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He grimaced. That was a dick move.
But she’d lied. Manipulated him. Then she’d gone behind his back with this quaint family gathering he had no interest in.
And worst of all?
He still wanted her.
Tension rolled over the table like a heavy mist.
Ben’s brows knit as he glanced between them. “I came with an offer for Gia. The clinic has a full-time position available when your contract ends.”
Surprise flickered across Gia’s face, followed by a flash of happiness so pure it nearly blinded Caleb.
Then came the crash. Her expression shuttered like someone had blown out a candle. “I’m honored—and I’d love to stay,” she said quietly. “But I can’t.”
“Because of the man you left?” Ben asked gently.
“It’s not safe.”
“We’ll make it safe,” Caleb said.
He shut his eyes as the realization of what he’d just committed to hit him.
But it made sense. She needed to be rid of Vincente Lopez if she was ever going to live in peace, and he wanted justice for his mother.
He could help her and himself at the same time.
She turned to him, startled. Wary. But a flicker of hope lit her eyes.
One that had him rubbing his chest as guilt burned a hole in his esophagus.
She didn’t know what he wanted in return.
A smile hovered on Ben’s lips, as if everything had turned in his favor. “Grandson, this job protecting others fulfills you?”
“Yes,” Caleb said, guarded. Where was this going?
“Your cousin feels the same way. Only he chose to return home after his time in the Marine Corps.”
Was that a hint of censure in the old man’s tone? A slow, decades old resentment writhed behind Caleb’s ribs. “Zach’s family didn’t shun him.”
Ben’s sigh was weary. “We never shunned you or your mother. I tried for years to get her to come home and bring you with her. She refused.”
It was on the tip of Caleb’s tongue to call his grandfather a liar. “My mother died believing her family abandoned her.”
Pain briefly seared Ben’s eyes. “You and my daughter were always welcome. Wanted. It was your father I wouldn’t welcome.”
He glanced at Gia, then back at Caleb. “Perhaps you would prefer we have this conversation in private.”
Bitter memories of Caleb’s childhood—of his mother’s pain—closed in fast. He wasn’t in the mood to be the polite dinner guest and wipe away unpleasantries with his napkin.
“Gia can hear whatever it is you have to say.”His grandfather took a slow sip of his water. “Very well,” he said, his voice low. “I apologize for speaking ill of your father.”
“No need to sugar-coat your opinion. He was a bastard.”
Resentment simmered beneath Caleb’s words. “But he’s been dead for years. Where have you been? Mom needed you.”
Pressure built in his hand—unnoticed until pain flared in his fingers. He glanced down. The fork was bent, metal warped from the force of his grip.