Page 1 of My Boyfriend's Possessive Daddy

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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.”

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