Make Me Stay II: A Second Chance Romance

by Avant, Amarie

  Donavan shrugged. “College ain’t for me, and let’s just say I didn’t leave the army on good terms. My buddy—I’m sure if he took the chip off his shoulder, he could do something more kosher, private security, shit like that. But the second I got hired, he acted like a fool, wanting to fight . . .”

  Willie shook his head. “If’n you ask me, sounds like you’re better off with him deciding to quit. Hot heads,” he began to mutter under his breath.

  “But it’s all my fault.”

  “Son, you look like you’ve been holding tight to that fault for ages. I bet you haven’t even told the missus about everything. But you can tell me.”

  Donavan stood up. “Rain check.”

  Willie cackled. “That bad, eh? I see drunk folks eat their own vomit after smelling the alcohol in it, true story. If it was a mistake, can’t be that bad.”

  Another drink poured, Donavan stood there a second, hawked it back and let it burn down his throat.

  “Oh, c’mon, tell me the story. I’ve got thirty minutes until happy hour.”

  Donavan ambled back into his seat with a grunt.

  Rubbing a hand at the growing stubble on his jaw, Donavan said, “The exact day my son came into this world—I lost my mind. You and I both know that people look at me and label me a failure. And crazy thing is, I took my ass to the fucking army to become something better. Prove myself to Avery, not even knowing she was having a kid for me. But she was giving birth to my Junior the day I got sloppy, costing my brother his leg, and Tripp ending up with burns all over him.”

  “Oh . . . that guy.” Donavan gave Willie a questioning look. “I’ve seen ‘em. Really small town we have here. Damn, I always wonder about him when he comes in here for a drink.”

  “Yeah, I fucked up.”

  * * *

  Donavan had become accustomed to his spot at the gunner turret on the convoy, except today. At the top of the Humvee, he didn’t keep his eyes peeled for insurgents or anything out of the ordinary while they passed through desolate deserts and congested towns. A route clearance was ahead of them, which was a good enough reason to let his mind wonder. Today, he couldn’t stop contemplating Avery’s slender fingers. She had beautiful, magical fingers that not only strummed ever so softy on the keys of her piano, but in their innocence, had worked over his body.

  For a moment, the hundred-plus weather passed away, and the only thing that remained was the reason he was here. He’d let Alexander believe that he’d caved. Alexander had come to him, offering him money to leave Avery countless times. This time, Donavan had torn the check up in his face and said, “You win.” Who in their right mind left something so pure, so good. But Alexander had threatened his parents. There was that.

  Trayvon pulled to a stop where they’d be setting up a new main combat outpost.

  Donavan crawled down from his position in the turret and into the Humvee, crossing over the front passenger seat, his boots hitting the baked desert sand as he exited. Donavan rubbed a cloth over the trickle of sweat coasting down his neck. Mind still on Avery, his head reared back some when Tripp shouted at him.

  “Hardy!”

  “Yes!” The shout came from deep in his abdomen. Donavan glanced around, noticing that all the other sharks had gotten orders, and he’d more than likely had one issued to him too.

  “We need to fortify our position. Some of us wanna go home at the end of this mission.” Though Tripp’s voice was low, it hardened even further when he gritted out, “Do you?”

  The honest to God truth was he didn’t plan to return to Myrtle Beach and to Avery. At first, Donavan rationalized that she could do better. So, he had no intentions of going back at all. But when his craving for her love hurt so bad, he justified that he’d make something of himself first and not let Alexander Castle win. He refused to go back, not without a college degree. It didn’t matter which one. Any piece of paper the army was paying for would do. “Yes, sir!”

  “You’ve got a field check.” Tripp pointed in the opposite direction that Brown was now scouting. They’d circle around and meet, creating a safety perimeter.

  His gaze scanning the area, Donavan started moving. This was a good position—closer to the ridges with much of the town sloped down into a valley. He noticed a little boy off in the distance, and his eyes narrowed. The kid had to be no more or less the same age as he and Avery were when they met. Was the child doing pace counting? It was a tactic often used by insurgents. The child began to skip, laughing as a little girl joined him.

