by Silla Webb
“You actually had to fight for custody?” I don’t know much about the family court system, but it blows my mind that a father would have to fight for a child who is rightfully his.
“Casey’s mother and father wanted custody of Belle. Their attorney argued that I’d abandoned Casey and Belle, which resulted in Casey’s psychotic break.”
“How could they put that on you!?” Fury works its way up my throat, and I’m pissed that the people who are supposed to protect and love this child are the ones who attempted to hurt her the worst.
“It was mere greed, a way to hurt me. But in the end, it all blew back in their faces. I kept records of every call I made to Casey, every attempt to see Belle. Casey’s parents hadn’t seen Belle in months, nor had they had any communication with Casey. They tried to keep the case tied up in court, but I had a good lawyer who fought tooth and nail to ensure that I received full custody of my girl.”
“She’s where she belongs, Mad. You’re an amazing father.”
Madden leans forward and scrubs his hand over his face, the weight of the conversation still burdening him. “I feel like I fail her every day.”
“How, Mad?”
“Today was a prime example, darlin’. Belle’s had night terrors for months because she misses her momma. There’s a void in her heart that I’ve tried to fill, but it’s not enough.”
It’s taken an undeniable strength for Madden to let his guard down and share all of this with me. My heartstrings pull closer and closer to this man and his little girl. Every emotion I’ve fought to keep Madden at arm’s length has been for naught. The inevitable has come to fruition. “Have you seen how her face lights up when she sees you? Look in the mirror, Mad. See the man that I see. The man who lives and breathes each moment to give his daughter life.”
“I don’t know how to take away her fears. How do I explain to my five-year-old that her momma is sick, but not in a physical way that can be seen?”
I don’t know the answer to that, so I respond with the only comforting advice that I can offer. “You stow away the fears and cross that bridge when you come to it. Until then, you hold her when she’s sad and love her a little more.”
Madden leans back and pulls me into his side, his lips pressing a sweet kiss against my forehead. A silence falls between us as Madden pushes the swing into a gentle pace, just two friends consumed by a moment where we both want so much more, but don’t know how to take that first step.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JORDAN
>>Change of plans today, Healthy Lady.
>Erhm, Mad?
I reply to the text. Shouldn’t Belle be at school right now? Does she even know how to text?
>>Who else would be textin’ ya from my phone, sweetheart?
>Only my bestest friend.
I hope he can feel the snip in my response.
>>She’s five and can only write her name.
Asshole.
>>Sorry to disappoint.
I love it when they grovel.
>So what’s the change of plans?
>>Let’s meet at the pier instead of Dumb Belles.
I check my watch and realize I only have twenty minutes to make it to the pier in time.
>Shouldn’t I be the one making these decisions?
>>See you at the pier at 4.
He obviously knows my schedule well enough to know I have a short break between clients before his session each day, or I wouldn’t be able to meet him. Makes me wonder exactly what else he knows about me.
I strap my phone to my arm and toss a bottle of water and some cash into my fanny pack—yes, my fanny pack. It’s convenient, although gaudy, and that’s what matters.
“Goin’ out?” Bryn asks as I round the corner into the lobby.
“Yeah, Madden asked me to meet him at the beach for his session today,” I reply, stretching my hamstrings.
“Ooooh, a romantic jog along the beach. He’s getting smooth.” Bryn bats her lashes at me.
“Erhm, yeah. Don’t do that.” I point in her direction, and she laughs. “I’ll be back in time for my next appointment.”
“If not, I’ll search the clothing trail to under the pier.” She winks as I flip her the bird, backing out the door.
Earbuds in and Post Malone blasting at an ear-piercin’ decibel to drown out the environment around me, I hit the pavement at a steady pace and cut right onto Butler Avenue. Dumb Belles is conveniently located only four short blocks from the Tybee Island beachfront, and it’s a nice little jog to the pier. I maintain my breathing, my heart rate increasin’ with the pace of my run. I dodge around the few late fall travelers who are perusing the boardwalk and cross onto wooden planks of the Tybee Island Pier, right into Madden’s arms.
Not intentionally on my part, of course.
