Page 50 of Auctioned to the Devil

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“You did.”

“Caleb.”

His jaw shifts. “What?”

“Why does protecting people make you crazy?”

That lands.

I know it the second his expression changes.

The teasing disappears.

I immediately wish I’d chosen different words.

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“I shouldn’t have said crazy.”

“You asked.”

He puts the knife down. For a moment I think he’s going to walk away. Instead, he reaches for his beer and leans against the counter across from me.

“My father liked to drink.”

I stay quiet.

“He was mean sober. Worse drunk.”

My fingers tighten around my wineglass.

“To your mother?”

He nods once.

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Sometimes us.”

Us.

“You have a sibling?”

He nods. “Abby.”

He takes a drink.

“Is she younger?”

“Two years.”

The pieces begin rearranging themselves.

Caleb checking locks.