“Do we?” They didn’t know what life was going to throw their way. They didn’t know if they’d survive this latest fracas. I don’t know that I’ll survive Ephraim Burton.

Gideon blinked at her, startled. “Of course we do.”

“Is that him?” John asked in a choked whisper.

Oh God. John was crying. Which made Mercy’s tears start all over again. Dammit. “Don’t cry, John. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” John claimed, then laughed weakly. “Okay, I am. Put us on FaceTime, Mercy.”

She did and grabbed a few tissues to wipe her face. God, her face hurt. Why did crying hurt so much? “John, this is Gideon Reynolds. Gideon, John Benz.”

Gideon stared at the screen, a look of wonder on his face. “Hi.”

John chuckled awkwardly. “Hi yourself. I’m . . . Well, this is unexpected. I’m . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Gideon.”

“Same here,” Gideon said, then pulled Mercy closer and kissed her temple. “Mercy and I cleared up a few . . . misunderstandings and she told me about you.”

“What kind of misunderstandings?” John asked, a little suspiciously.

Mercy threw up a prayer that John would be as forgiving as Gideon had been. “Do you remember when I told you that the man my mother married after she left Texas was abusive?”

John was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he finally said. “There was a lot you didn’t say, but you did tell me that.”

“I told you that she was killed while getting me away.”

“Yes, you did.” He hesitated. “But the PI who Grandpa Benz hired to find you could find no police reports about her death.”

“It wasn’t reported to the police,” Mercy said, unsure what she was allowed to say about Eden. She didn’t want to jeopardize the FBI’s ongoing investigation by revealing too much.

“John,” Gideon cut in. “This is a very long story that we should tell you in person, but I can give you the abridged version. Our mother took us to what she thought was a commune where we’d be safe and happy, but that didn’t turn out to be the case. She smuggled me out when I was thirteen. She smuggled Mercy out four years later, when she was almost thirteen. It was dangerous both times she did it. She . . . didn’t survive the second time.”

“Oh my God,” John whispered. “Mercy, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to think about it,” Mercy whispered back. “I’m sorry, John.”

“I didn’t talk about it, either,” Gideon said, half hugging Mercy again. “Not until a few months ago. It was traumatic. For both of us.”

Solidarity, she realized. Thank you, Gideon.

“All right,” John said slowly. “Hopefully one day you can tell me the unabridged version of that story. But can you tell me what was the misunderstanding that kept us all apart all this time?”

And this is the part where I admit to being a selfish person. “I was told that Gideon had tried to run away because he was lazy and didn’t want to work. I was told he’d died in his attempt. There were . . . consequences to his escape. Life was harder for my mother and me after that.”