My boyfriends possessive.., p.1
My Boyfriend's Possessive Daddy, page 1
MY BOYFRIEND’S POSSESSIVE DADDY
MY BOYFRIEND’S DAD: BOOK 12
LENA LITTLE
© 2024 by Lena Little
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
If you see this book anywhere other than Amazon, it is a stolen version of this story. My stories are exclusive to Amazon and can only be purchased through Amazon or read through Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited program.
CONTENTS
Free Books
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Also by Lena Little
PREVIEW
Ethan
Forty-five seems to be pretty f*cking old to be trying to find myself. And yet, that’s exactly where I’m at. Tired of my life as a top cardiovascular surgeon in LA, I packed it all in and took over my former mentor’s general practice in Emerson, Tennessee. Talk about a f*cking culture shock.
I guess I’ve spent my time here looking for purpose. Looking for meaning. And I found it when she walked into my life.
Elodie is half my age, but she makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things I never thought I could feel. What was supposed to be casual and fun has turned into something that’s consuming me whole.
I want Elodie. I want her with everything in me. But when her past comes calling, it intersects with mine in a way I never saw coming. It clashes with my own past in a way that threatens to destroy everything I’ve been trying to build with her.
Too bad because letting her go isn’t an option.
Elodie
Getting a scholarship to go to school in LA was my ticket out. I fled Emerson, the small town in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains I grew up in, and never looked back. I’ve built a life for myself in LA and love life on the West Coast.
When my grandmother’s heart attack pulls me back, I’m more than happy to flee Southern California to escape a borderline abusive relationship. I have to admit, for all the drawbacks of small-town living, being home again is kind of nice.
Coming off a horrible relationship, I was done with men. But when I meet Ethan, he rocks me to my very core. He opens my eyes, my mind, and my heart in ways I never expected. And despite my vow to swear off relationships in light of my past, Ethan opens me up to the possibility of love again.
But when my past unexpectedly comes crashing down on my present and I learn that Ethan and I share the most shocking of connections, it turns my entire world upside down. It threatens everything Ethan and I have been building together.
In light of this astonishing connection we share, how can I possibly be with Ethan? How can he possibly be with me?
FREE BOOKS
Get free books from time to time by signing up for my mailing list…
www.subscribepage.com/lenalittle
1
ELODIE
“No, I understand,” I say. “I’ll be on the next flight out. Thank you.”
Disconnecting the call, I drop my phone on the bed and press my hand to my forehead, trying to stop the wild churning in my skull. It’s not helping that my belly is roiling like a pot of boiling water at the same time.
“I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening,” I mutter.
I force myself to stop the frantic pacing and take a deep breath. This isn’t the time to be freaking out. I can’t afford to lose my shit. No, right now is when I need to be thinking clearly. She needs me, now more than ever, and I have to keep my shit together.
“Okay, think, Elodie. Think,” I say. “What’s first?”
In a slower, more controlled way, I pace the living room of my small apartment, putting together a mental checklist of what I need to do. I prefer order to chaos and making lists always has a way of calming me down and getting my mind right. Once I get a rough idea of what I need to do to organize this impromptu trip, my heart stops racing quite as hard and I’m able to focus on the situation a little more clearly.
“Plane ticket. That’s first.”
Dropping down at my desk, I open my laptop and spend the next hour plus searching for the cheapest ticket I can get for a flight out today. I finally find a flight that leaves in a few hours, and it costs a lot more than I’d like to spend—more than I can afford to spend really—but I book it, anyway. There’s no way I’m not going to be there.
Okay, that’s done. I’ve got a little time to pack now before I have to book an Uber to get me to the airport. My eyes fall on the framed photo sitting on the corner of my desk, and I’m hit by a wave of emotion so thick, it pulls me under. My vision wavers and my eyes sting as they well with tears. I sniff them back and use the cuff of my hoodie to wipe them away. I can’t afford to fall apart right now. I can’t. Not when there’s still so much to do. But trying to hold back the tears and emotion rampaging through me is like trying to keep the sun from rising in the east.
I pick up the picture and somehow smile through the tears. The photo is of me and my grandmother, Maryanne—Mam to me because I had a hard time pronouncing her full name correctly when I was a kid. Our cheeks pressed together, we have our arms wrapped around each other, eyes glittering with the same happiness in our wide smiles. It was taken on her front porch the day I moved out of her home and headed west after getting a scholarship to attend UCLA.
That was almost five years ago, the summer before I turned eighteen, and I’ve been here in Southern California ever since. I love it out here. I love the sun, the beach, the laid-back lifestyle. Although I’ve built a life for myself out here, Emerson is always going to be my home. Mam’s house is always going to be my home. After my folks passed away when I was barely old enough to walk, she was the one who raised me. She’s more than simply my grandmother. She’s practically my mother. And she needs me.
