by Amarie Avant
Shit. All Donavan had wanted to do was have one last glance at her. Her beauty was enough to last him forever.
CHAPTER 6
Avery
As a child and teenager, Avery had picked up book after book on sounds, body language, and lip reading—anything she could—for her to make her disability appear less noticeable, which was more for her father than herself. Her father was a very confident man, only stumped by his few feeble attempts at trying sign language with her. He hated it, and although Alexander never mentioned as much, Avery knew it was true. He just never came out right and said it. He certainly never got around to caring enough to learn how to sign a decent “skimming the surface” conversation. So, Avery tried to learn and did her best not to embarrass him when they were on vacations or at galas. Though she tried, there had been a few times when her lack of using sign language had confused and irritated people, making them wonder about her—just as it had with Donavan.
He’d been rude, that first day they had met, running into her. He hadn’t been looking, even though she had been watching where she was going. She had assumed he had seen her. He had been glancing around as if he had just stolen a priceless artifact. Donavan had gotten angry at her because she hadn’t heard any of his words as she had stood up to teach him a thing about apologizing.
Why was she thinking about all that now?
Avery shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had just crossed the street and was heading toward Kelly’s Construction when she looked back to see a man in front of a bar. He had the stocky build of the boy she once loved, the man she assumed he’d become. Except she didn't recall her Donavan being a canvass. The man’s arms, even larger than her Donavan’s, were enveloped in tattoos, an array of colorful tattoos.
As she tried to catch his attention, the doppelgänger walked right by her, appearing to have a one-track mind. Words were clogged in her throat. Avery pivoted.
“Bitch!” A man before her appeared to be shouting with such animosity that Avery thought it had to be reserved for someone else.
Oh no. Comprehension sunk in. Avery hadn’t even sensed the men who were now, literally, right in front of her face. Her mind had been so consumed with thoughts of Donavan. But no, there they were, two of them. Their faces contorted. They thought she was pretentious. No doubt, they’d probably tried to call her first, flirt, get her attention, and she was too much of a “bitch” to acknowledge or say hello. They’d thought she’d ignored them. It had happened before, guys trying their catcalls, but not realizing she was deaf. Usually, after she’d noticed them and schooled them on her “disability,” they’d apologize. But today, that wasn’t going to work. How long had they been trying to get her attention? She always relied on other senses, yet today—this was the day of Donavan.
Being deaf and having a plethora of colorful words spewed out at her sent Avery into overdrive. She'd taken self-defense classes before, making their jewels marked. She tensed, preparing herself.
“Bitch, so now you hear me!”
Before she could react, the miscommunication was over. It had lasted two seconds. The air swooshed past her. The man she thought was Donavan moved like lightning. His fist crunched against the first man’s mouth. How ironic. While she relied on lips to understand words, he’d all but buried this asshole’s lips in blood.
“Donnie!” she shouted. She noticed the man tense a moment before he threw another fist to Rude Boy #2. Avery was sure now. It was her Donavan.
“This… has… gotten… out of hand!” Eyes wide, Avery watched as a blur of colorful, heavenly sculpted, tattooed, and super-jacked arms went to work.
They weren’t prepared for him. Donavan kicked one and elbowed the other. He grabbed the first by his shoulders and kneed the guy in the balls. The men were no match as Donavan’s arms slammed left and then right. The first man fell.
Avery attempting to catch Donavan’s attention by trying to grab his bicep was like a day at the beach when you know the turquoise water is so cold, but it’s a beautiful, inviting sight. You move closer but run back at the last second. That’s how it was, trying to stop him.
She could hold her own in a catfight, but Donavan had heads rolling like they’d disrespected his mama.
With a grimace, Avery grabbed hold of Donavan’s arm as he kicked the first guy in the stomach.
What she assumed was a heroic action on her part allowed the second man to get a jab in. Donavan slammed his forearm into the man’s throat, a move Avery had never seen before. The power of the hit made her body jar with pain. She released Donavan’s arm.
