Page 43 of Endgame

“I might be lonely, Rourke,” I hissed, slamming my fork down on my plate. “But it’s temporary. It won’t last.” Climbing off the stool, I stalked towards him. “You’re the one who is going to end up completely alone,” I sneered before stalking out of the kitchen, appetite long gone.

Damn Rourke Owens.

Damn him to hell.

Mercedes

SHORTLY BEFORE OUR parents were due to leave for their trip, I found myself being led to a table by a waiter who looked more suitable to dine at this establishment than I did.

“Your family have yet to arrive, Miss,” he told me as he pulled out a chair for me to sit. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

“Thanks.” I sat down and smiled politely. “I’ll have a Coke if that’s okay?”

“I’ll be right back with that, Miss,” the waiter announced with a flourish before hurrying off.

My short black skirt, converse, ponytail, and coffee stained tee didn’t exactly say sophisticated – which was just what Chez Barelles screamed. I had just clocked off work and hadn’t time to go home and change. I had woken up late this morning to a flat tire on the front passenger side of my Comet.

I couldn’t be late to work, so I snagged a ride to the Coffee Shop with Gabe’s driver, Sergio, and had run three blocks across town to get here.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, I leaned back in my seat and took in my surroundings. The crisp white tablecloth laid over the round table looked ridiculously plush and expensive. I could never understand why restaurant owners did that. Why would they put white table cloths down? It was inevitable the fabric would get ruined. Sure, it was fancy, but it wasn’t practical.

The waiter returned with my Coke and I thanked him before taking a deep drink. The table was set for six people, myself included, and I wondered who our extra guest would be. Gabe had obviously talked Rourke into this family dinner bullshit. I checked the screen of my phone. 7:46

They were over fifteen minutes late. It pissed me off that Gabe had made such a big deal about all of us meeting on time and yet I was the only one here.

Another ten minutes slipped by and the waiter returned, looking down at me with a slightly impatient frown. He looked at the five empty chairs and made a low tutting sound as he tapped his pencil against the pad he was holding.

Embarrassed and equally annoyed, I threw my hands up. What could I say? I was here; I wasn’t responsible for the rest of my estranged family. Inconsiderate assholes.

Concentrating hard on my glass, I tipped it from side to side, watching as the two melting ice cubes clanked and slid around in the bottom of the empty glass.This sucked ass.

I waited another twenty minutes before admitting defeat and pushing back my chair. I apologized to the annoyed waiter and paid for my coke, tipping him my last ten bucks before hurrying out of the restaurant with my face blazing red.

When I reached the front of the restaurant, I inhaled a deep breath, taking in the smell of the ocean close by. I liked it. I hated that I did, but I liked being close to the water. It made me feel…free, even if that was silly. Wrapping my arms around myself, I mentally prepared for the twenty-minute walk back to Gabe’s place, and stepped out onto the street. My step faltered when I noticed the familiar black Chevrolet Silverado parked a few cars down the street.

Rourke was standing in front of the hood of his truck with his back to me.

Was he…?

Oh yeah, the extra pair of slender legs I noticed between his assured me Rourke was pressing some girl up against his fucking car. I was disturbed and oddly jealous. Ugh. Smacking down that notion, I glowered at the big bastard and stalked towards him.

“Where the hellwereyou?” Furious, I marched straight up to him. “I’ve been waiting in there for almost an hour and not one of you showed up!”

My accusatory tone didn’t go unnoticed and Rourke stiffened before slowly turning around to face me. He took a slow appraisal of my body before looking at me with a bored expression. “They cancelled.”

“They canceled?” I repeated, furious. “Are you fucking serious?”

Rourke glared at me. “Hey,” he snarled. “Don’t fucking shoot the messenger. I just found out myself.”

Message? “What goddamn message?” Huffing, I snagged my phone out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. “I didn’t get any message.”

Rourke growled and ran an impatient hand through his dark hair. “Your mother wasn’t feeling well today, so my Dad took her to the emergency room –”

“My Mom’s sick?” I interrupted, voice cracking. A shooting blast of paralyzing fear shot through me. “Omigod.”

“She’s fine,” he was quick to say. “Baby’s fine, too.” Rourke exhaled an impatient sigh, like giving me the news that my mother was fine pained him. “Some shit about cramping and spotting.”

“But she’s okay?”

---