Mom has set a spread for breakfast like she does every weekend morning. If she’s not at work on the ward at our local hospital, she’s in the kitchen with her cookbooks and enjoying every second of it.My stepdad stares at me from across the table. “Where were you last night?”I raise a brow. “Samson’s, why?”“We heard the front gates opening in the middle of the night.”Dropping my gaze to my plate, I shrug. “Wasn’t me.”The table shakes as his hand slams down on the surface. “Don’t lie, boy.”“Gavin,” Mom scolds. “He said it wasn’t him.”“Well, it wasn’t my son.”He likes to point out on the regular that Blaise is his son, that I am not anything of biology to him, and that he has a strong bad taste toward me. He thinks I’m my dad. I look like him, and apparently, I’m going to grow up to act like him too.If I ever become a family man, the last thing in the entire world I’d do is abuse them. I wouldn’t force my son to drink gasoline and make him puke it back up, and I wouldn’t make my
Last Updated : 2025-03-22 Read more