“Who the fuck are you?” Guy two asked as he blocked an onslaught of jabs to his body.
Avery stood back, unable to stop them from fighting now.
With Donavan's back to her, she didn't hear his response, but if her memory served her correctly, he was letting them know exactly how he felt. Before he had disappeared, Donavan wouldn't let anyone talk bad about her.
“Stop!” Avery shouted. The force of the word slammed around inside her. At least she thought she’d shouted because her lungs were screaming from the force of her word, but Donavan did not stop. He was a monster!
Rude Boy #1 was no longer down for the count. He was down—permanently—with the face of an untrained boxer who’d been slaughtered royally.
The second one got a few hits in. Then Donavan brought him down. The muscles in his thigh bulged as he used a wide-legged stance to grip the man’s collar and continually bash his face.
“Donnie . . .” Avery growled, using the same concerned tone she would use in the past when he got a little too angry.
His warm gaze landed on hers for a fraction of a second. Every single battle he’d fought for him, for her, for them, came to her mind. She’d always kept him from getting in real trouble.
His eyes narrowed, looking down the street. His ears perked. Avery sensed something as he said, “The cops are coming, Avery. Go.”
She glared at those sexy lips that were denying her. “Donnie, please . . . let me help you.”
He signed: Why?
“Because I . . . because I can help you,” she shouted.
His chest puffed out. With bloody knuckles, he signed and spoke with anger.
“If I told you that this wasn't even the reason the police are on the way, would you just go, AC?”
She smiled at his use of her old nickname. “No. You don't have to tell me anything.”
She touched his hand. His knuckles had scars on top of scars that only made him look more bad ass. He was the glorification of the word: Bad Boy.
Donavan seemed to falter. The man whose arms were as thick as her thighs hesitated before his strong, calloused fingers interlaced her silky ones. They ran toward her car.
Avery felt her heart thumping in her ears as she unlocked the door. Donavan stood on the curb but made no move to open the passenger door.
“Old times, Donnie,” she murmured.
His wildfire gaze attempted to singe her resolve, but Avery opened her door and began to get in. As she sunk into the creamy white leather, the air expelled from her on a breath.
Seconds passed. Donavan didn’t get in. Avery’s heart almost imploded as she waited for Donavan to move.
The passenger door swooshed open, and Donavan crammed himself into the seat, pushing the chair back some. Again, his stare gave a warning. She hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor of her finger while pressing the push-to-start-engine button. When she took a subtle glance to the side, after the car had glided away, he was looking into the rearview mirror. Just as they turned right on Main Street, Avery saw the faint glow of police lights.
“I keep thinking of Bobby,” she mumbled out of the blue. That was the first boy Donavan had fought over her. He was the rich prick who had called her deaf, and Donnie her dumb sidekick. Avery later found out, when they met again in high school for a year, Bobby had had a crush on her.
When she looked toward Donavan, his mouth cocked slightly to t
he left. “Yeah, that motherfucker deserved it.”
A tiny bubble of laughter erupted from Avery. Of course, she spent the better part of their relationship trying to keep Donavan from fighting. On a few occasions, Avery threatened the dean that her father would just pay the standard $218,000 tuition instead of his generous yearly offering if Donavan were expelled. The joke was on the dean because her father might have given more if Donavan Hardy hadn’t attended the academy. But, she had a way with words each time Donavan got into a squabble.
The city, or what they called a city, in the small town, gave way to vibrant green trees that soared into the sky. The scent of Donavan funneled through Avery’s nostrils. It was an all too familiar scent—woodsy, testosterone—masculine. It was everything. Enough to make her want to close her eyes and commit his scent to memory. But she was driving.
A giddy warmth at Avery’s belly coiled into a craving. Donavan glanced out the window, his elbow on the window divider, back of his hand against his lips.
