Possessive Doctor

by Hamel, B. B.

  “That’s what we’re here today to talk about. That ad. Everyone’s seen it, Mr. Gibbins. It’s quite the ad, you know.”

  “Look, I know it’s a little much. Targeting the whole country like that. It’s a little crazy. And the response has been amazing, it surely has, we live in the best country on Earth. But I just want my girl back and I’ll do whatever I gotta do to bring her home.”

  “Well, Mr. Gibbins, a million-dollar reward surely will help.”

  “I sure hope so. I think it should”’ He grins and winks at the camera.

  I reach out and slam the laptop lid shut. “That’s enough.”

  “It gets worse,” Lora says.

  I look at Amber. Her face is ghost white and she looks like she’s trembling.

  “I know it’s nuts,” Lora says, not noticing Amber’s expression. “But all the major news outlets picked it up. He’s all over the place on TV right now, doing all the interviews. I think he’s even going on radio stations. It’s honestly insane. It’s like a meme right now and people are going nuts. You should see the response on Reddit.”

  I stare at her. “Reddit?”

  “God, you’re old.”

  “I’m not old.”

  “It’s, like, a social media site. Sort of. Anyway, people are going crazy, posting about finding Amber, getting that reward. There’s a whole new community called AmberHunters and—”

  Amber lets out a choked sob. Lora finally notices her and stops. “Oh, honey,” she says, putting an arm around the girl.

  Lora hugs her and looks at me with this guilty frown. I shake my head and stand, pacing across the room.

  It’s getting worse. I hoped he’d stay with the Facebook ads. My parents don’t go on Facebook and while their friends do, it wouldn’t be too bad that way.

  But they all read the news. They all watch the news stations. And now that he’s broken through to that media level, they’re going to see it, whether they want to or not.

  Fucking shit. That’s not good. He’s still using my full name, which means the Lofthouse family sanctity is good and truly fucked in the ass.

  “I have to go talk to Mom.”

  Lora nods. “Go. I’ll stay with her.”

  I hesitate. The idea of leaving Amber right now… leaving her out of my sight for even a fucking second…

  “Go,” Amber says.

  I take a breath. “Stay with her. Don’t leave.”

  Lora nods again. “I will.”

  I turn and leave the room. I shut the door behind me and consider calling Archie to post some security outside of her room, but I decide against it. I don’t want to upset her even more.

  I hurry down the hall. At this hour, my father could be anywhere on the property. He likes to wander around and take his coffee on the move.

  But my mother will only be in one place.

  It takes me a few minutes to reach it. The room is tucked away in a secluded part of the mansion, up a long, spiraling staircase, right at the top of one of the towers that jut up the northwest side. I hesitate outside of the door.

  All through my childhood, we had lots of rules, but one was king above all others.

  We were not to disturb mother while she was busy in her room.

  I have a flashback to those times. I feel like a ten-year-old boy again, wishing to speak with his mother but too scared to knock. I’m not ten anymore and I don’t have to follow those rules.

  I knock on the door. I wait for her voice to call out softly. I open it and step inside.

  It’s light and airy. That’s my first thought. The room is surrounded by windows and the view is incredible. There are canvasses lining the walls, most of them leaning against each other, stacked in deep rows. Painting after painting, thrown all about. The floor is bare and simple and my mother is sitting on a stool in front of an easel, working on her latest piece.

  I hesitate in the doorway before shutting it behind me. She makes a few strokes, working on a simple realistic landscape. There are all kinds of styles around me, from abstract cubist to surrealistic to hyper realistic. Most of it is incredible, genuinely amazing. She could be famous if she wanted.

  If she had chosen another life.

  Instead, her work stays in this room. She paints every day, every morning, for a couple hours at least. I think it’s her stress release. She feels like she did something worthwhile, and the rest of the day can be faced with grim authority. But when she’s here, this is her time.

  I’m tempted to look at some of her latest. From what I can tell, she’s only gotten better, more interesting. Bold, fascinating colors, incredible compositions. But I don’t have time for that.

  She turns to me and places her brush down. Her hair is up and she looks tired. She looks her age. I can barely remember my mother looking anything but flawless, but right now, she looks like just another person.

  “Good morning, Brent,” she says.

  “Good morning, Mother.”

  “You haven’t been up here in a long time.”

  I laugh. “That’s because I’m not allowed.”

  She smiles a little. “No, well, you certainly weren’t. I remember I let you up here once, when you were two. I was still pregnant with Shaun, ready to burst really.” She laughs softly. “You walked right up to my paintings, grabbed a brush still wet from the day’s work, and started making your own little marks. I was horrified, but I kept that painting. Did I ever show you? I think it’s my favorite.”

  I can’t help but smile. “You never told me that story before.”

  “No, I suppose I haven’t.” She clears her throat. “Well. You’re here to talk about the girl.”

  “I am.”

  “So let’s talk.” She shifts to face me. “I know about the news. I know about the father.”

  “She’s a good person. And you have to realize he’s a bastard.”

  “I watched an interview. He’s an interesting man. Very… loud.”

  “He’s a monster. He broke her leg.”