As I breach the top of the landing, my footfalls thudding against the wood, Madden reaches out and wraps his arms around my waist.
He wraps me up against his chest, bare and coated in a sheen of sweat. He winks before setting my feet to the ground, laughing. I pull my earbuds out and drop them in my fanny pack—see, convenient, and catch the tail end of Mad’s conversation. “Always bustin’ my damn balls.”
“What was that? I had earbuds in and didn’t hear you.”
“I said—you’ve done wore yourself down before I had the chance to, Jo. You ain’t playin’ fair here, Healthy Lady.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes trail down my body and the double entendre. He’s brazen, that’s for damn sure. I secretly love flirty Madden, even though it is wrong on so many levels.
Hands on my hips, I cock my brow as I drag in a cleansing breath before rippin’ his ass a new one. All in good fun, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“You think you’re cute, tryin’ to escape your weigh-in, don’t ya! Well guess, what, sweetheart”—I jut my hip to the side with even more attitude—“we’ll do today’s session your way. But you’re still goin’ back to Dumb Belles to weigh in.”
As he opens his mouth to groan, I put my hand over his lips—thick and full and deliciously rough—and shush him. “Don’t. I gave in on the weekly weigh-ins; hell, at this point I’ve gotten you on the scale once since you started training six months ago, but I need to know the numbers to adjust your diet and your workout regimen. It’s important.”
“What if I don’t show?” He shrugs, uncaring.
“Oh, you’re haulin’ my sweaty ass back to the gym, Davenport. After runnin’ four blocks here then two miles on the beach, I’m gonna be dead on my feet.”
“Fuck.” He laces his fingers over his head and turns away from me, but I ain’t done yet.
I jet around him and race down the dunes, shouting over my shoulder, “Loser does fifty push-ups!”
I turn my focus toward the shoreline and pump my legs through the sand, diggin’ deep for better traction, but I keep my pace solid. This ain’t a marathon, and I ain’t attemptin’ to push Madden over his limits. This is merely a challenge.
“Better catch up, Jo!” he chides as I dart to the left to miss truckin’ over top of a little boy building a sandcastle.
“The fuck,” I mutter and pump my legs harder. I’ve nearly caught up to him as we hit the one-mile mark and cut back toward the pier, and I jog behind him in his blind spot. My heart pounds angrily in my throat, and I know Madden is tiring as I gain speed and close the distance between us. Suddenly he slows and bends at the waist, and I pump the brakes, concerned he’s overdone it.
“Mad!” I scream as I approach. He pants profusely, trying to suck air into his lungs. His face is blood red and panicked. Fear grips me as I try to open my fanny pack with shaky hands to pull out the water to cool his core temperature down when…
“What the ever-lovin’ fuck!” I shout as I'm hauled up into the air, my abdomen meeting the hardness of his shoulder. He surges forward, running the last quarter mile packin’ an extra one-hundred-fifty pounds of lean muscle over his shoulder.
>
I’d complain if Madden’s ass wasn’t so enjoyable to look at.
“Wooooooo!” he cheers as he slows his pace, settin’ my feet to the wooden boardwalk below.
I brace myself against the dock and inhale a deep breath, suddenly dizzy as my blood rushes from my brain.
“Damn it, Jo. You okay? Shit!” His victory is short-lived as he turns his focus on me, concern laced in his voice. I wave him off as I slide down to the pier and pull the water from my pack. I take three small sips then offer him the bottle, and he takes it as he plops down beside me.
“You’re … crazy.”
Madden’s grin reaches his eyes, pride shining through the green of his irises. “Catch ya off guard?” He nudges my shoulder.
“Little bit.”
“C’mon, let’s get you out of this heat.” He stands and offers me his hand, pulling me up to him.
“Make this known, Davenport, the only reason I’m not joggin’ back to Dumb Belles is so I can get you on the scales.”
He nods as he leads me to his truck.
He cranks the AC and turns the stereo low. “I need to spend more time with Belle in the evenings, so I was thinkin’ I could cut back on my time at the gym.” I’m shocked and slightly disheartened, but I refuse to say as much.
