Make Me Stay_A Second Chance Romance

by Amarie Avant

  “You got the money?” Donavan finally asked.

  “I-I have half of it.” Willie gulped.

  “Okay give me what you got.” Donavan shrugged. It was bad luck murdering Willie on the same day he saw the woman who snatched his heart out anyway.

  “And I can keep my fingers . . . the rest of them?” Willie backed away slowly.

  Donavan nodded.

  Five minutes later, with a little over two grand in his leather jacket, Donavan stepped out of the bar just as Avery’s car headed down the street. He walked toward the chain link gate to Kelly’s Construction. Two pit bulls were barking as soon as he touched the gate.

  “Try me,” he growled at them while pushing through the gates.

  Both dogs lunged against their restraints. Donavan loved animals, but these two were out for blood. He pushed back his leather jacket, quickly showing them the butt of his Glock.

  “Oh, so you’re gonna shoot my dogs today, huh?” A fat, short redheaded man in a suit asked, stepping out of his office.

  “Mr. Kelly.” Donavan nodded. “I can’t knock a good guard dog, but these two . . . clipped ears . . . sharpened teeth. They’ll turn on you one day.” Running a hand over the stubble of his strong jaw, Donavan was prepared to tell him why he came by, but Mr. Kelly beat him to the punch.

  “I don’t owe Palmer anything. Zip-zero. Not a daggone penny. So why has he sicced his dog on me?” Mr. Kelly shrugged, nodding toward the dogs. “They’re bloodthirsty. You’re the same breed, Don.”

  “The girl.” Donavan still didn’t feel comfortable saying AC’s name, not out loud. The bitch broke him. And he had loved her so good. “What did she want with you?”

  “Girl? What girl?” Mr. Kelly’s puffy nose wrinkled.

  “The one who just stopped by.”

  “That deaf chick with those hips?” In excitement, he whistled and made thrusting movements while pretending to hold onto handles. “Shit, I’d love to ride—"

  Not a second later, Donavan’s forearm was in Mr. Kelly’s throat. His Adam’s apple crunched just as Donavan slammed back against the door.

  Donavan smiled brightly, glaring him in the eye. “I reckon I must be a little deaf too. Repeat yourself.”

  Mr. Kelly’s eyes danced around. “Oh, Miss Castle? She, uhhh, she’s a young thing, no older than my youngest daughter.” He gulped. “Just a joke.”

  Donavan lowered the man and patted down the lapel of his cheap suit. “Why was she here?”

  “She wants to renovate the Baudelaire house right outside of Myrtle Beach, wanted to low ball me, you know. That damn place is—” he paused to whistle again for emphasis at a lack of words. “Miss Castle is made of money.” Kelly paused once more. This time to see if Donavan would react to his subtle diss. “I told her my construction company might not be the crème de la crème, but she insulted me no less, wanting a payment plan. People like her can buy people like you and me.”

  “The Baudelaire place.” Donavan’s mouth tipped at the edges, offering the slightest smile. Avery’s great-grandmother, Francis, might’ve been the only one in the world—at least on her family’s side—who rooted for their love. Francis had lived on her plantation after Verdrena’s mom, and later Verdie skipped town. Donavan didn’t recall Verdie’s mother’s name, but she hadn’t lived as long as Franny. It was a shame when Verdie forced Franny’s hand as power of attorney. But Avery’s great-grandmother had been ninety-three years old by the time the Castles got her out of that brokedown palace. If anything, the woman was smart as a whip until she moved in with the Castles.

  Why would Avery need a deal? Alexander was loaded. Donavan recalled a saying he’d heard at the Baptist church he’d attended as a kid. There were some people who were so rich that they claimed to be as rich as God. Alexander Castle was that type of rich asshole.

  “Avery wanted financing?”

  “Yeah. Wanted to put down pennies too. I told her no, hell no.”

  Donavan stalked back and forth. There was no need for him to get involved. And I won’t get involved. I’ll just have another look. He stopped pacing like a lion on the prowl and ended up right in front of Mr. Kelly’s face. The fat man jolted a fraction of an inch at how dangerous and determined Donavan looked.

