"So you ran."
"Yes. Awful, right? I bailed on them. I ran away and started traveling the world as a Seeker. I guess that's when the running started. I was on the move, physically and emotionally. Since then, it's been easy to walk away from stuff that feels too close. Safer.
"Gideon, I didn't get mad at you back there because you censored your story. I was mad because you hold this part of me now. This scary, secret knowledge that I've been terrified my entire life for my mom. Terrified. I'm just not used to … trusting people. Letting them in."
"I'd never abuse that knowledge, Daryn. You don't have to be afraid of trusting me. I'm not your parents."
"My parents? What are you saying?"
"They bailed on you, Daryn. You can see that, can't you?"
"My mom is sick, Gideon. Depression is an illness. I left her."
"Is hiding behind work an illness?"
"You mean my dad?"
He shrugs-a quick, frustrated gesture. "It's your family. I shouldn't say anything."
"Tell me. I want to know."
"What your dad did was wrong. You don't turn your back on your kids because you're in too much pain to deal. He was the adult in the situation and he abandoned you. Your mom did, too. Maybe she couldn't help it because she was sick, but they left you before you ever left them. It sucks that that happened to you. If you felt the way you did in my truck your entire childhood, scared like that-and your dad was nowhere to help? I want to punch something when I think about it. It may be your dad if I ever meet him."
Emotions rise up and clash inside me like cymbals. Anger, banging against a deep, deep desire to heal, to go home.
I look up at the stars, my eyes blurring.
"I knew I should've kept my mouth shut," he says.
"No. I wanted to hear what you think. And … you're right." All this time I've been thinking about how I let them down, but Dad let me down, too. He gave up on me. I don't know why I never realized it before. Why I felt like I should've been stronger. I was scared out of my mind. And I had no one. And yet, I miss him. How can I miss him and feel abandoned by him? "I think I need to go home."
"You'll do it. You'll go home and get it worked out."
He makes it sound so simple, but I can't even wrap my head around the conversations I need to have. Will Dad forgive me for leaving? Will Mom? Can I forgive them? There's so much to work out. But I want to do it. I need to.
"So this is why you've been afraid of me?" Gideon says, after a moment. "You think I'll pull a move like your dad. That I'll head for the hills when you need me to be there for you?"
"First of all, I've never been afraid of you. I've been afraid of being with you. Secondly, you have it backward. I knew you wouldn't run. I was afraid I would. I was afraid I don't have the 'stick-around' gene, and that I'd just check out like my dad. By keeping things superficial, I was sparing us the bigger hurt when I leave."
He leans back a little, the tension releasing from his brow. He nods. "Solid read on me, Martin. But you're wrong about you."
"I am?"
"Hundred percent. You might take the long road from time to time, but you never actually leave. You're here for Bas, aren't you? And you're going home to your family when this is over, right? You're not a leaver. Especially not when it comes to me. You're in really deep when it comes to me. I mean, Daryn, you infiltrated a military base to take a picture of my ass. You're a goner. Believe me. You're not going anywhere."
I want to disagree with him, but I just laugh.
As ridiculous as he's being, I'm comforted by what he said. And relieved. Mostly though, what I feel is the profound desire to stay right where I am.
* * *
"Remember Bas's birthday cake?" Jode says as he finishes reading Sebastian's note for the third time. He passes it to Marcus, who hands it back to me.
Their earlier suspicion has eroded. As I look across the fire, the hope of finding Bas is tangible. It's in the glint in their eyes. Their easy smiles. The way no one complained about trail mix for dinner.
Bas knows we're here. He could show up at any moment.
We're so close now. So close.
We all feel it.
"You mean our collective unbirthday cake in Germany?" I say. "How could I forget?" We'd been on a train somewhere near Frankfurt, running from the Kindred, when Bas showed up in our private car with a birthday cake. An amaretto-infused cake frosted with layers of white and dark chocolate. "I think about that cake regularly."