Page 3 of Endgame

Only she had the ability to make a joke about Dad’s new wife without me losing my shit. Fran got it. She had known my mother. She’d been right here in this house when Camille Owens passed and every time my father brought home a newmommyfor us. “Can’t wait,” I shot back sarcastically.

“I’m expecting you both to be on your best behavior,” Dad interrupted. “You too, Frannie. Cassidy is important to me and I want her and Mercedes to feel welcome in Ocean Bay.”

“Of course, Daddy,” Amelia replied softly, not meeting my eyes.

“I meant you, Rourke,” Dad warned, eyes still locked on my face. “Don’t fuck this up for me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I shot back mockingly. My father had some fucking nerve asking me for anything. He didn’t deserve shit from me.

“Please,” Dad pressed, blue eyes locked on my face. “Promise me you’ll try and accept Cass and her daughter.”

“You know me, Dad,” I retorted dryly. “I’m not one to make promises I have no intention of keeping.”

Mercedes

I ALWAYS KNEW MY mother wasn’t a responsible person. The fact that I had attended no less than four schools in the last two years put proof to that particular pudding. Cassidy James was highly unconventional, and as reckless as a teenager jacked up on booze on prom night. She was thirty-three years old and I swear had never mentally passed the age of nineteen.

From a young age, I knew my mother wasn’t like the other kids’ moms. Having me when she was just a child herself, sixteen to be exact, had impacted her, and I think stunted her emotional growth rate. How I had managed to survive to the age of seventeen was a miracle in itself and a tribute to my sheer survival skills. I had pretty much brought myself –and her– up.

For years, we moved from town to town, city to city, and state to state; my mother chasing her latest dream, which usually came with a penis hanging between its legs.

Yeah, my mom loved men, and men loved my mom.

But as reckless and immature as she was, I never in my wildest dreams could have predicted my mother’s latest fuck up.

She was pregnant.

Yep.

She’d gone and gotten herself knocked up.

Again.

Without being married.

Again.

I wasn’t opposed to having children out of wedlock. I was, however, opposed to having children without a stable home or regular income.

My mother had neither.

Even I had heard about the sperm donor, Gabriel Owens, serial womanizer. The guy was richer than most and slicker, too. I’d only met him a handful of times and I knew enough from those encounters that they were a perfect match. He was vain and my mom was a babe.

Unsurprisingly, Gabe had kids, too.

One of each.

A son my age, Rourke, and a daughter, Amelia, a couple of years younger.

Both by different women.

At least he was consistent…

Mom was deliriously happy of course. She’d finally snagged her dream man. One with a big, fat wallet. And as if getting pregnant at her age wasn’t irresponsible enough, Mom had only gone and made herself Mrs. Owensthe fifth.

I mean, I could understand remarrying once, hell even twice, but five times?

Call me cynical, but that shit didn’t float with me.

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