Chapter 29
GIDEON
Ifound her in the main living room, curled into the corner of a massive leather sofa like she'd been there for hours.
She was wearing clothes that weren't hers—black leggings and an oversized T-shirt with PROMENADE written across the front in delicate script.
Her hair was damp, pulled back loosely, and her face looked scrubbed clean.
She looked young. Fragile. And somehow stronger than I'd ever seen her.
The other women were scattered around the room—some on sofas, some on the floor, mugs in hand, voices low and soft. They looked up when I appeared in the doorway, and something passed between them. A silent communication that ended with most of them finding reasons to drift toward other rooms.
Portia paused on her way past me, hand briefly touching my arm. "She's good," she said quietly. "We've got her."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Then it was just Hazel and me and the too-big room and the weight of everything that had happened.
She stood when she saw me, unfolding from the sofa with careful movements, like her body still wasn't sure it belonged to her. Our eyes met across the space, and something in my chest unlocked.
I crossed to her in three strides and pulled her into my arms.
She came willingly, melting against me, her face pressed to my chest, her hands fisting in the back of my shirt. I held her like she was the only thing keeping me upright. Maybe she was.
"You okay?" I murmured into her hair.
"Getting there," she said, voice muffled against my sternum. "You?"
"Same."
We stood like that for a long moment, breathing together, finding our rhythm again after the chaos had scattered it.
Finally, she pulled back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes were clear—tired, but clear. "What happened in there? With your dad?"
"He talked. We listened. There's a lot I still don't understand." I touched her face, needing the contact, needing to confirm she was real and here and safe. "But I need to talk to him. Just him and me. Not in a room full of people."
"Of course," she said immediately. "Go. I'm—" She glanced back at the doorway where voices drifted from somewhere deeper in the house. "I've got a lot of catching up to do with the Dane women, apparently."
I studied her face, looking for signs of strain or fear or that careful mask she wore when she was pretending to be fine. I didn't find any of it. What I found instead was something softer. Something that looked almost like ... contentment.
"You like being here," I said, surprised by how much relief that brought me.
Her mouth curved. "I think I do. Is that weird?"
"No." I kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth—soft and brief and full of things I didn't have words for yet. "It's perfect."
She smiled against my lips. "Go talk to your dad. I'll be here when you're done."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
I kissed her once more, then forced myself to let go and turn away before I changed my mind and stayed.
My father was waiting in the hall outside the war room, hands in his pockets, shoulders against the wall. He looked up when I approached, and something flickered across his face—hope, maybe, or fear. Both.
"Walk with me?" he asked.
I nodded.
We moved through the halls of Dominion Hall in silence, past closed doors and empty offices, until we found ourselves outside on a wide veranda that overlooked the harbor.
The night air was cool and damp, heavy with salt.
Below us, water lapped against pilings, a steady rhythm that felt older than any of this.
My father stopped at the railing, hands gripping the wood, gaze fixed on the dark water. I stood beside him, close enough to touch but not touching, and waited.
"I kept tabs," he said finally. "On all of you. Every one of my sons. Montana and Charleston both."
The words landed like stones.
"I know that doesn't make it better," he continued. "Watching from a distance isn't the same as being there. But I need you to know—I never stopped being your father. Even when I couldn't be in the same room. Even when I had to stay dead."
My hands curled into fists on the railing. "Why?"
"Why did I keep tabs? Or why did I leave?"
"Both." The word came out rougher than I'd meant it to. "All of it. Why you left. Why you stayed gone. Why you let us think you were dead for fifteen years." My voice cracked. "Why you let me become nothing."
He turned to look at me then, and the pain in his eyes was so raw it nearly knocked me back a step. "You were never nothing, Gideon."
"I felt like nothing." The confession ripped out of me, jagged and bleeding.
"You were everything to me. You taught me to track, to hunt, to read the weather and the land and the spaces between what people said and what they meant.
You made me feel like I could do anything.
Be anything. And then one day you were just .
.. gone. No explanation. No body. Just gone. "
My throat was burning now, eyes hot. I didn't try to stop it.
"I was twelve," I said. "Twelve years old, and the only thing that made sense in my world disappeared. And I spent the next fifteen years trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. What I'd failed at. Why I wasn't enough to make you stay."
"Gideon—"
"No." I shook my head, hands shaking on the railing. "You don't get to tell me I wasn't nothing when that's exactly what I felt like. Every single day. I turned into a ghost because you became one first. I learned to disappear because you taught me that people you love just ... vanish."
The silence that followed was crushing.
My father's hands were white-knuckled on the railing beside mine. His jaw worked like he was trying to find words and failing.
"You're right," he said finally, voice hoarse. "You're absolutely right. I did that to you. To all of you. And there's no apology big enough to fix it."
"Then why?" I demanded, turning to face him fully.
"Why leave? And don't tell me it was to protect us.
Don't give me some tactical bullshit about The Vanguard or Department 77 or any of it.
I need to know why you chose to disappear instead of fight.
Why you chose to let your sons grow up thinking they'd lost you. "
He closed his eyes. Took a long, shaking breath. When he opened them again, they were wet.
"Because I was terrified," he said simply. "Because I'd done things—created things—that I couldn't undo. And the people who wanted control of those things wouldn't stop at me. They'd go through you. All of you. Your mothers. Anyone I loved."
He turned to face me, and I saw my own eyes reflected back at me—storm-gray and too full of things that hurt.
"I thought if I disappeared, they'd focus on finding me instead of using you against me," he continued. "I thought I could draw their attention away long enough for you all to grow up strong and safe and together. The way I'd taught you to be."
"And did it work?" I asked bitterly.