  Unable to keep his eyes off their friendly display, Donavan moved along. Every so often, his eyes tracked them to see a pigtail being pulled or the girl running around and tagging the boy. A ghost of a smile slightly curved his mouth.

  “Fuck,” he sighed to himself. “I really miss her . . .”

  An hour later, Donavan had completed the process and met up with Brown.

  “It’s a done deal for me,” Brown said. “See anything we need to check out?”

  When Brown looked past him, Donavan glanced over his shoulder, but the two children were gone.

  They moved back toward the main base. Trip, McIntosh, and the rest of their team were digging a mortar pit.

  “Ladies, y’all gon’ ahead and grab some sand bags.” Tripp paused, resting his rake upright next to him.

  Donavan and Brown got to work. It was a little before dark before they all settled in the camp.

  “The Big Mac, you’re up first watch,” Tripp ordered.

  McIntosh pumped his arm. “Yeah, that means when I take my ass to sleep, I can sleep.”

  “See what happens when your named after the food I’d rather be chowing?” Then Tripp glared at Donavan. “Hardy, you too.”

  Something told Donavan that Tripp wasn’t easing up on him by giving him the early part of the night. Their commander was losing faith in him.

  “I’ve got something to wash down the feast,” McIntosh said sarcastically, coming to sit next to Donavan.

  “You know what kinda trouble we’ll be in for that,” Donavan gritted back.

  “Bro, you’ve been mute all day. If this is enough wild turk’ to get you out of your funk, then good.”

  “What are the twin baby faces sharing over there?” Trayvon nudged his chin.

  Hunter took a free sip from his flask. When Donavan didn’t take it from his hands, knowing that he’d need a heck of a lot more than what Hunter was offering to put a Band-Aid on his heart, McIntosh tossed it to Trayvon. Next it went to Brown. Tripp mentioned the consequences of alcohol, displaying the responsibility of his rank for a moment, before sipping it too.

  “Hells Bells Boys.” Tripp shook his head. “Burns like hell; I love it.”

  While everyone took turns with the flask of whiskey. It wasn’t enough to cause anything more than making them hotter. Tripp came to sit next to Donavan.

  “You haven’t been on it today, not like usual.”

  “I’m—”

  “And I see your mouth is set for excuses, which we can’t have, Hardy. You need a fucking Dr. Phil moment, bro, tell me. Because all these sharks, we are counting on you. And if one of us falls through, the shit can be bad for everyone.”

  “I know that,” Donavan gritted. “I’m good.”

  Glowers meeting, they stared each other down.

  Tripp patted his shoulder. “Alright, buddy.”

  Later, when it was time for first watch, Donavan checked the magazine of his M-4 and grabbed a few extra just in case McIntosh needed one. Out of everyone, Hunter was like a kid brother to him, and Donavan never minded having his back the most.

  Donavan was about fifty yards out when he heard a whistle off in the direction that McIntosh had gone. Everyone was up on their feet in less than a beat. Tripp sprinted in the lead toward McIntosh. Brown picked up his M-4 first followed by the others with Donavan catching up to them.

  “Tripp, don’t come closer!” McIntosh’s voice echoed through the night.

  Exerting every
muscle in his body, Donavan ran toward them. Even with all his power, a second later, his body sailed backward as a bomb rocked the night. The heat was enough to scorch the whiskers off his jaw.

  “What the fuck . . . what the fuck . . .”

  Brown’s machine gun spouted out bullets in the direction of McIntosh and Tripp. Still on the ground in a state of shock, Donavan’s eyes locked onto the little kid that he’d seen earlier.

  Willie whistled, breaking the silence that had permeated the air after Donavan finished his story. “Are you fucking kidding me? You shoulda shot that little fuckoff yourself!”

  They’d moved forward as four-man group, Donavan, Brown, and the two others, taking out the insurgents that were moving in toward them. Luckily, the bastards didn’t have time to finish off Tripp and the man Donavan had once called his best friend.