  Donavan ordered, “Tomorrow, you’ll call her, and you’ll have a change of opinion.”

  Moments passed before the construction owner responded. “Come again?”

  “You’re going to give her the financing necessary to get Franny’s house—ahem—the Baudelaire Estate up and running. That’s what you’ll do.”

  “She has no plans. I asked if she intended to open a hotel. A fucking B&B. She said no. That girl does not have a single business proposal, nothing. Says she plans to live there, well, let her get her daddy’s blessing first. The girl can’t pay me back for the place without Mr. Castle’s signature.”

  Donavan placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder and squeezed. “Palmer will co-sign.”

  Mr. Kelly side-eyed him for a moment. Then he had an epiphany. “Oh, you are a loyal one, Donnie. If I knew the girl belonged to Elroy, I would’ve never joked about her.”

  “She doesn’t,” Donavan gritted out. At the notion of Avery touching Elroy Palmer or any other man for that matter, he barked, “She belongs to me!”

  The man jumped again.

  “And Kelly, if you had half a fucking brain,” Donavan’s index and middle finger pointed like a gun, thumping the guy in the head, “you’d fear me more than Palmer. Do you understand?”

  Mr. Kelly’s cheeks jiggled as he nodded.

  Donavan rubbed a hand over his face. What was he thinking? Donavan hadn’t the slightest idea. Helping the woman who doused gasoline on his heart only to toss a match on it wasn’t something he should be doing.

  But the first day they met roamed through his mind. There wasn’t even any hair on his balls at the time, and he’d been an asshole. It was in his genes to be. And she’d been a fucking angel . . . deceptively innocent. She’d played him from the start.

  CHAPTER 3

  Salvador Esparza

  Despite Avery’s humble ways, Salvador wondered if two carats would suffice as he glanced at the diamond that barely fit his pinky finger. At twenty-eight, Salvador had a plan to work his way up as Lieutenant within the next five years. The increase in ranking provided the ability to double his income. Though Avery seemed level-headed now, Salvador knew that Alexander Castle had taught her about the finer things in life. He worried that, one day, she might wake up and crave a more affluent lifestyle than he could provide.

  Salvador remembered meeting Avery while on the beat. He was two years in as a cop. Salvador wore the standard boys-in-blue uniform and felt even more like a rookie cop, wet behind the ears, when his eyes landed on Avery. She was twenty-two to his twenty-six, but he had acted like the younger one. His usual baritone voice that got gang members in line or cut through domestic violence incidents had all but become a tenor when he addressed Avery as she exited one of the most expensive French restaurants in the South. She had on a yellow silk dress that highlighted the gold in her rich caramel skin. The older man at her side had interlocked their elbows as if staking a claim to her. Nobody was good enough for Avery in her father’s eyes.

  “You're Miss Castle,” Salvador had interjected. In that moment, he wasn’t on the beat, Salvador wasn’t a rookie cop walking the straight and narrow. He had felt like a kid. All his mind could see was the first girl he had ever masturbated to. And he would never tell Avery that he'd jacked off to her pretty face that was plastered on a CD cover when they were both younger. All the while, during those first moments with Avery, his mom’s words were going through his mind. “That girl is in love, deeply, madly.” He'd thought his mother, Carmen, was mad for listening to music with no words, just piano. When his mom would listen to either Chante Moore or Sade or her favorite Cubano band from the 1950’s, Celia Cruz and La Sonora Matancera, he had understood. Salvador had got how she loved anythin
g that had to do with Desi Arnaz, but just a little girl, playing piano, that he did not get.

  Salvador sighed and put the ring away also recalling how the man beside her had been put off by his audacity to even greet them. Avery had come down to the precinct a day later. While his partner and other cohorts were still making fun of how he'd tried to talk to her and got shot down by her pops, she had come in. She had said she was in town for a week. It had taken him all of two days to fall.

