Madison's Life Lessons

by Gracen Miller

  She nodded in agreement and squeezed his hand. “What will I say to Momma?”

  “Nothing. Go straight to your bedroom and start on homework.”

  “I don’t have any homework.” Madison tapped her temple. “Photographic memory. No joke.”

  Beautiful and intelligent, his wet dream.

  “Pretend, kitten.” A half grin hit his lips before he could stop it and he winked. “It’s a little different than lying, so you should be able to manage it.”

  Madison offered up a small smile and nodded.

  Micah opened his car door, got out and strode around to open hers. Madison stared at the house as she stood, biting on her bottom lip. He wished he could help her nibble on it. When she peeked at him, anxiety stark in her over-bright eyes, he realized she had no idea how she affected him. Watching her discover her sexuality would be a strain on his restraint, but he anticipated the adventure.

  He reached in and plucked her backpack and purse off the passenger floor. She took them and inhaled deeply. “Let’s do this.”

  “You’re not meeting the executioner, Madison,” he said as they approached the front door.

  “I’m afraid of what she’ll say if she corners me.”

  Too bad he couldn’t alleviate her worry and tell her he’d have the situation in hand shortly. He said nothing instead.

  Before she opened the door, he stopped her. “Promise to call me if you need me?”

  Madison nodded. “Okay.”

  “This call didn’t count as the one you promised earlier.” He chucked her beneath the chin. “I’m still planning on having our captivating conversation.”

  A hesitant smile touched her lips. “I’m still looking forward to telling you I told you so when you’re bored to tears.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, kitten, but that isn’t going to happen especially now that I know along with that sassy mouth you’ve got brains too. A photographic memory—Mmmm—that’ll make for riveting conversation.”

  “You don’t think it’s intimidating?”

  If he were less of a man with a self-ego problem, he might. “No.”

  “You’re weird, you know that?”

  Micah ran his hand across his jaw. “I’ve been called many things, but weird isn’t one of them. It’s definitely the nicest though.”

  She shook her head and opened the door. He watched as she disappeared inside. The door closed and he stepped down the stairs. Over his shoulder he glimpsed the house, an older home, maybe twenty years, but very well-kept, and in an older section of town. The lawn was well tended and the bushes sheared evenly. He bet inside the home was overly tidy too.

  As he walked toward his vehicle, he pulled out his cell phone. He tapped out a text message and hit send. Rounding the backside of the car, he tucked the phone in his breast pocket and glanced at the house. A single light came on upstairs. Madison’s bedroom. He’d bet his station in life on it.

  He slid into the leather seat, cranked the car and shifted into gear. Time to take care of personal business.

  ***

  Madison scrambled up the stairs to her bedroom, thankful she didn’t cross Momma’s path along the way. Locking her door behind her, she tossed her book bag and purse on the floor near her desk and collapsed on the bed with a loud sigh. She stared at the ceiling. Micah Dominus. Every nerve ending in her body screeched he was trouble, but…I kind of don’t care.

  That was bad news for her because Micah Dominus enjoyed getting his way too much. No man should be so spoiled. He wanted only friendship. She wasn’t sure she could remain emotionally uninvolved. Especially not after today. No one else had ever been there for her the way he had, not Momma and definitely not Daddy. Time would be the judge, because after today, there was no way she wouldn’t make that phone call he wanted. And if he wanted to see her again, she held no doubt she would agree.

  Life Lesson Eighteen

  From the conference room window Micah watched Celeste enter his office and sashay down the hall toward him. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a fashionable style and hair-sprayed into submission. Her skintight red designer dress showcased her sultry curves while remaining on the side of classy and upstanding. But just barely. Micah wasn’t fooled. He knew her level of depravity better than most.

  He opened the door when she neared and motioned for her to enter. As he shut the door, her snooty preacher’s wife voice grated along his nerves. “Summoning me to a meeting is brazen, even for you, Micah.”

