“They’ve always meant more to you than anyone else did.” Her mother’s tone was hoarse, tears and anger filling her voice as she rose shakily to her feet.
“That’s enough, Greta,” Hans demanded, turning to her, his expression tortured. “For God’s sake, let this go.”
“When you were five and the Breeds revealed themselves, you cried for them and told Mark all you wanted was for someone to save them. Until then, Mark hadn’t involved himself in hacking, or in trying to save anyone. He was a good boy who loved his family . . .”
“Mark still loved his family,” Gypsy stated, her heart breaking, burning in pain as the accusation deepened in her mother’s eyes.
“For God’s sake, he acted as though you were his child,” her mother cried painfully as her father turned and paced away, a grimace contorting his face. “From the moment you were born. He even diapered and bathed you.”
“Because otherwise she cried in constant pain because her diaper wasn’t changed often enough, or stank of urine because she wasn’t bathed regularly,” her father finally bit out, turning back to the room as Gypsy’s gaze swung back to him in surprise. “We were too busy building a business that went nowhere and running a store that was no more than a f**king joke.”
Anger filled his tone as tears fell down her mother’s face once again.
“That isn’t true,” her mother sobbed.
“God, Greta, it is true. Mark was barely ten when Gypsy was born, and within months he was the one caring for her, because we were too damned busy or too damned drunk,” he assured her with such loving gentleness that Gypsy had to turn away from the sight of it or lose control of the tears she was barely holding in check. “By the time Gypsy was fifteen, neither of us even knew who or what our child was becoming, except that she was Mark’s. And Mark made certain we didn’t forget it if we tried to step in.”
“No . . .” Greta fought to disagree, the pain that filled her expression so great that the hollow grief in her eyes was almost alive.
“For God’s sake, admit it.”
Gypsy flinched at the anger in her father’s voice as it rose in response to the continued denial.
Greta lowered herself back to the couch, shaking her head as she lifted shaking hands to cover her tear-drenched face.
“Wyatt told us that night what happened,” he said furiously, moving to the couch to stand over her mother, his rare display of anger shocking Gypsy. “If Gypsy had been home that night she would have died as well, and you know it. Just as Mark would have . . .”
“If she hadn’t made him hack those bastards, then it wouldn’t have happened.” Her mother came off the couch, rage engulfing her as she pointed a shaking finger at her daughter and faced her husband in blind grief. “She made him do it.”
“I’m starting to wonder if your parents weren’t right where your mental abilities are concerned,” he accused her roughly. “Because God as my witness, Greta, we both know even now that there wasn’t a force on this Earth that would have convinced him to do something he didn’t want to do. And that’s the same lesson he taught the child he raised. He raised her, and he did a damned fine job doing so, because from what I’ve heard, she’s done nothing but honor him since his death.”
“You’re as blind to her as Mark was,” Greta cried out as Gypsy watched the anger now flowing between her parents.
“And you’re still just as blind to the fact that you’ve always blamed an innocent child for the fact that Mark had far more of a life than the one we forced upon him when he took her to raise.”
She’d never seen such displays from them, but as she watched them, she realized the tension she’d always felt around them might not have been just the anger her mother felt at Mark’s death but perhaps their anger with each other as well.
“The person who betrayed Mark is at fault, no one else,” Gypsy interceded during the apparent lull in the argument. “Mark lived the life he wanted to live, even I know that.
“I was too irresponsible.” Her father shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts before pacing to the window once again. “Too damned stupid to be the father I should have been.” He shook his head as he turned his back on them. “And your mother was no better. She simply refuses to accept it.”
Her mother’s breathing hitched on a sob as she sat down once again, staring at the floor.
“Where’s Kandy?” Greta whispered a second later, her head lifting to stare back at Gypsy miserably. “I kept trying to keep ahead of her at the hotel so she wouldn’t be in the elevator with us, just in case we were caught. She didn’t know about the device. You can’t punish her.”
“I’m not punishing anyone, Mom,” she breathed out painfully, aching for the parents she’d never had, and the ones that had never existed. “I thought Kandy would be here, but she must have decided to wait.”
“She decided she can’t face either of us,” Hans sighed, his back still turned to them. “And I don’t blame her. I don’t blame either of you.”
Weary acceptance stooped his shoulders as Greta covered her face with her hands once again and lost the battle with her sobs.
He turned back, glanced at his wife heavily, then stared back at Gypsy. “What will happen to your mother, Gypsy?”
He loved her, Gypsy knew. Loved her mother until nothing or no one else mattered. Or had mattered.
“As I said, you’ll be released soon, by tomorrow afternoon, though mentioning this to anyone will see you very publicly arrested and formal charges filed.” She pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Don’t say anything, pretend it never happened, and if we’re extremely lucky, perhaps I can make it all go away.”
“You?” Her mother questioned her, voice rough and filled with doubt. “How can you do anything?”