At this moment, the contentment of just being near him had to suffice. And Avery’s slew of therapists at Sunnymead Resort were all wrong. If he fought for her, dammit, he loved her.
They drove on into familiar territory. The Audi crept alongside the open wrought iron gates with the Castle crest. She could feel Donavan's persona changing. She half expected him to force her to turn the Audi around. Avery took subtle glances while leading them through the vast acres of land that her father owned. Arched trees clouded the all blue sky as the white pillars slowly grew before them. When they passed her childhood home, a mansion rather of epic proportions, Donavan looked toward her.
“I've . . . moved,” Avery mumbled, wanting to feel older, trying to kill the I-still-live-at-home-with-my-parents vibe. She pulled into one of the farthest lots that was half a mile down the road. The tension between them receded like a summer’s eve at the seashore as they silently exited the car.
“Look at you,” she sighed, as they stepped into the entryway. Compared to the other guys they’d just left, his face was flawless, angelic even. Meant to be a saint, but she knew he was no less than a dark angel. “Your hand is swollen.”
As she went to touch his hand, he pulled away.
Or maybe there was still tension there? What does he have to be mad about?
“C’mon now, AC. I’m not the kid you tried to save years ago. Thanks for getting me away from the cops, and if you want to play deaf if they come calling, I’d be grateful, but that’s the extent of what I need from a Castle. Your people can’t do shit for me.” He bit off the words.
Avery, feeling his heart harden as he looked at her became sad. Donavan’s lips dropped in a hard frown.
“Hmmm. You really aren’t that kid anymore” Avery replied, gingerly taking his hand. The feel of it was so different to hers. Even different to what once was the hand of the Donavan Hardy she knew as a child—harder, rougher.
He tipped her chin.
“Read my lips,” he said snidely. Avery’s eyes narrowed at the double entendre. “Look at me, Avery. Not through those innocent . . .”
He wavered for a second and cleared his throat.
“Look at me. Not through those innocent eyes. Blood is splattered on my shirt all the way down to my boots.” The force of his words slammed into her. Then she knew he wasn’t speaking in such a harsh tone when he added, “You just mentioned my hands. You know this isn't going to—”
“Look, I have a man, Donnie, who actually gives a damn about me.” Avery stopped, holding in the flustered feeling of committing verbal diarrhea. He didn't seem to care. Why even mention her relationship status? “My only intention was aiding an old friend.”
Donavan’s eyes twinkled in a taunting way as he signed the words: “From what? The cops? Because, you, with all your capabilities, want to hide me until Mr. Castle comes home. When the cops come knocking, you think your father is going to—”
Slapping his hands down, Avery interjected, “Because of me!”
He was right. Avery had brought him home knowing that the authorities were going to find out just who beat the shit out of those two guys laying on the ground. This wasn’t like dangling triple zeros at the dean, not even close. They’d come after Donavan. She’d force her father to help rectify any legal ramifications for Donavan assaulting those two men. Because, well, she had no intention of telling Salvador. There’d be no use. Seeing Donavan was like doping up on cocaine and living for those highs.
She didn’t need the high anymore.
Besides, this was all because of her. “Those guys were rude to me, not you. You came to my rescue.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “I'm a certified asshole. But when I see a woman being fucked with, I act. So, don't take it personal. I didn’t try to bash in their fucking mouths because of you, sweetheart.” He sneered.
Avery looked down in shame. Of course, he didn’t love her. The shrinks were right. The topics of madness and love were something she wasn’t prepared to delve into, not ever again in her life. It took everything out of her. But the ache in her bones to get over Donavan Hardy had been building, and here he was. Right in her face.
She could slap the shit out of him and mention the son he killed. Yes, truly, Donavan had helped murder her child because she’d been so distraught throughout the pregnancy. Often, she would vomit the prenatal vitamins that she tried to keep down because she could hardly eat for the loss of love. She’d hated herself for her own personal actions in the death of their child after her father proved he hadn’t drugged her tea or did anything to harm his first and only grandson.
