Christ, it wasn’t actually a road he traversed with anyone. The story of his parents’ relationship was so screwed up that even now, twelve years after he’d separated himself from both of them, it still made him itch with discomfort when he thought about them. Yeah, he’d begged his mother, all right. Enough, he’d said. He’s not coming back to you. He’s never coming back to you. And then she’d slapped him. As the sting had settled in his cheek, he’d known it wasn’t about him. He’d known she’d immediately regret lashing out at the one person who’d stood by her all those pathetic years. He’d known she’d cry and beg forgiveness and say This is it. Last move. I promise. Like she’d done so many times before. But this time he’d finally been old enough to see the situation for what it was. His father had knocked her up, but had never once claimed responsibility for the child he’d left her with. He was a military man, but in Gunnar’s mind, he didn’t embody the least of the qualities of one.