"For a while." His mouth twisted. "But The Vanguard plays a long game. They waited. Watched. Let you all build lives and find people you cared about. And then they started applying pressure. Ethan. Lucas. Caleb. Jacob." His gaze locked on mine. "You."
"Sam Jarrow."
"Sam Jarrow," he agreed. "And when I saw that bomb vest, when I realized they were willing to kill you all just to send a message—" His voice broke. "I couldn't watch anymore. I couldn't stay hidden and let my sons face that alone."
I wanted to stay angry. Wanted to hold onto the rage and hurt that had carried me through fifteen years of his absence. But looking at him now—older, grayer, worn down by years of hiding and watching and carrying the weight of too many secrets—I couldn't.
He looked tired. Human. Breakable.
"I kept tabs," he said again, softer this time.
"I know that's not enough. But I need you to know that I watched you become one of the best damn operators in the field.
I saw every mission report I could get my hands on.
Every commendation. Every time you put yourself between danger and someone who needed protecting. "
His hand moved like he wanted to reach for me but didn't dare.
"I watched you walk away from active duty and disappear into contract work," he continued. "Watched you drift. And it killed me, Gideon. Killed me to see you lost and alone and not be able to tell you why. Not be able to pull you back."
"I wasn't lost," I said quietly. "I was hiding. Same as you."
He flinched like I'd hit him.
"But then I found Hazel," I continued. "Or she found me. Or we found each other. I don't know. But she made me want to stop hiding. Made me want to build something instead of just survive."
"I know." His smile was sad and proud and broken all at once.
"I saw that, too. Saw the way you looked at her.
The way you planted yourself between her and danger without even thinking about it.
That's when I knew I had to come back. Because you'd finally found something worth staying for.
And I'd be damned if I let The Vanguard take that from you. "
The words settled between us, heavy and true.
"I'm proud of you," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Of all of you. Every single one of my sons. You became exactly what I hoped you'd be—strong, capable, loyal. You found each other across impossible distances. You built families. You stood together even when the world tried to tear you apart."
His hand finally moved, landing on my shoulder with a weight that felt like fifteen years of absence and love and regret all compressed into one touch.
"You were never nothing, Gideon," he said again. "You were always everything. And I'm sorry I wasn't there to tell you that when you needed to hear it most."
Something cracked open in my chest—something I'd kept locked and guarded since I was a kid and my world ended.
"I don't know how to forgive you," I said honestly. "I don't know if I can."
"I know." He nodded, accepting it. "And I'm not asking you to. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I just need you to know that I never stopped being your father. Never stopped loving you. Never stopped watching and hoping and praying that you'd find your way to something good."
"I did," I said. "I found Hazel. And the inn. And something that feels like it might be home."
"Then hold onto it." His grip tightened on my shoulder. "Hold onto her. Build that life. Let me help keep it safe."
I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw not the hero I'd worshipped as a kid or the ghost who'd haunted me for fifteen years, but just a man. Flawed and scared and trying his best with impossible choices.
"I'm still angry," I said.
"Good." His mouth curved slightly. "You should be."
"And I don't trust you. Not completely. Not yet."
"I'll earn it back," he said. "However long it takes."
I nodded slowly, feeling something shift inside me. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But maybe the beginning of something like understanding. Like the possibility that someday, we might find our way back to each other.
"She's good for you," my father said, glancing back toward the house where Hazel waited. "Your girl. She's strong. Stubborn. Sees right through your bullshit."
Despite everything, I smiled. "Yeah. She does."
"Don't let her go."
"I won't." The certainty in my voice surprised me. "I'm going to marry her. Build a life with her. Figure out how to make that inn into something that's ours."
Pride flashed across his face, bright and unmistakable. "Good. That's good, son."
Son.
The word hit different now. Not like a weapon or a reminder of everything I'd lost. Just ... a fact. Simple and complicated and true.
We stood there in silence for a while, watching the harbor lights reflect off dark water, breathing the salt air, existing in the same space without needing to fill it with words.
Finally, I spoke. "Tell me something you remember. Something about me."
He considered that, gaze distant. When he spoke, his voice was soft.
"When you were eight, you climbed that big oak behind the house—the one I told you was too dangerous.
You made it almost to the top before the branch cracked.
I was there in seconds, but you'd already caught yourself on a lower branch.
You looked down at me with this expression—not scared, not proud, just .
.. certain. Like you knew exactly who you were and what you could do.
And I thought, 'That one's going to be fine.
That one's got something inside him that won't break. '"
His eyes found mine. "I was right. You didn't break, Gideon. Even when I gave you every reason to. You bent. You adapted. You survived. And now you're building something beautiful. That's more than most men ever manage."
My throat was too tight to speak. I nodded instead, once, sharp.
"Go back to your girl," he said gently. "She needs you more than I do right now."
"What about you?"
"I'll be here." He smiled, sad but genuine. "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."
I believed him. Or at least, I wanted to. And maybe that was enough for tonight.
I turned to go, then stopped. Looked back.
"Dad?"
He straightened at the word, hope flashing across his face.
"Thank you," I said. "For coming back. For tonight. For Sam Jarrow."
His eyes went bright. "Always, son. Always."
I left him there on the veranda, looking out at the water, and walked back inside to find Hazel.
She was still in the living room, now curled up with Vivienne and Lexi, laughing at something Portia had just said. When she saw me, her whole face lit up.
I crossed to her, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her like we had all the time in the world and I was still going to make every second count.
When we finally broke apart, she was smiling.
"Good talk?" she asked softly.
"Yeah," I said, surprised to find it was true. "Good talk."
"Ready to go home?"
Home. The word settled in my chest, warm and right.
"Yeah," I said again. "Let's go home."
And for the first time in fifteen years, I knew exactly where that was.