Page 83 of Full Circle

Right as she was about to step outside, I called out, “C’mon, tell me your name!”

“Iris,” she called back over her shoulder.

“Do you wanna meet here tomorrow?” I offered. “I can do my workout and you can get your dance practice in.”

She rounded on me. Her blue eyes lit up with hope, then skepticism as she regarded me coolly. After sizing me up, she slowly nodded. “Be here at six a.m. sharp!” Iris instructed.

I chuckled after her as the door closed. Whoever her mama was, I hoped she had the patience of a saint.

It wasn’t the time to ruminate on the girl, however, because it was time to face my past. I needed to shower and look presentable before heading over to The Comfy Cushion. Picking up my cell phone from the floor next to the weight rack where I left it, I saw six missed calls from my father and groaned. Each voicemail got progressively worse, with him going so far to threaten cutting me off completely. As if I would shed a tear over no longer being associated with him or Madden Enterprises.

Now that I had my own nest egg from modeling, he had nothing to touch me with. I could continue leading the same lifestyle—albeit with fewer private jets and yachts—and be just fine. And while being an attorney wasn’t my dream job, it was certainly one that could pay the bills. I didn’t have any real debt, so let him cut me off. I’d get myself straight.

The phone buzzed in my hand again. Instinct told me to ignore the call, but I knew my father would just keep at it, so I might as well get it over with. I adjusted the volume as low as I could before I hit the green button, though.

Sure enough, his angry scream belted in my ear. “WHY ARE YOU IN THAT WASTELAND OF A TOWN RATHER THAN ON THE JET TO TOKYO?!”

My jaw hurt from the way my teeth ground together. “Gee, Benny, it’s good to hear from you, too.”

“Don’t give me any of your horse shit, Wesley! You were hired to do a job and I expect you to fucking do it!”

He tended to forget how many days of my life I wasted in his corporate offices, watching mediocre white men overpaying themselves without doing any actual work. I knew for a fact that I had more schooling than half his board members. Rich people only supported rich people. There was no actual need for me; this was nepotism at its worst.

“I guess something else came up,” I sighed. We were just going to keep talking in circles. I wasn’t sorry for skipping out and I couldn’t care less about getting fired from a corporate job I hadn’t technically started.

Benedict lowered his voice, the contempt thick enough to choke a horse. “You get your ass on the next flight to Japan or I will rain hell down on you.”

I snorted. That was the best he could do? “Not gonna happen, Pops, but thanks for playing. Bye now.” And I hung up.

It took several minutes of visualizing painful ways for Benedict Madden the Third to die slow, gruesome deaths before I was in the right frame of mind to leave. Glancing back towards the classroom area, I texted Phillip to look up business properties for sale in River’s Run.

Phillip called rather than text back. “Do you have a particular kind of business space in mind?”

“Yeah, something big enough for a dance studio.”

CHAPTER 38

THE ICK

CELESTE

Sunday mornings were always the slowest point in the week at The Comfy Cushion. Most people in River’s Run practiced some brand of Christianity, and they would judge you quicker than a rooster over which church you attended. Mama and Daddy had some sort of societal free pass on account of being local business owners, which had thankfully been passed down to me when I took over at the restaurant. Neither of my parents ever set much in store by the church, and I had not been required to attend as a child.

Desiree considered herself a Methodist and went to church most Sundays. For the first several years of Iris’ life, Desiree forced her to go, too, despite my objections. Four years ago, a boy in her Sunday school class told Iris she was a bastard because she was born out of wedlock and would therefore never be allowed in Heaven, sending her into a crying fit that left her shaking in bed for the rest of the day. After that, Desiree agreed that Iris no longer needed to go to church with her.

That left Sunday mornings as the restful start to my week. Without Desiree breathing down my neck, it was easier to prep food and plan the menu. We also opened an hour later since nobody ever rolled in until after their church services ended. I always allowed Iris to go over to the town gym to practice her choreography while I got everything ready for the day. She usually practiced for a couple hours, returning in time to have lunch with Desiree and Hillary after church ended, before heading into Savannah to meet with her private dance instructor.

Iris confidently informed me on the drive into town that she needed to increase her individual practices if she was going to be ready for Boston. It weighed on me as she left that I still hadn’t found a good opportunity to talk with her privately about Boston not being a possibility at the moment, but I was a coward, and like all cowardly mothers do, I let her walk down the street with her precious dreams still intact.

It was incredibly surprising then, when only a half hour later, Iris marched back inside The Comfy Cushion with an indignant huff and ranted, “Men, I tell you!”

Jesse barked out a laugh behind me in the kitchen while I stood at one of the tables where I had been refilling the salt and pepper shakers, totally dumbfounded. I was used to Iris’ habit of speaking older than her years—it was inevitable when she was surrounded by adults or much older kids in her ballet classes most of the time—but I had no idea what would have made her snarl such a thing.

“Iris?” I prompted as she continued to stand by the door, stewing.

She stomped her foot. “Mama, I can’t practice at the gym anymore! There was a man inside who said I can’t be there without an adult! Can you believe that?”

Biting on my cheek to hide my smile, I shrugged instead. “It does sound like a safety concern.”

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