, clutching at his stomach. Then he fell.

  The golden boy who stole her heart was so pale, and she’d made all the wrong moves and said all the wrong words.

  59

  Avery

  A week before Christmas . . .

  “I’m getting tired of doctors,” Avery mumbled, sliding over the buttery soft seat. The sun shined down on her father as he held his hand out for her.

  Alexander pulled her into a hug. “If it’s any consolation, you’ve got your two favorite men in your life with you for this one. How does that sound?”

  “My two badass Donavans?” She smirked.

  He chuckled
. “I was going to say me and the new and improved Donavan.” He high fived Junior as he got out.

  “Okay, maybe I have three favorite men, on the occasion that you choose to be thoughtful,” she said, letting him go.

  Alexander had taken a chopper to meet them today in Raleigh, since he was coming from a business trip Avery didn’t know anything more about her father’s trade than she had the first time he took her to the nondescript building as a child with all of its touch-ID gadgets—back when those inventions were more fantasy than reality—but they’d found a middle ground and declared peace. And though she still didn’t want to know what her father did, she knew that it was his business which afforded him the opportunity to be of assistance to her.

  In August, Hunter McIntosh’s suicide came on the heels of his DNA being lifted off one Maxine Winter’s body. Since the media slammed him for viciously slaying the innocent, beautiful woman, Alexander had seized the opportunity and had Hunter’s dead body transported to a seedy hotel and casino in Alabama—where he’d jumped twenty stories to his death.

  Avery didn’t intend to cheer for her father’s mysterious Men in Black crew anytime soon, though she was grateful that her family was safe.

  Now, Avery and Donavan not only had doctor bills and psychiatry bills but veterinarian bills as well. Sheriff had survived Hunter’s attack. He’d had a dislocated jaw, leg injuries, and a caved-in sinus cavity. While he was on the mend, Junior had stayed by his side the entire time. But all that was okay.

  Her family’s happiness was all that mattered.

  Out of the limo came everyone she knew and loved. Antonio was recording the entire event, saying that he planned on tweaking the video and making it look like their crew was exiting a Mini Cooper.

  Verdie gracefully stepped out in an all-black suit, kissing Avery on the cheek. “You ready to hear, darling?”

  Avery’s smile brightened.