  Now, he hoped that his mom’s words, way back when while having R&B and Spanish love songs on rotation, were just talk. That pianist, Avery, was everything to him. They said they loved each other every day. But was she in love? Was that CD from almost seven years ago, the product of a skilled and talented child protégé or did he need to read between the lines?

  ~~~

  Later that evening, as he sat at his work desk, Salvador set aside the wooden letters for Marry Me from the scrabble game. He'd called the florist for the thousandth time and was even considering dipping into his savings for one of those darn banners that would fly over the city. If he had it like that, Salvador would rent out the symphony downtown and have a concert, asking the question in front of a sea of people. There was nothing more he wanted than Avery to be his wife.

  But for now, Alexander Castle was still out of town, and Salvador was determined to ask his blessing first. Even though they were of a different nationality, Salvador wanted their family to be a strong front.

  He was lost in thought about the proposal when Detective Oscar poked his head inside.

  “Hey, you’re on the 187 list, Sal. I need you to get some Namaste, mediation in.” Oscar joked about the policy that required cops to attend a certain amount of therapeutic services after an on-duty shooting.

  Salvador slid the letter blocks into his top drawer. “Okay, I forgot. Next week.”

  “Negative. Dr. Sanchez has an opening at seven. He’s squeezing you in. It’s just a couple hours that are needed, and one of them should’ve been done last week.”

  “Seven tomorrow?” Salvador arched an eyebrow.

  “Tonight.”

  He nodded slowly as Detective Oscar made his leave. Salvador was always meticulous and by the book. He’d never had a run in with Internal Affairs and didn’t need to have one. But what could he say in therapy?

  The bitch deserved it?

  ~~~

  Dr. Sanchez was running late. Go figure. The hour ran into 8:30 p.m. As Salvador sauntered out to the parking lot, he pulled out his iPhone to text Avery. With the hectic evening at work, he hadn’t even noticed that she’d already texted him earlier.

  Avery: I was waiting for you...

  Salvador pressed the unlock button to his Impala, opened the door, and then responded with, At my place or your home? He asked the question already aware that she was at neither home, but that damn estate of hers.

  Well... She texted. Then seconds later, Avery added, All that really matters is that I'm clean.

  Salvador shook his head before replying. Yeah, okay. I'll come get you, so we can rectify that. Didn’t I tell you, you taste better dirty? (smiley face.)

  AVERY: No worries, Sal. It’s a long drive. I'll just meet at your place. You've had a long day.

  SALVADOR: I don't care. I'll follow you.