  She frowns. “Did he now?”

  “Pushed her down stairs. It’s how this all started. I realized the breaks couldn’t be from a car crash, but…” I shake my head. “He did it. She admitted as much. And there’s more, but I can’t go into that.”

  “Yes, I see. So he broke her leg. So what?” She cocks her head.

  I gape at her. “So… what?”

  “So what? What does that have to do with us, Brent? Come now, don’t be a child. Surely you understand the stakes here. We aren’t just some family.”

  “I know, but—”

  “People rely on us, Brent. Without us, people would be out of jobs. We provide for this town and for other towns all across America. And the family stays wealthy and powerful because of it. But once you began to sully our name, drag it through the mud…”

  “Mother.” I stare at her. “This is a person we’re talking about.”

  “Yes. And that person’s father is on television using your name. Saying horrible things.”

  “So let’s speak out,” I say. “Let me go speak with the media. Let me tell her story.”

  “No.” She stares at me. “Absolutely not.”

  “Mother—”

  “She’s a liability. I let her stay last night because you so clearly wanted it and so clearly believe in it. I think you may also be in love with her, but I’m not sure about that. You may not even realize it yourself. But this has gone further than I expected faster than I anticipated.”

  “She can’t go,” I say.

  “She has to.”

  We stare at each other. The tension in the room is thick.

  “I won’t let her leave.”

  “I’ll have security escort you both out.”

  I laugh, one barking, angry laugh. “You won’t. I’m the oldest and the eventual heir. You know it and I know it.”

  She doesn’t say a word.

  “Mother, we can’t throw her aside. I won’t do it. We have to come up with some other
plan.”

  “Your father is angry.”

  “So let him be angry. He loves being angry. It’s his favorite thing.”

  That gets a little smile. “She has to go, Brent. Sooner rather than later.”

  “I won’t throw her aside,” I say again. I feel my heart racing in my chest.

  I’ve never stood up to my mother like this. Oh, I’ve disobeyed her, I’ve argued, but I’ve never straight up told her that she’s wrong. My mother is a brilliant woman and she almost runs the household, but in this, I know I’m right. And I won’t back down.

  She lets out a breath. “This won’t end well.”

  “I know.”

  “Then it’s on you.”

  “I’ll take the burden.”

  She turns back to her painting and takes up the brush. “Then go take it on. But you don’t have long. I won’t allow this to go on. If you force my hand, you won’t like it.”

  I nod and turn, leaving the room without another word.

  I descend down the steps. I hear the door close above me.

  I feel the ax hanging in the air above my head, ready and waiting to drop. One mistake, and it’s finished.

  But I won’t toss her aside. I won’t do that to her or to myself. She’s mine and I’m going to keep her.

  Now it’s time to figure this out.

  17

  Amber

  I let out a low groan as Brent makes me feel so, so good.

  “There you go,” he whispers. “How’s that? Deep enough?”

  “Oh, god. Deeper. Please.”

  He chuckles and pushes. I groan again. “Stop, okay. It hurts.”

  He eases off a little bit, his grip on my knee. “Better?”

  “Right there.”

  He stretches me out and slowly eases my leg down. I let out a sigh of relief. He leans back and laughs a little bit. “You’re doing great, you know,” he says.

  “Really? I feel like I haven’t gotten any mobility back at all.”

  “That’s not true.” He taps my knee gently. “You’re a lot more flexible now than you were when we first met.”

  “Come on, no way.”

  “I’m serious.”

  I give him a look and he laughs. “You’re just trying to make some lewd sexual joke.”

  “Please.” He grabs my hair and tackles me to the floor. I let out a gasp as he straddles me and pins me down. “I don’t need to make a joke, my darling.” He kisses my lips and I squirm underneath him. Anyone could come in and see him pinning me down there, taking me, but god, I don’t care.

  He releases me and I push him off, even though I wish he’d stay. He laughs and strands, stretching a little bit. “How about some more work?”

  “How about you work and I watch?”

  He laughs again. I haven’t seen him so light like this before. Ever since he talked with his mother, he seems like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

  I tried to get him to tell me what they spoke about, but he refused to say. He said he didn’t want to lie to me, and I didn’t really want to know. I decided to let it go there, but I can’t stop thinking about what their meeting was about.

  Still, it’s nice to see him like this. He walks over to a weight bench and starts to do some reps. I watch him, just leaning against the wall. His muscles are gorgeous and his form is impeccable as he lifts over and over again before stopping and switching sides.

  When he’s done, he looks over at me. “You want a turn?”

  “No, thanks. I like the view better anyway.”

  “Of course you do.” He winks. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “I definitely can. I just choose not to.”

  He smirks at me and flexes a little bit. “Tell me you’re not swooning right now. And I’ll call you a liar.”

  “I don’t swoon.”

  “You do. You’re a lady.”

  “If I didn’t have a broken leg, I’d beat you up right now.”

  “I’d very much like to see you try one day.”

  I roll my eyes at him and he just laughs, flexing some more. I throw a water bottle at him and he easily dodges it.