  With the gunfire settled, Brown turned toward Donavan and pulled the trigger. The machine gun clicked.

  “What the fuck?” One of their other brother’s called out.

  “This motherfucker wanted to get all of us killed. Can’t do shit right!”

  * * *

  Willie shook his head setting down his drink. “That was a mistake, Donavan.”

  “Yeah, well it gets worse.”

  “Worse?” He grunted.

  “I took off on Brown. Fighting a guy in my own squad. I wanted to kill him for reminding me that I was just some hotheaded-amount-to-nothing foster kid. We’d bumped heads so much over the past four months, but that day, after seeing what I did to Hunter, to Tripp. Shit, I was even more of an asshole than usual. I just . . . I broke his arm and almost broke his damned neck.”

  “The bastard played Russian roulette with an AK47, Donnie, damn. I reckon he deserved the ass whooping.”

  But deep down, Donavan knew he should’ve been watching. The truth set in. Tripp was right to hate Donavan for the rest of his life for what he’d done. Hunter too.

  32

  Donavan

  After telling Willie his story, a seed of determination flourished in Donavan. All his life, Avery had loved him without reservation even at times when he didn’t deserve an ounce of adulation. She knew “a version” of his story. She’d asked if he’d had PTSD while wasting two years of his life at Fort Leavenworth. The answer was no, not in his opinion.

  Avery had to know he was the ultimate fuck up. After all his months of making progress in the army, in the end, he wasn’t too far removed from how the slew of previous foster parents believed him to be. Yet, she wasn’t aware of exactly what happened between himself and his army brothers.

  Donavan was confident that he’d be able to finish the story with Avery as well. He just needed to sneak out of the Uber that was pulling up to Baudelaire. Being caught drunk and returning home while the sun was setting was bound to have him catching hell. Who was he kidding? He expected her to go off on him regardless for leaving this morning before she could wake up.

  “Are you okay?” Avery asked, coming outside as the bright purple hatchback pulled out of the parking lot. “In an alternate reality, my greeting would be, ‘Hey, Donnie, I hope to God a woman paid for all those drinks,’ but then . . .” She shrugged. “What’s going on, Donavan!”

  “Trust me. There wasn’t a female willing to get me drunk just to take advantage, AC.” When the invisible steam coming from her ears increased, Donavan knew he’d made it worse. He couldn’t help the silly smile on his face, not that he was all that drunk.

  “Look, I have a . . . friend. He’s a bartender,” he explained, telling her how they’d talked about a recent run in that he’d had with an old army buddy, and her hand went to his cheek.

  For a moment, her eyes widened while he told her about his run-in with Tripp

  “Babe, I’m going to run you a bath.” She kissed his lips. “Wow, we should definitely ask if he’ll tend bar at our wedding. I could get tipsy off the taste of you. But congrats, Donnie, you’re almost twenty-six years old, good to make a friend.” She winked.

  He stared at her, waiting for the arguments that came so easily these days, but she swatted his ass. Her gorgeous image swam before him. “Just go upstairs, please. I’m going to make you a plate. Get some real food into you.”

  Moving one boot before the other, Donavan judged exactly where to step while ascending the porch. He heard snickering behind him. Without a good sense of equilibrium, he chose not to turn around and ask what was so funny.

  In the bedroom, Donavan had started out of his clothes when Avery stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She held a silver tray with a matching dome, placing it on the dresser. Next, Avery helped him sit down on the chaise. “Just get some food in you to soak up some of the poison.”

  He laughed. “Babe, I’m not that bad off.”

  “Whatever you say, Donnie.” Avery balanced the tray onto his lap, taking the top off.

  Pork chops and gravy wafted up to his nostrils. Donavan moaned deeply, glancing at the plate and then at her. “Damn, girl. You were cooking one of my favs and didn’t think to call and ask me why I hadn’t come home for dinner?”

  She shook her head then knelt down. “You’re still keeping things from me, Donavan,” she pawed at his jaw, “and I love you enough to understand that you’ll tell me in due time.”