Now, though, Avery was too speechless, too heartbroken to curse Donavan and hate him. How could I be so stupid? Okay, AC, just get the truth out of him. Regardless of how much you loved Donavan, he was your friend first. How could he leave for the army without a single word said?
His thumb lifted her chin, his breath a teasing caress against her bare shoulder, as he sighed. Donavan brought her chocolate gaze back to the only lips she’d ever truly enjoyed watching.
“Listen, AC.” He signed as he spoke. “I was kicked out of the military. Did some time at Fort Leavenworth. I’ve been to jail a few times since then too. I’m a royal fuck up, sweetheart. You made the right choice getting rid of me. Bandage my hand. This can be an entertaining topic for your tea and crumpets. Then I’m going back to get my Kawasaki.”
She hadn’t comprehended a single word that spilled from his lips, but his tone had changed. The sneer was gone from his face.
Her heartbeat slowed, uncomfortably, as if she just couldn’t keep oxygen in her lungs.
Licking her lips, with a ball of trepidation in her gut, Avery asked, “Donnie, did you ever give a damn about me?”
He laughed at her. And, damn, for the first time ever, she was glad she did not have the ability to hear it. It had to feel like sand and mud being pushed into her ears. Or worse, being stabbed in the ears with a butcher knife.
Donavan signed: “I’ve always loved you, AC. A million times more than you ever loved me.”
What a liar! She was determined to be nice. It was the dumbest thing she could ever do, kill him with kindness, all for the sake of knowing why. That’s what was wrong with people these days. They had to know why. What led to the destruction of such a seemingly untouchable love between them?
Once she had the answer for herself, and for the sake of her deceased son, Avery determined that she’d never speak to him in this lifetime. Not ever again.
CHAPTER 7
Donavan
Avery had bandaged his knuckles even with him fussing about the task being inconsequential He wanted to talk. After so many years of living angry, driving fast, killing easy, and fucking hard, he wanted to discuss the tragedy of their end.
He wanted her to answer the question as to how she could look so innocent, so sweet, when she really was the devil. She’d broken his heart after all, and the psychologist he met while in the army told him anger manageme
nt was just the start of what Donavan needed before he was given a dishonorable discharge.
There was no money to pay for higher education, so he couldn’t make the Hardys proud of him after all. His foster family had believed in him for years. In fact, Donavan was sixteen years old when he finally agreed to his parent's request to adopt him. He was the fuck up that every other person had believed him to be, but not them. Not the Hardys and not Avery Castle. Of all the people in the world expecting him to fail, the three of them had always rooted for him.
So he’d let his parents down.
And he had nothing to offer Avery, at least not anymore.
“There,” she said, gazing deep into his eyes. “You didn't even shed a tear.”
Her words lingered. Donavan knew she wanted to say more. Perhaps her mind was inundated with all the fights he’d got into for her. He just stared at the woman. A ghost from his past that had liquefied into fruition. He felt like a bitch for wanting to resurrect his heart; The heart she stole, she broke. He wanted to return that stupid useless heart of his to none other than her.
“Nah, no tears. I'm too tough for that,” he murmured. Damn, that was corny.
With her standing between his legs, Donavan pulled her closer. His brain registered a familiar sensation of love while also reminding him to be cautious. This woman was shrouded in bad luck. His mouth craved the soft angle of Avery’s chin. If he peered hard enough, he could see a tiny scar on her chin where she’d scraped herself when they learned to rollerblade. Breathing in a soft floral fragrance, Donavan let his nose nuzzle her cheek while his lips barely grazed her jawline.
He imagined Avery’s heartbeat rising as his hands staked claim to athletic legs.
“Donnie . . .” Her soft moan made his manhood strain against his jeans. In his ear, he heard the word the way it was whispered as he'd deflowered her at age sixteen. Donnie.