  His hand remained on the doorknob, as he turned to face her. Holding her stare, he locked the door. The grate of metal against metal was loud in the near silence. Her gaze fell to his hand and her fair complexion paled even more.

  She notched her chin proudly and mutiny blazed from her blue eyes as she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

  Micah kept his voice neutral and took a step toward her. “No.”

  He slapped her. Hard enough that she cried out as she slammed into the conference room table and chairs. She palmed her face with one hand and moaned. As she pushed up with her other hand, Micah tangled his fingers in her hair and braced a hand beside her head on the table.

  “Micah—”

  “Silence!” He bellowed against her ear. “Before I’m tempted to commit further violence against you.”

  Using his weight to trap her body beneath his, he twisted his wrist and wrenched her head at a rough angle so she could see him over her shoulder. He knew she would feel the strain in her muscles tomorrow from the odd position.

  “Madison told me she caught you with the deacons.” Celeste started to say something before she saw the temper he knew shone in his eyes. Her teeth snapped together and she squelched any words she might’ve uttered. She further satisfied him by lowering her gaze. As a submissive should in the presence of any dominant. “She also confessed the verbal abuse suffered by Bruce. You’re whoring about and she’s being blamed for the unwanted attention men show her? Really, Celeste, that double standard pisses me off.”

  “She is to blame, Micah. They sense her—”

  Celeste cried out as he rotated his hand in her hair, more than was necessary. As a sign of surrender she flattened her palms against the table, but he didn’t relax his cruel hold. He relished her pain as his other hand curled around her throat. She deserved worse for what she’d done to Madison. As a silent threat, he added pressure in minute increments, so she could appreciate the full extent of being strangled.

  Not until she gasped for air did he speak. “Unless you desire the bald fashion statement—or worse—I’d recommend you keep your trap shut.” One more word out of her mouth and he might skin her.

  Celeste executed an infinitesimal nod. It was all she could manage with the way he held her. He released her and she remained bent over the table, gasping in gulps of fresh air.

  After several minutes of loud wheezing, she pushed off the table with her palm curled around her throat. Bruises dotted her flesh, and the clear outline of a handprint stained her cheek.

  Micah swiped the hair off his forehead and placed some distance between them before he seriously harmed her. He hadn’t wanted to injure anyone this bad in a long time.

  “Please, sit.” He motioned to a chair. For a moment he thought she’d object, but she chose wisely and surrendered. Her fingers were trembling when she pulled out a chair and sat, her gaze remained focused on the hand in her lap. Her subservience pleased him, somewhat appeasing his anger. Enough that he wasn’t itching to break any bones. Yet.

  He strode to her and with a finger under her chin, tilted her head back to peer at the handprint on her cheek. Flame red against her ivory complexion. She was lucky he struck her only once.

  “The next time you feel inclined to seek pleasures outside of the marital bed; you’ll do it where Madison won’t discover you. Do I make myself clear?”

  Celeste nodded.

  He dropped his hand from her chin. “Fabulous.”

  “Ma
y I speak?”

  The question sounded much too impudent for his liking. Eyeing her closely, he agreed. “So long as you don’t anger me. I’d caution against that.”

  “I’m assuming Madison was upset?” In silence Micah glared at her for the ignorant question. Celeste went on, “Isn’t it a good thing she came to you in a crisis? That’s what you wanted, right?”

  Before today’s events, his progress with Madison wasn’t moving as quickly as he’d hoped or planned. It irritated him that Celeste may have helped him along. “Yes. But I won’t tolerate her being upset like that. Not ever. And not again.” He hoped she understood what he didn’t say. There would be hell to pay if a next time transpired. He tucked his right hand in his pocket. “I’ll punish Bruce for his abuse and you’ll support him through the shame like the good, biddable wife you are.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She’d never been a good wife or a biddable one and they both knew it.

  “What do you plan, Micah?” Her wary voice trembled.

  Micah grinned, stepped to the door and opened it. “You’re excused, Celeste.”