  He forked up some food, taking a big enough bite—the perfect amount of pork chop, gravy and mashed potatoes—before saying, “We’ll talk about it tonight, babe.”

  “Everything? Like the story you told your bartender friend, and exactly why you’re disappearing on me every once in a while?”

  “Yes to your first question, and something like that to your second question.” Donavan watched her gaze. They both knew he didn’t lie to her. Was keeping things a secret worse? Avery didn’t call him out on it, but she got up and turned away. He meant to reach out, take her hand, and assure her that no matter what, everything would be okay. Before he could, she headed toward the bathroom. The sound of water flooding into the tub started within a few seconds.

  Avery came to lean against the adjoining wall, watching as he stuffed his face with the rest of the food. She pushed herself up. Her bare feet, sexy enough to suck on, padded softly against the wood floor as she came over to him. She helped him take his shirt off. When her hands went to his belt buckle, Donavan clasped his over her tinier ones.

  He signed, “I won’t leave you, Avery, ever.”

  She ascended on her tippy toes and pressed her mouth to his. “I know, Donnie. So, I’ll compromise.”

  The lust surrounding them faded as Donavan stepped back. “Baby, what’s this talk about compromise?”

  “You’re keeping something from me. But right now, I don’t feel like arguing or questioning you.” Avery then tugged him out of his jeans. “We both know my greatest fears are losing you and my children. That being said, for this moment, I’ll be content with knowing that you’ll always come home to me.”

  33

  Avery

  You’ll always come home to me. Much rode on the crux of that statement. And the more she said it, the more it became true. Though Avery had gotten fed up with Donavan disappearing at times, she wanted to comfort him after the fight he’d gotten into with some guy named Tripp

  In all his glory, Donavan stood before her. An array of colorful tattoos adorned his muscular biceps and forearms. Those honey eyes that swept over her made her just about ready to jump out of her clothes, but Avery craved watching her fiancé. Drinking him in, savoring the sight of him, she saw his manhood was already on the rise. When he stepped forward to kiss her, she placed her hands on the steel rock of his chest.

  “Not so fast,” she murmured. The chat with Dr. Blaine, and more so the monologue she’d given to Anya earlier, made her want to pause, take things slow, and not be anxious, overanalyzing situations. And for the love of God, not cave in to her rapid succession of thoughts as they pertained to Donavan and him leaving.

  Maybe opening a B&B with him wasn’t a good ide
a. He was her oxygen, and he didn’t need to be. She needed to depend on her own capabilities when he was gone . . . like before. She had to tell herself that it was okay for Donavan to disappear because she was strong enough to trust that he knew his way home. Strong enough to trust that he wouldn’t cheat, not in a million years, not looking at her the way he was right now.

  “This isn’t fair.” His tan skin beamed, and he cocked a grin. “You fully dressed; me naked. I don’t like this.”

  A smile brighter than the sunshine curved the edges of Avery’s lips. She cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. I think you like this. Me taking in all that white boy stallion.”

  He grabbed his junk. “Oh, this right here? It’s quite heavy, AC. Think you can hold him?”

  Donavan took a step closer and began kissing her and biting ever so softly along her cheek. Laughing giddily, she replied, “Of course. You got him up. I’ll get him back down. Don’t I always?”

  His lips left her collarbone. “That you do. Not sure how you’ll accomplish that right now, though, with all those clothes on.”

  “Ha.” She turned around, grabbed his hand, and led him into the bathroom. “You’re going to beg to get me naked until I’m in my birthday suit. I see that now. Can I at least get you clean first?”

  Donavan nestled down into the bath tub, unable to keep his eyes off her. As she grabbed a wash cloth, lathering it with a leather and amber scented soap, she began to clean him. He groaned, leaning back, eyes closed. She felt good making her man happy. The head of Donavan’s cock speared up through the cloud of suds. When she went to his chest, Avery dropped the towel and grabbed the soap bar. Using her palm, she glided the bar over the terrain of his abs. She fixated on his muscles, but laughed when his hand went over hers, pushing her hand down.

  “You’re incorrigible.” Her eyes sparkled.