  AVERY: Bossy pants.

  ~~~

  The route was forty-five minutes out of his way, but Salvador traveled up to the thick of the woods were Avery had chosen to stay. She came out of the fortress of a home in cozy pajamas and got into her Audi, following Salvador back to his house. When they pulled into the garage of his condo, Salvador took a deep breath before getting out.

  “You know, I don't need a bodyguard to get around, Sal.” Her hips swayed as she walked in front of him. Even in her pajamas, she tempted him.

  Salvador moved in front of her. Instead of opening the gate to the tiny garden in front of his home, he looked at her. Though Salvador needed to learn sign language, he hoped his face said it all. “You're staying at your great-grandparents’ place against everyone's wishes. I'm glad that all of the utilities have been restored, but there isn't a house for miles around.”

  “Does that spook you?” She grinned devilishly.

  Salvador’s rich, dark eyes took on a sardonic gaze. No words were necessary. They both knew how much he cared for her and her safety. He opened the wrought iron gate, and she sauntered onto the cobblestone path.

  As they went inside, they settled into the rhythm of the life that they’d built, progressing beyond the last two years of a long-distance relationship after Avery moved back home a few months ago.

  The walls of the living room were a soft gray. The furniture was mostly dark hues: blues, grays, and black. In the master, there was a four-poster bed of dark wood, a big relaxing chair, and a television. Salvador had squeezed in a second chair with floral design. It was feminine, like Avery, and didn’t go with the rest of his stuff.

  “You just had a long hard day. Shouldn’t I run the bath water and get everything ready?” Avery asked, hands on her ample hips as she stood near the bathroom.

  “Not too bad. Your day was probably more eventful than mine.” He thought about how he’d just started therapy and had six more hours to go until Detective Oscar was satisfied, or Dr. Sanchez determined he was unfit to use a gun.

  She yawned. “Heck, who’re you telling? I've been trying to lowball various top of the line contractors who ironically don't believe that I lack the funds to restore the home.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, sensing Avery’s frustration. Verdrena didn't even want the house, and Salvador believed the land was worth more than the physical property by now. But the place was sentimental to Avery, so why argue about it?

  As he undressed, Avery’s hand went to the cheap electric piano—cheap by Castle standards. He'd gotten it for when Avery visited, and she’d be reluctant to go to her parent’s home to play her own piano.

  The melody made his taut muscles relax. As Avery mindlessly made magic, he wondered where her mind was. Present. Past. Him. Or . . .

  Him, where did that come from? Salvador shook the thought from his head. Only his mother’s own endless streams of broken hearts would cause her to read too much into the various scores and melodies from the CD that she had played when he was a teen.

  The music calmed him as Avery stroked the piano. He stood naked before her. It was as if those sable orbs of hers came back to life while taking in his prime physique.

  “Let's go get you clean,” she murmured in a tone interwoven with desire and love.

  CHAPTER 4

  Avery

  As Salvador sunk down into the steaming bubbles, his body melted. Every single muscle was dripping wet. Light bubbles massaged powerful tendons with a citrus-woodsy fragrance.

  The sight before Avery was to die for. Any woman would salivate over him. But her mind wouldn’t stay focused.

  Long ago, she’d trained her mind to forget the boy she’d composed an entire symphony for, but for some reason, today, she was having a hard time forgetting. Trying to focus solely on pleasing the man who had just traveled so far out of his way this evening, after a long day’s work, she knelt by the marble ledge and picked up the loofah.

  “You wanna clean me, mi amor?” Salvador asked, his eyes succumbing to the same lust that had taken her. “There are other things I'd rather you do.”

  She let obsidian eyes claim her attention while the melody continued to weave in her mind. Why had she played the piece? It had been ages. She had gone crazy at Sunnymead, therapeutic resort. Her father had brought a grand piano. The administration didn’t want it there. They said it was bad for her coping. But then, those brilliant intellectuals caved to the rich man’s attempts to make his daughter happy. In the end, the shrink’s stern request for her not to have a piano was right.

  Avery had played the music until her fingers grew numb, not cooperating with her therapist. She’d hidden her anxiety medication in the p
iano bench, and for months spoke of a conspiracy, hating her father, not trusting him. He’d killed her baby. He’d murdered and did away with Don—

  The woodsy, pristine scent of Salvador’s soap struggled in vain to bring her back to reality. Nevertheless, she’d just played the very song she vowed not to hear—and yes, her soul could hear the damn song loud and clear—for the rest of her life. After releasing the CD and refusing to travel or play it ever again, here she was, submerged in love with another man. Love? Avery’s fingers twined around the loofah, and soap suds gently tickled her hand. She considered the fact that she’d never made love to Salvador.

  Damn it. He'd worked her body softly, slowly. They’d had every type of sex under the sun. The book of karma sutra was invented for their pleasure.

  She could fuck his brains out. Hell, even her own.

  But making love?

  She damned sure wanted to.

  I want to love Salvador hard, deep passionately. Sal deserves it!

  However, the thoughts of him had been fleeting. They’d become so over the years, but when Avery returned home for good, no matter how transient, the magnitude was not to be reckoned with. Why was she thinking about the past so much these days?

  If lobotomies had the precision to pinpoint certain reminiscences and extract them, yet leave a person sound, Avery would concede to the extraction of him.

  Donavan Hardy was gone. He had disappeared for good. Avery had to accept it. And just maybe, it was possible that her father who dabbled in warfare had nothing to do with it. She needed to move on.

  Avery found herself stroking the slick, hardness of Salvador’s cock.

  She loved it.

  She loved him.

  She just needed to . . . fall.

  His eyes were closed, and he bit his bottom lip. Damn, he looked so good right now. Avery’s pussy lips quaked with desire.

  She masturbated him faster, her delicate hands on his powerful cock. Avery abruptly stopped, stood up, and stripped down without allowing her eyes to leave the beautiful Cuban man. She climbed into the hot water, positioning herself on top of Salvador, and pressed her slick, wet walls down onto his shaft. Her hands claimed the slick, dark hair on his crown as she glided her wet folds along the curve of his dick. Her face dipped low, lips hovering just above his.