“Let’s see where you are on the scale, and then we’ll discuss it.” He nods and shoves the gearshift in park, turnin’ the ignition off. He turns in his seat to face me, and I can sense the hesitation as he opens his mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out. He takes me in and smiles; it’s soft and friendly, and maybe even a little embarrassed.
“Did I hurt ya?”
I crinkle up my face in confusion.
“When I slung ya over my shoulder?”
“Oh. No. I wasn’t expectin’ it. At all.”
He nods. “Neither was I, but I needed to test my endurance.”
“View was nice.” Madden’s eyes widen in surprise, and I can’t take that spew of word vomit back. But I won’t tuck my tail either. “Proud of my handy work. Your body is mighty fine, if I do say so myself, Mr. Davenport.”
Madden’s eyes hood over, a mischievous smirk on his face. “I’ll show you, Mister.” He winks and climbs out of the cab, the cool fall breeze mixing with the heady air that hangs between us. I hurry to catch up, Madden’s strides toward Dumb Belles now confident and determined.
As he enters the lobby, he’s assaulted by Gia. “Oh my, Madden. You just get more handsome every time I see you.” She runs her hand along his bicep, an appreciative grin on her thin lips. “You know, if you trained with me, I’d pay extra special attention to the definition of your deltoids, just to see that area pop!” she exclaims with a pop of her lips.
I flex my hands, noticing my claws are extended and ready to swipe, but I have no claim to this man.
Madden gently removes Gia’s groping hands from his body and steps out of reach. “Thanks for the compliments, Gia. It was good seeing you again.” He quickens his strides down the hallway toward the weigh-in room, with Gia watching his quick getaway.
She turns into me as I sidestep her. “Oh. It’s you.” Her lips curl up in disgust. “What are you doin’ just getting here?” she asks, glaring down at her watch. Who does this bitch think she is? This is my gym.
“Perks of bein’ the owner, Gia.” I shrug as I bypass her. She doesn’t need to know anything about my daily schedule. She needs to focus on her own.
I push the door open to the weigh-in room and close it quickly, shoutin’, “SORRY!” through the heavy wooden door to Madden. Erhm, not really sure why he was undressin’, but holy fuckin’ hell.
I’m one badass trainer.
I built that iron god in there. Me. The ball-bustin’ trainer. I’m proud of him.
“Jo, you doin’ this or not? Got places to be, sweetheart,” Madden asks, his head poked around the semi-closed door.
“But you’re uhm…” I point, at what, I really don’t know.
“Sweaty clothes, darlin’.” He winks and closes the door.
Fuckity-fuckity-fuck. I take a deep breath and push open the door just enough to slide my body through.
This will be Madden’s third weigh-in since he first came to Dumb Belles, and while the transformation is noticeable in the muscle definition and narrow V of his waist, seeing this number will not only help me adjust his regimen, but prove that his hard work and dedication have paid off.
“Ready?” I step up to the scale and wait for Madden to step on.
“Don’t tell me. Chart it and let it go, darlin’.”
“You don’t wanna know?”
“Sure as hell don’t.” He shakes his head. Pinchin’ his eyes closed, he steps up onto the scale, and I watch the numbers tick into place.
“Wait. Step off.” Without opening his eyes, he steps backward, and the scales rolls back to zero. “Now step on.”
I rip my phone out of the armband quickly and pull up Madden’s profile on the app. Shit.
“Okay, your silence is deafenin’. Can I get dressed now? This is—”
“Awkward?” I ask, tryin’ to keep the shock out of my voice.
“Exactly.”
Without another word, I turn and leave the room, trying to stow the excitement that Madden not only met his weight loss goal, but he fuckin’ squashed it.
I sit at my desk and pull Madden’s profile up on my laptop, calculating a new plan for maintenance. “Okay, I thought I could turn and leave without knowin’, but I fuckin’ can’t.” The sound of Madden’s voice draws my attention to where he’s standin’ with his arms braced against the doorjamb.
Damn. Why’s he gotta be so attractive?
“Thought you didn’t wanna know?” I bait him.
