Page 21 of My Boyfriend's Possessive Daddy

“Nope. Not anymore,” I tell him with a laugh. “We broke up before I came out here.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he was horrible. He’s abusive?—”

Ethan immediately stiffens and his face darkens, the thought of somebody abusing me obviously pissing him off. It’s sweet and only reinforces the belief that I’m safe with him. But I know I need to correct my statement.

“He was mentally abusive. He never physically harmed me,” I say. “There were a couple of times I was worried that he might, but he never did. He was just … mean.”

“Mental abuse is just as bad as him laying hands on you. Either is unacceptable.”

“Well, he and I are done. I told him before I left that we were done.”

“And how’d he take it?”

“Not well. But whatever,” I say with a small shrug. “What about you? Anybody out here that’s piqued your interest?”

“Aside from you?”

My face grows warm, and a silly giggle passes my lips, which only embarrasses me more, forcing me to turn away. Ethan puts his fingers under my chin and turns me back to him then leans down and gives me a small, sweet kiss. He leans back on the couch and pulls me back down, resting my head on his chest again. It’s such a sweet, almost domestic scene, and I like it. I like it far more than I probably should, given our shelf life.

“To answer your question, no,” he says. “There isn’t anybody I’m seeing out here.”

“My grandmother says Hannah the dressmaker has been trying to bag you since the day you moved to Emerson.”

“True. But I’m not interested in her.”

“And why is that? She’s a beautiful woman.”

“She’s not you,” he says.

His words send a ripple of emotion through my heart and make my face grow warm again. It’s insane just how much this man can inspire so much emotion in me with nothing but a few words. We sit in comfortable, companionable silence for a couple of minutes, and I nuzzle closer to him, relishing the mélange of emotions coursing through me.

“I have a son,” Ethan says suddenly. “He’s about your age.”

It’s a little surprising, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Ethan’s twice my age and has lived a whole life before he even met me.

“Where is he now?” I ask.

“Last I heard, he was in California. But that was a while ago, so he could be anywhere. We haven’t talked in a long time,” Ethan says. “He blamed me for a lot of things, and our relationship just deteriorated. Well, maybe that’s being generous. We haven’t had a relationship in a long time. He hates me so much he even dropped my name. Legally. I’ve tried to contact him, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I’ve let him be.”

Talking about his son makes him uncomfortable. More than that, I can hear the pain in Ethan’s voice when he talks about him. He regrets not having a relationship with his son. It’s a source of hurt for him, even still. It makes me hurt for him.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

It’s lame and wholly inadequate. But I can’t think of anything better to say. There’s certainly nothing I can say that will ameliorate his pain in any way whatsoever.

“So, you’re a writer?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Freelance writer and editor, yeah,” I reply. “I hope one day to be a bestselling author.”

He smiles. “Yeah?”

I nod. “It’s going to happen one day.”

“I’d love to read your work.”

“You don’t have to say that to be polite.”

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