  He goes back to working out and I just watch him. I can lose myself in the way the day flows along, spending time with Brent, working out, watching movies, sleeping together. At moments like this, Brent’s body bending to lift, his muscles straining, his face serious but still playful, aware of me watching, at moments like this I can forget about my father. I can forget about my past.

  At moments like this, I think I have a future.

  When he’s finished, I struggle to my feet. He runs over and helps me up the rest of the way and hands me the cane. I lean on it, but I don’t feel like I need it. I feel strong for once.

  “I’m starving,” I say.

  “I’m almost finished. Want to wait for me?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m going down to the kitchen. Think I can just ask for something?”

  “Sure. Dorian’s going to yell at you, but you can do whatever you want.”

  “Good.” I touch his face. “Don’t wait up.”

  He grins. “I’ll come find you in a few. I’m nearly done.” I turn and start walking away. I get to the door before he calls out again. “Oh, Amber. Don’t mind the suits.”

  “What?” I ask, looking back at him.

  But there’s a mischievous little gleam in his eye. “You’ll see.”

  I hesitate, frowning. I don’t like that look. It doesn’t mean anything good. But I turn away and leave the room.

  As soon as I’m in the hall, I sense something. It’s someone following me, walking at a polite distance. I turn and nearly stumble as two men wearing dark suits are following nearby. They stop when I stop and just look at me with passive expressions on their faces.

  “Uh, can I help you?” I ask.

  “Security, ma’am,” one of them says. He has dark eyes, dark hair, and a face anyone would forget.

  “Oh, god, no. I’m okay. Really.”

  “You’re not, ma’am. Brent ordered it.”

  I hesitate then groan. The suits.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Johnson. This is Patricks.”

  The other guy, just as boring, nods at me.

  I sigh heavily and turn away. I don’t know what I can say that’ll change things, and besides, it actually does kind of feel good to have them around.

  Truth is, last time I went wandering around his house, I ended up getting abducted. There’s no guarantee that these two won’t try the same thing, but for some reason I feel better with them nearby.

  So I head to the kitchen. Johnson and Patricks follow close, but not too close, and I can almost forget they’re following… almost.

  The kitchen is busy when I step inside. It’s hot and loud. People are shouting and I honestly can’t understand half of it. I think someone’s screaming in French as I stand there awkwardly, hoping someone will notice me.

  Finally, the guy in the chef’s outfit steps from behind a station, brandishing a large spatula. “YOU,” he shouts at me. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

  “Something… to eat?”

  I catch the eye of a woman chopping onions. She’s trying not to laugh.

  “SOMETHING… TO… EAT?” The man stares at me like I’ve gone insane. “You come into my kitchen and you ask for…. Just… something to eat?”

  “Lunch?”

  The girl bursts out. Dorian walks over to her and yells, “WORK.”

  She stops laughing but she’s still grinning as she chops faster.

  The man turns to me. I start to think I’ve made a huge mistake.

  “You want lunch,” he says. “Okay. I can do lunch. What do you want? Soup? Sandwich?”

  “What are they making?” I ask.

  “They are making WHAT I TELL THEM TO MAKE.” His face turns red and spittle flies out from between his lips. I take a big step back. He closes his eyes and breathes. “I can make you omelet. You like ome
let?”

  “Yes,” I say, willing to eat literally anything at this point.

  “Good. Go sit. I’ll cook and bring it to you.” He walks away, speaking French to himself.

  I stare after him in shock. The girl chopping onions looks at me and grins. “He makes really good omelets,” she says. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.”

  I smile a little at her. “Thanks.”

  She winks and goes back to chopping furiously. I hurry away and find a small room in the back with a few tables and chairs. It’s clearly for staff, but it’s empty and quiet and I don’t feel like being disturbed, so I sit down.

  My two security men stand just outside the door, one on each side, looking intimidating.

  I sit there looking at the table top for a long moment before I close my eyes. Before I can fall asleep, I hear something. I open my eyes and look up.

  The onion girl pushes a little cup toward me. “Tea,” she says and leaves.

  I take it and sip it happily. It’s really good, rich and bold.

  Dorian himself swoops in not long later. He has an elaborate plate with an omelet on top. It’s the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen, with cheese and vegetables. He puts it in front of me and stand there for a moment. He waits until I take a bite.

  “Holy shit,” I say, my eyes wide.

  It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.

  He nods approvingly. “Yes, bon. Enjoy.” He turns and leaves the room, as if my appreciation of his cooking was enough.

  I stare at the food. It’s seriously incredible. Light and fluffy yet rich and delicious. I devour the whole thing in like three bites, barely stopping to chew. I can’t get enough of it. I want to hunt that man down and beg him to cook one for me again, but I think he’ll beat me if I do that.

  As I lean back in my chair with a happy groan, someone appears in the doorway. I expect it to be the onion girl again. “Thanks for the tea,” I say, looking over.

  But it’s not her. Brent’s mother cocks her head. “Tea?” she asks.

  “Sorry,” I say, standing up. I wince in pain as my leg aches.

  She frowns slightly. “Sit back down.”

  I do as she commands.