  Life Lesson Nineteen

  Daddy had been calling Momma’s cell phone for almost an hour. He’d dragged Madison down the stairs and demanded to know where Momma was. She had no idea and he ordered her to sit in a kitchen chair. He began to pace, phoned Momma and left a message to call him immediately. A minute later, he redialed and left another message. He repeated the process for the next forty-five minutes.

  She’d never seen him so keyed-up or worried. Of course, Momma usually kept him apprised of her whereabouts.

  “Please, Lord,” he looked toward the ceiling, “keep your all-knowing eye on my beautiful, wonderful wife and bring her home to me safely.” He hit redial after the desperate prayer and left another message. Madison rolled her eyes.

  Momma entered through the kitchen door with a KFC bag dangling from her fingers and a singsong, “I’m home!”

  Daddy was at her side before she could close the door, hugging her, confessing his worry and demanding where she’d been.

  Madison tried to scrunch further into the kitchen chair by pulling her feet into the seat and wrapping her arms around her knees. Too bad she couldn’t evaporate into thin air.

  No explanation came from Momma. “Madison, get the plates.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She rose, making sure to keep her eyes downcast.

  “What happened to your face and throat, Celeste?”

  Madison’s gaze snatched to Momma. Daddy tilted her head back to get a better look at the damage.

  Bruises mottled her mother’s throat. A bright pink mark that looked a lot like a handprint covered her left cheek. Surely, the deacons didn’t do that to her face.

  “I’m okay, Bruce.” She winced as he touched the injuries with his fingertips. “I had a minor fender bender. The seatbelt caught my neck and the airbag got my cheek.”

  Madison frowned. Seriously? Fender benders couldn’t wrap bruises around your neck that looked suspiciously like fingerprints. And airbags didn’t leave the outline of a hand. If Daddy believed that bull, he was a bigger fool than she realized because the excuse sounded lame.

  Daddy tugged the KFC bag out of Momma’s hand and shoved it across the counter into Madison’s grasp. “You go rest, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead. “Madison and I can get dinner.”

  “How bad did it hurt your car?” Madison asked at the same time as Daddy. “Sorry.” She flashed him an apologetic half-grin because he could get mean when interrupted.

  Momma looked at her and she held her breath, waiting for something…she didn’t know what because there was no way Momma would say anything about what she’d done with those deacons. Not in front of Daddy.

  “It wasn’t bad.” Her mother slid onto a barstool across the counter from her, looking way too comfy for Madison’s peace of mind. “I dropped it off at Rick’s body shop, Bruce. He said he’d have it fixed in no time.”

  Madison nodded and dug out the box of chicken, while Daddy got a bag of peas out of the refrigerator freezer for Momma’s shiner. “What’ve you done today, Madison?”

  Momma’s bold question threw a lump the size of an asteroid into her throat. Her belly churned and she stared at the contents of the KFC bag. She swallowed hard. “Tutoring with Jen.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I went to the park afterward.”

  Momma smiled, one of her I got your number kind of smiles that always made Madison squirm.

  “I’m not hungry.” Momma turned toward Daddy, accepting the bag of peas and holding it in place against her cheek. “I fed—ahem…I mean ate earlier. I’m going to go soak in a hot bubble bath. Loosen up these achy muscles from the accident.”

  She rolled off the stool, somehow making it look sexy. All of her moves were provocative and Madison had envied that natural talent until today.

  “Let’s pray first, Celeste.” Her daddy held his hand toward her mother. “We should thank God for answering my prayers and delivering you safely home.”

  Momma took Daddy’s hand and leaned against his chest. She kissed him on the cheek. “You’re too good to me, Bruce.”

  Daddy offered his hand to Madison and she shook her head. “I’m not praying to your god.”

  “Madison, at the encouragement of your mother, I’ve allowed your disobedience because she said you were distraught over Jack Moore’s death. I’ve given you more time than you deserve. We will thank God for returning Celeste to us unharmed. He is due praise for sparing her further injuries. She could’ve been killed.”

