Page 18 of Daddy Marc's Gem

Foster lowered his gaze. “He said it a lot. I sometimes wonder why he wanted me to come with him across the country.” He huffed. “I mean, what was the point when he was just going to dump me anyway.”

Marc rubbed soft circles on Foster’s back. “I’d like to spend a few minutes talking about that if you feel you can.”

“Edward?” He tilted his head. “Why? I don’t care about him anymore if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Come on. Let’s sit down and get comfortable.”

Marc guided Foster to the living room, settling them both onto the plush sofa. He kept one arm around Foster's shoulders, maintaining that physical connection that seemed to ground him.

Foster leaned his head against Marc’s shoulder, his breathing gradually steadying. “The way you talk to me is so different.” He paused, seeming to gather courage. “Edward always told me what I was doing wrong, how I should change. I was a nervous wreck around him. That’s what I meant, that there’s no reason to think I might still be thinking of him that way or want him back.”

Foster’s warmth and lithe frame were distracting pressed against his side, but Marc was determined to keep his mind on Foster’s feelings - not his dick.

“Thank you for telling me that, but I’m more worried by the way he’s haunting your thoughts. That even though he’s out of your life, you’re still using his opinions of you to inform how you believe others see you. Just because Edward claimed to know you, doesn’t mean he did. For him, you only existed to serve a purpose in his life, for his benefit. Obviously, he was attracted to you and wanted you for his own, or he never would’ve pursued you beyond a hookup. Many times in situations like this, the critical person is the one who doesn’t feel good enough. The only way they can handle that is to bring the other person down.”

Foster seemed deep in thought, so Marc continued. “He probably also grabbed on to your giving nature, that you want to please others and aren’t selfish the way he is. That’s like catnip to an abuser.” Marc framed Foster’s cheeks with his palms. He wanted to make sure Foster was truly listening. “You do understand that Edward was an abuser, right? Even if he didn’t physically hurt you, he did emotionally and psychologically.”

Foster’s eyes widened, his breath catching. “I never thought of it that way. Abuse seems like such a harsh word.”

“It is harsh.” Marc draped his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers resting lightly on Foster’s shoulder. “But so is what you endured. Manipulation, isolation, constant criticism—they leave scars as real as physical ones.”

Foster shifted, moving closer to Marc. “He'd always say I was too needy when I wanted to spend time with him, but then he’d get angry if I made plans with other people.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I stopped trying to make friends after a while. It was easier that way.”

A familiar anger simmered beneath Marc’s calm exterior—the kind that rose whenever he encountered someone who’d been mistreated. Whether working with a patient or at the club, he had to try extra hard to maintain his composure.

He forced himself to keep his voice gentle as he responded. “Classic isolation tactics.” Marc kept his tone measured despite the fury building inside. “He systematically cut you off from potential support systems. That’s textbook, Foster.”

Foster bit his lower lip, his eyes distant as if seeing his past relationship through a new lens. “I thought I was just being considerate of his feelings. That’s what relationships are supposed to be about, right? Compromise?”

“Compromise is mutual,” Marc explained, his thumb absently stroking Foster's shoulder. “What you’re describing is surrender. There’s a world of difference between the two, especially in our lifestyle.”

A small crease appeared between Foster’s brows. “Yeah, I can see that now. Everything you’ve been telling me about being a Daddy and taking care of your boy is so far removed from being with Edward…” He snorted. “It’s hard to believe I was that stupid.”

“Whoa, that’s not allowed with me. I won’t have you denigrating yourself.” At Foster’s stricken expression, Marc squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “No one can talk badly about my beautiful, sweet boy. Includinghimself.”

Foster ducked his head. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to this.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Marc pressed a kiss to Foster’s temple. “But I’ll be by your side, helping you with anything you need.” He carded his fingers through Foster’s soft hair. “Hey, I have an idea. If it’s not too late for you, why don’t we pick three main things for us to start working on together.”

“It’s not too late.” Foster scrunched his brow. “But can you give me an example of what you mean? Like somethingyouthink would be good.”

“Of course. But I want at least one of them to come from you without my influence.”

Foster chewed his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond Marc's shoulder. “I guess... I'd like to work on not apologizing so much.” His gaze flicked up to meet Marc’s, seeking approval. “What do you think?”

“That’s perfect.” Marc was filled with pride at Foster’s suggestion. “And it's something we've already identified as important. I'm glad you see it, too.”

Foster’s shoulders relaxed slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your turn.”

Marc considered for a moment, his fingers still idly stroking Foster”s hair. “I think we should work on you trusting your judgment more. Learning to value your own opinions and desires instead of immediately deferring to others.”

Foster grimaced. “That sounds... scary.” Even though he seemed reticent, there was no resistance in his tone. “But I think you're right.”

Marc nodded. “Excellent. Okay, one more. Why don’t you take this one?”

He winked, delighted that Foster chuckled instead of backing away from the challenge. Foster let out a long sigh.

“Okay, but it’s going to be as tough as the other two. We might spend the rest of our lives on these three things alone.” A furious blush bloomed in Foster’s cheeks. “Uh…I mean… I wasn’t saying that you and I…” He dropped his head in his hands. “I wish you hadn’t said I can’t talk badly about myself.”

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