Setting the photo back in place, I wipe my eyes and let out a long, steadying breath. She needs me. Which means I need to pull myself together and get out there. I clear my throat and take one last moment to gather my wits about me.
“Get it together, Elodie. Let’s go.”
Rushing into my bedroom, I find my large rolling suitcase in the back of my closet. I have no idea how long I’m going to be out there—I’m assuming it’s going to be a bit of an extended stay rather than one of my usual quick visits—so I start packing as if I’m going to be at Mam’s for a while. I need to be conscious of the stupid luggage fees the airlines charge, so I’m only going to check one bag. I can do laundry at Mam’s, plus I know I still have some things still out there. I swear to God, with all these new fees, traveling is a freaking mob racket anymore.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
A sharp squeal bursts from my mouth as I jump out of my skin. With my hand to my chest, I wheel around to find my boyfriend standing in my bedroom doorway. He’s leaning against the jamb, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, a curious yet confused expression on his face.
“What the hell, Ben?” I screech. “What the hell are you sneaking up on me like that for?”
He frowns. “I’ve been texting you, but you haven’t responded.”
“So, you let yourself in?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Right. Because I couldn’t be busy or anything.”
He walks into my room with a smarmy little smirk on his lips and wraps his arms around me from behind. At six-one, he towers over my slender, five-two frame, his lean, athletic body engulfing me completely. I’m not in the mood, so I struggle to get away from him, but he tightens his grip and holds me tighter. Truth be told, even though I’ve been with Ben for the last year, it hasn’t been the happiest of relationships. He’s volatile. He’s got a temper, and if I’m being honest, he sometimes scares me. He’s never laid a hand on me, but I often get the sense it takes a Herculean effort for him to restrain himself and that it’s only a matter of time.
I’ve been trying to find a way to break things off with him, but that fear keeps me from actually doing it. I don’t know what he’ll do if I try to break up with him. And much to my eternal shame, that uncertainty paralyzes me. Over the last few months, I’ve been trying to distance myself from him, picking up more shifts at work, taking extra classes, or spending more time with my girlfriends. It irritates him and I keep hoping he’ll decide it’s not worth it, but the cynic in me believes he’s hanging on because he wants to take my virginity.
The fact that I won’t sleep with him is a constant source of irritation for him, and he keeps pushing me to have sex with him. I only wish I could apply the same firmness in saying no to him to other parts of this relationship … like ending it.
“What’s going on, baby?” he whispers in my ear. “What’s wrong?”
“My grandmother had a heart attack—”
“Why are you packing?”
“Because I’m going home to help care for her.”
“No, you’re not. We’ve got tickets to that show tomorrow night.”
I finally manage to pull away from him and turn, an expression of absolute horror tinged with anger coloring my face. The nerve of this man to tell me I’m not going. The nerve of him to put this fucking show above the life of my grandmother.
“Yeah. I am. I’m leaving in a few hours,” I tell him.
“Is your grandmother okay? Is she alive?”
“Yeah, she’s okay right now. But she needs some help—”
“She’ll be okay for a couple of days,” he says. “We’ll go to the show and after that, I’ll go out there with you—”
“Ben, no. I’m not doing this. Get out. I have to finish packing.”
“Baby, you know how much I’ve been looking forward to this show,” he growls. “Not to mention how expensive the fucking tickets were.”
I’m so angry, I’m practically seeing red right now. I’m glad I don’t have a baseball bat near at hand because as angry as I am right now, I might bludgeon him to death with it.
“You know what? Have a great time at the show,” I shout. “I’ll PayPal you the cost of my ticket. And so you know, I didn’t want to go to the show, anyway!”
Ben grabs my hand and squeezes it hard enough to draw a pained yelp from me. It fuels the rage coursing through me, and before I even think about what I’m doing, I reach back and slap him across the face. My hand stings and the sharp crack of my hand hitting his cheek rings in my ears. He looks at me with shock on his face and my eyes widen when I see the bright red print on his face. As his jaw clenches and his eyes narrow to slits, I start to tremble. But that fear quickly subsides as my veins are flooded with fury.
“We’re done, Ben. I don’t want to be with you anymore. I haven’t for a long time. You’re selfish, cruel, and you only care about yourself. Getting together with you was a mistake. I never should have gone out with you in the first place.”
He recoils and looks at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted a second head and started speaking in some strange language he doesn’t understand. My anger is filling me with a strength I never knew I had—a strength I wish I could have summoned long ago. In this moment, I feel powerful.
“No. You’re upset, I get that. But we’re not breaking up—”
“Get out, Ben. Get out of my apartment and my life.”
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to talk this out.”
I snatch up my phone. “Leave now or I’m calling the police, and they can drag you out of here. And after that, I’ll file for a restraining order.”
His face darkens, and he glowers at me. There’s some small part of me that’s afraid he’s going to hurt me. But right now, I don’t care. Right now, the only thing that matters to me is getting him out of my apartment so I can pack and get to my grandmother. His jaw clenched tight, Ben takes a step toward me, and I make a point of showing him that I dialed 911 and leave my finger poised over the key to make the call.