  Madison quietly opened the box of chicken and pushed it aside to make room on the counter for the side items. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her. “I’m thankful Momma’s okay, but I will not thank Him—” she pointed upward “—for anything!”

  “My tolerance of your blasphemy is at an end.” He slammed his fist down on the counter, causing the plates to shimmy. Madison stared at his hand. “You’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll bear the brunt of my wrath.”

  “On my knees praying? I don’t think so.” She snorted, rumpled the plastic bag and tossed it in the garbage, before centering her focus on Daddy. Everything fell away as their stares connected and held. “He’s your God. Last time I checked, he doesn’t hear the prayers of sinners.”

  A strangled noise emerged from his throat. “We’re all sinners.” But his eyes said she was the biggest reprobate of them all.

  “I’m the Wescott dirty little secret, remember?” He coughed and she knew he recalled making the statement months ago. She shot a quick glance at Momma. She was the real Wescott dirty secret. “Got the devil inside me. Remember that, Daddy? Your words. I’m pretty sure God doesn’t have anything to do with the devil’s spawn. And you know what?” She pulled the lid off the side items, mashed potatoes, coleslaw and corn, and tossed them aside. “I have no wish to be associated with an obnoxious, overbearing, ego-tripping deity that’ll damn me when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Daddy’s face went blood red and he stopped breathing for a long moment.

  “Breathe, Bruce,” Momma instructed, patting his arm.

  Madison flicked her finger through the mashed potatoes and licked it off her digit.

  Daddy wheezed in a strangled breath. “Blasphemy isn’t tolerated under my roof!”

  He stormed around the counter and Madison lifted her gaze to look him dead on as he approached. He smacked her, hard enough to knock her against the Formica countertop. The violence was so unexpected she touched her cheek and stared at him in amazement. He’d never hit her before.

  “I’ll not endure further disobedience from you, daughter!” He released a shaky breath. “You’ll give God his due and pray with us, or suffer the consequences.”

  Madison stood straight. All the screaming and threats in the world wouldn’t bring about her consent. In a level tone, she said, “I won’t. And you cannot make me.”

  Daddy sla
pped her harder, putting his weight into it. Madison cried out as her torso sprawled over the top of the counter.

  “You will!” Daddy screamed so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors heard him.

  Slumped over the counter, she bit back a groan as she touched her cheek. Her face stung from the violence and spread upward, burning her eyes. Tears didn’t come, just the conviction of her words. Jaw achy, she opened and closed her mouth.

  “Bruce, it’s okay, she shouldn’t—” Whatever Momma would’ve said strangled off in a shocked squeal when Madison shoved off the counter and hit Daddy back.

  Silence rung in Madison’s ears and she ignored the throb in her hand. Her daddy looked just as surprised by her counter-violence.

  “I’m sick of taking your abuse.” Madison went toe-to-toe with him and glared, unblinking. “It. Ends. Now. Lay another hand on me and you will suffer the consequences.” She had half a mind to go to Micah anyway, just to spite Daddy.

  “Tempers are high and no one is thinking clearly.” Momma’s said in a shaky voice, her expression one of mild panic. “Bruce, really, violence is not your style. Madison, what has gotten into you defying him like this?”

  “Spare the rod, spoil the child,” Daddy quoted the Bible. “I fear for her soul.”

  Madison put her finger in her mouth and made a gagging motion. His cheeks flamed bright and a purple vein pulsed in his temple.

  “Apparently, Momma, the devil has gotten into me.” She couldn’t be certain but she thought her mother bit back a smile. “Can’t expect the dirty little secret to obey, can ya’?”

  “Madison Grace Wescott—”

  Madison interrupted what she figured would become a screaming tirade. “Like Momma, I’m not hungry. I’m off to my room.”

  Head held high, shoulders straight, she took a step to the right and he followed suit, blocking her path. She’d expected him to halt her exit from the kitchen, so she wasn’t surprised.