Page 63 of Tamed

I didn’t know whether to be pleased that he hadn’t told me because of a promise he’d made to Dad or angry that he’d made the promise in the first place. “Why?” I asked.

“Because he thought that he’d be able to keep you safe from your mother’s family if you didn’t know who she was. And because….” Caleb paused a moment. “Her death devastated him.”

My heart twisted hard in my chest.

Your fault. If you hadn’t been born, she would still be alive.

Tears pricked at my eyes, except it was stupid to be upset. I already knew how devastated Dad had been, that wasn’t news. And anyway, it wasn’t as if I’d chosen to be born. How could it have been my fault?

Forcing the feeling aside, I leaned back against the soft white leather of the couch. “I know that. It’s been years and he still can’t say her name. So why did you agree?”

“Because Ten is my oldest friend and he’s your father. I was hardly going to tell him how to parent his own child.”

That was fair. I suppose. “Yet you told me about her last week.”

He glanced back at me. “Your lack of knowledge was a dangerous thing, and I told him that. I had to weigh up your safety compared to a promise and your safety was more important.”

“Could have thought of that sooner.”

“But I didn’t. So here we are. Do you want to know more or not?”

I didn’t care that I was being challenging. Because okay, I’d made some mistakes, but this was still important, and he had to understand that. “You telling me about Mom is great and all, but I’m still going to want to make contact with my grandparents. I want to know my cousins and aunts and uncles. I want to know my family.”

Something flickered over his face, gone so fast I couldn’t tell what it was. “If you want to know about the Hamiltons, it’s all there on the Internet.”

“I’ve been looking them up already, believe me.”

“Isabel,” Caleb began.

“I’m not looking to be invited to Thanksgiving or Christmas or whatever,” I said quickly before he could go on. “I don’t want to be in their lives. I just…want information. I want to know where I come from, don’t you understand that?”

He was silent, his black gaze expressionless, so I added, “I know I already said it but I’m going to say it again. I’m really sorry about what I said to you in your office today. It was uncalled for, and I didn’t mean it.” I took a breath. “My childhood wasn’t awful. I had Dad and I had you, and that’s more than a lot of people have.”

An intense light ignited in his dark eyes, something that burned as he looked at me. “You did.” Then he glanced away. “But you shouldn’t have. You should have had more. You needed more.”

Shock rippled through me. “What? What do you mean I needed more?”

He didn’t move, his back to me, staring through the windows and out at the night beyond. “You needed a mom. A dad. A house with a fucking white picket fence. Brothers and sisters and a yard to play in. You didn’t need to be babysat by a fucking criminal.”

I blinked, shock moving through me like a slow tide. Caleb had never said anything like this to me before, not once. I hadn’t had even an inkling that he’d felt this way. “That’s not true,” I said. “My childhood was fine. I didn’t want for anything. I was fed and clothed and I had people who cared about me—”

“Yet you have no problems at all with trying to contact one of the most powerful and dangerous families in the country because you want some family connection.” Slowly, he turned back to me, a ferocious look in his eyes. “And you didn’t even think twice before spreading your legs for the same criminal who used to babysit you.”

The shock moved deeper, freezing me. “But I—”

“You shouldn’t want those things, Isabel. If you’d had any decent childhood, those things should appall you. They should repel you. You should be running the fuck away from them instead of running headlong toward them.”

I blinked, a pressure in my chest starting to tighten.

Of course. This wasn’t only about the Hamiltons. This was also about Friday night and all the lines we’d crossed. Lines I hadn’t thought Caleb would care about and yet apparently, he did.

I took a sharp, silent breath. “You regret it, don’t you?” I hadn’t wanted to say those words because I didn’t want to know the answer. But they came out all the same. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? It’s about Friday night,”

The harsh, unforgiving lines of his face grew even harsher. “Yes. And yes, I regret it. I should never have touched you, Isabel.”

The word caught on something deep inside me, hurting me. “Why not? I’m an adult. You’re an adult. We both—”

“You’re nearly twenty years younger than I am. You’re barely a fucking adult. And I looked after you as a child.”

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