In three strides he’s in front of me, palms flat against the surface of the desk. Every sinewy cord of muscle is on display, glistenin’ in a sheen of perspiration from his run. “What fun is keepin’ secrets, Jo?” He quirks a brow, challenging me.
I close the laptop and make my way around the desk.
“Milestone one—twenty pounds. Milestone two—forty pounds. Milestone three—sixty pounds. But we never decided what you’d do if you exceeded that weight loss.”
“Exceeded?” The shocked expression on Madden’s face brings me great pleasure.
I nod slowly, a pleased smirk on my face. “Seventy-five pounds lost—so I’m decidin’ for you. I think I deserve a special treat for whippin’ you into shape. I’ll see you at seven.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MADDEN
“I brought cupcakes!” Jo chimes as I open the front door.
Belle nearly knocks her backward as she lurches forward and wraps her arms around Jordan’s waist. “Oh, Healthy Lady, yous made my night. Daddy cooked a dolphin and wittle twees for dinner, and he says I has to eat it all or I get no snack.”
Jordan’s face wrinkles in confusion as she looks from Belle to me. “Dolphin and trees?” she asks, her lip twitching with a small smile.
“Yes! It’s so ‘sgustin’!” Belle’s nose curls up in disgust, her flair for the dramatics playin’ right into Jo’s hand.
“Mahi-mahi and steamed broccoli,” I cut in.
“Wow, Mad, you are totally livin’ this new lifestyle to the fullest. Before long, you won’t need me around anymore.”
“That could never happen,” I mutter under my breath as I close the door behind her.
“What was that?” she turns back and asks, popping her firm hip to the side. I keep my lips sealed and sidestep around her, leading Jo and Belle into the kitchen.
“Why you have cupcakes, JoJo?” Belle asks as I prop her up on a barstool at the island.
“Belly,” Jordan begins, “does your daddy look different?”
Belle purses her lips, her chubby finger tapping her cheek as she considers Jo’s question. “He’s not a teddy bear anymore.”
“He’s not a teddy bear?” Jo asks, her face alight with humor.
“
No. He’s not soft and fwuffy wikes me teddy bears. Wikes he used to be. Now he’s hard wike a hammer.” Jordan bursts into laughter, and Belle looks at me, not understanding Jo’s reaction. I straddle the barstool beside Belle and pull her little hands into my own.
“Remember your birthday party, Belly, when Daddy passed out?”
Belle sucks in a heavy breath, her eyes filling with tears as her lip quivers. “You scared me.” She nods emphatically.
“Daddy didn’t mean to scare you, Belly. Daddy was a teddy bear then, remember? I was slow and pudgy and tired all the time because Daddy wasn’t healthy. But Jo,”—I look across the counter at Jordan, and my cheeks hurt from the smile that overtakes my face—“Jo changed all that.”
“She busted you’s balls in the gym, didn’t she, Daddy?”
Jordan covers her face with the palm of her hand, but her laughter can still be heard. “She sure as hell did, kiddo. But because Jo busted my balls, Daddy is healthier now.”
“You’s not sick anymore? My JoJo made you all better!”
The way she takes possession of Jordan ain’t lost on me. My Belle is as crazy about Jordan as I am.
“Something like that,” Jordan chimes in. “So tonight, since Daddy isn’t a teddy bear anymore, we’re gonna reward him with cupcakes, his favorite!”
“And mine!” Belly exclaims, throwing her arms around my neck. “I’s pwoud of you, Daddy.” Belle kisses my cheek then situates herself on the barstool, turning her full attention to Jo.
“JoJo, we has a diwemma. You’s favorite cupcakes is from Mabel’s, and my daddy’s favorite cupcakes is from Publix. So what cupcakes did you bwing him?” Belle cocks her brow, her interrogation of cupcakes completely serious.
Jo winks at Belle and slowly peels the sides of the bag away from not one, but two six-packs of cupcakes. “I. Brought. Both!” Belle claps and laughs excitedly as Jordan opens both containers revealing a mixture of devil’s food and vanilla cupcakes. Fuck me runnin’. I’ve lost seventy-five pounds, and Jo obviously wants to torture me by bringing this lard into the house. I’ll not survive this without gaining.