“Don’t test me, Ben. Not right now,” I say.
He looks more pissed than I’ve ever seen him before, but he doesn’t take another step toward me. Instead, he takes a step back and nods, adopting a more casual posture.
“Look, I can see you’re upset about this whole thing with your grandmother. I get it,” he says. “I’ll give you a little space to cool off—”
“What part of ‘this is over’ do you not understand?”
“And don’t worry, I’ll find somebody to buy the ticket. It’s cool,” he says. “Go, take care of your grandmother, and when you get back, we can talk. We can sort this all out.”
“Get out,” I say again, making my voice as low and threatening as I can manage.
“Okay, baby. I’ll text you later. Let you know how the show goes and all.”
He finally turns and walks out of my apartment, and when the door closes, I rush over, throw all three locks on the door, and turn around, pressing my back against it.
“I really need to get those locks changed,” I mutter.
Pushing away from the door, I head back into my room to finish packing. I need to get out of here and get to Tennessee.
2
ETHAN
“Okay, Mrs. Timmons, everything looks good,” I say as I step into the room.
The older woman sits on the edge of the examination table and gives me a wink. Unlike at my old practice in LA, my patients here are all a hell of a lot nicer. They’re kind, good people, and I enjoy being around them far more than the superficial, hoity-toity snobs I dealt with back in LA. The view is nowhere near as nice, but it’s a trade-off I’d make every single day of the week and twice on Sundays.
I set the file down on the counter beside me. “Your numbers are mostly good. But I’d still like for you to get out and do some light exercise. Try taking a twenty to thirty-minute walk a day. It’s really important that we work on that cholesterol level. You think you can do that for me?”
“Of course, I can, Dr. Collier,” she says. “I’ll do anything you ask.”
The tone in her voice is flirtatious, which is somehow amplified by her slow, syrupy-sweet Tennessee drawl. It makes me chuckle because she’s old enough to be my mother and not some giggly high school girl.
“Well, be careful who you say that to, Mrs. Timmons. I’d sure hate for Mr. Timmons to hear that and come down here to set me straight.”
She cackles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. I write out a prescription for her, tear it off my pad, and hand it to her.
“Thank you, Dr. Collier,” she says. “And I have to say again how nice it is to have you in town now that Dr. Pelson has retired.”
“Nice of you to say, Mrs. Timmons. I’m glad to be here.”
I walk her out of the examination room and to the door, holding it open for her.
“Go ahead and check out with Melinda and we’ll see you in a month,” I say. “And don’t forget, now. Twenty to thirty minutes of activity a day.”
She gives me another wink before starting across the lobby to Melinda’s station. I close the door, then walk down the short hallway to my office and drop heavily into the chair behind my desk, letting out a long sigh. It’s been a long day. Picking up the coffee mug sitting next to my laptop, I take a drink. It’s cold. But it’s still caffeine, so whatever. My eyes drift to the photo of me and Dr. Artie Pelson hanging on the wall beneath my array of diplomas and certificates.
It occurs to me that it’s the only personal photograph I have anywhere in my office. But I suppose that’s because Dr. Pelson is a large part of my life and my story. He was my teacher back in med school, but more than that, he was my mentor. Dr. Pelson is a big part of why I’m a doctor today, and he’s an even bigger part of why, at forty-five years old and despite being a renowned cardiovascular surgeon making piles of money, I left LA and started over as a general practitioner in Emerson, Tennessee.
“Money can’t buy you respect, satisfaction, peace of mind, or your way into heaven,” I mutter to myself.
“Dr. Pelson used to say that all the time.”
I glance up to see Melinda standing in the doorway of my office. She’s an attractive woman in her late thirties with honey-blonde hair and hazel-colored eyes. Two children, a fantastic husband, a sharp mind, and good relationships with almost everybody in town, I inherited Melinda along with Artie’s practice when he retired and lured me out here. And thank God she came with the practice. I wouldn’t have even known where to start without her.
“That is indeed an old Artie-ism,” I say. “He never liked the idea of doctors getting filthy rich providing basic health care to people who need it most.”
“He is a good man,” Melinda says.
“Yes, he is.”
“And he obviously thinks you are, too.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
Melinda pulls a face. “There is nothing Artie loves more than this town, and he would not have left you this practice if he didn’t trust that you would do right by us and care for us the way he did. So, yeah, I am pretty sure about that.”
The corners of my mouth curl upward. She’s right, of course. Artie loved Emerson with every fiber of his being. And no, he wouldn’t have entrusted the care of its people to somebody he didn’t have full confidence and belief in. If he didn’t think I’d do right by the people of this town, he would have either enlisted somebody else, or he’d still be here caring for them himself rather than down in Florida enjoying retirement with his wife, Grace.
