Page 2 of Endgame

He can’t fix her. He should be able to fix her. Dads are supposed to fix things.

“Goodnight, my darling,” Momma whispers as I am carried out of the room kicking and screaming.

And even though I’m small, I know that this is the last time I will see my mother awake.

Rourke

“ROURKE! ARE YOU LISTENING to me?” My father’s voice drilled through my ears, loud and piercing and so very fucking annoying.

Grabbing my pillow, I dragged it over my head and buried my face in the mattress. “Go the fuck away,” I mumbled drowsily.

“Get up, Rourke,” Dad continued, tone surprisingly persistent. “Cassidy and her daughter will be here soon.”

Oh joy.

“Again.” I released a growl, struggling to resist the urge to jump off my bed and kick his ass for being such a dumb fuck. “Go away.”

“Rourke,” Dad said with a weary sigh. “Please. I need you to make an effort today. This is –sheis important to me.”

Like I gave a shit.

“Rourke?” Dad tried again.

Fine!“I’ll be down in a sec,” I grumbled, angry at myself for giving into this bullshit farce.

This wasn’t the first time my father had asked me to make an effort for a woman. He’d spurred that same sentence about wives four, three, and two before this one.

“Thank you,” Dad replied, tone laced with relief, before slipping out of my room.

When I heard the door click shut behind him, I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling.

I remained perfectly still as I stared at nothing in particular and fought to get my heart rate under control. It was a difficult thing to do when I was two seconds away from losing my shit.

Reaching into the drawer of my nightstand, my fingers curled around the old, familiar, leather bound journal and just like that, my heartbeat steadied. Clutching the journal to my chest, I closed my eyes and breathed slowly.

I hated my father.

It was a bold statement to make, and a cliché one, too, but I meant it. I fucking despised the man who was partially responsible for my existence.

My father was weak in nature, temporary in loving, lacking in loyalty, and displayed every characteristic I couldn’t stand in a human.

Cassidy James.

Wife number five.

What a fucking joke.

WHEN I FINALLY hauled my ass out of bed and trudged downstairs, both Dad and Amelia were in the kitchen along with Fran, our semi-retired housekeeper. Dad was hovering over his iPad with a deep frown etched across his face. Amelia was standing near the stove, watching over Fran as she stirred a pot of her famous pea soup.

“Rorky-Porky,” Fran called out, noticing my arrival. “Come on over and taste this for me, boy. Your little sissy ain’t real good at telling an old lady the truth.”

Smiling fondly at the old woman who was solely responsible for raising me and my little sister when our father checked out on us, I walked over and took a sip from the wooden spoon Fran was holding out to me. “Millie ain’t lying, Fran,” I told her with a smile. “Your soup tastes better every time you make another batch.”

Fran beamed up at me, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. “You’re a charmer, Rourke Owens.”

No, I wasn’t, but I loved that old woman like she was my blood. My affections for Fran somehow managed to cover my usual assholeness.

“Are you excited to meet your new mama?” Fran asked with a wink.

---