But a mere thirty minutes of research had cleared up a lot – and posed even more questions.
Montgomery Griffin – who, yes, goes by Griff – grew up in a trailer park two hours south of here, tinkering with busted-up motorbikes that he dragged home from junkyards.
Like some kind of Michigan MacGyver, he taught himself how to fix them, piece by greasy piece. By the time he was twenty, he was building custom motorcycles out of a rented garage.
Things took off after a video of one of his builds went viral. Turns out, people loved more than just his bikes.They loved the guy behind them.No polish, no PR team. Just raw talent, a serious work ethic, and a gift for design that couldn't be faked.
From there, he'd launchedGriffin Built –a company that specialized incustom parts and gear. In just a few years, he'd turned it into a cult brand among riders. He'd stayed hands-on the whole way until he'd sold the entire thing for a jaw-dropping fortune, which he'd promptly tripled through smart investments.
Billionaire status: unlocked.
The only thing I didn't understand was his dad.
David Montgomery. Apparently, he was the one who had brokered the sale – which at the time, had been promoted as a terrific father-son venture, at least on the business side.
There were no explanations as to why a Wall Street Wonder with so much money would leave his son – and the son's mom – to languish poor in a trailer park.
My heart ached as I recalled Griff telling me about the busted hot water heater and how he'd paid the plumber by washing bikes. At the time, I had assumed he meant bicycles.
But now?It was pretty obvious that at least some of those bikes had motors.
Wasthathow he'd gotten his start?
There had to be more to the story.
Desperately, I wanted to get it –allof it, every gritty detail, every moment of triumph, every step he'd taken to get where he was today.
But more than that, I wanted to say I was sorry – not so I could win him back, but because it was the decent thing to do after everything he'd done for me.
I owed him a huge thanks for favors I hadn't even realized I was getting.
Of course, a little voice whispered in my head, it would be really nice if we could give it another chance. But what if that hope was stupid? What if I'd been nothing but a fling all along?
If true, this would explain why he'd said so little of his past. But itcouldn'texplain why he'd taken so many steps – secret steps – to help me with the shop.
And he'd done it all on the sly so I wouldn't need to feel awkward or ashamed.
It really was incredible.
And selfless, too.
I loved him.
I knew this now.
I'd probably known it long before tonight. But fear of rejection, fueled by my disaster with Devon, had kept me quiet, playing it safe. I'd been afraid to show how I truly felt, much less say it.
Or maybe I'd been hoping that Griff would say it first.
Did he loveme?
He must, if he'd gone to so much trouble on my behalf – unless…maybe he just felt sorry for me?
If only I knew.
Regardless, in the big scheme of things, therealjerkwad was me.
Next to me, Tessa said, "Youdidhear me, right?"
