The Jerkwad Was Me
Maisie
I sank deeper onto the sofa. "And they're not even bike-bikes. They're motorcycles."
Tessa had returned just an hour ago, saying nothing about where she'd been. I did ask. But as usual, she'd been incredibly vague.
Even so, I hadn't wasted any time before apologizing for the other night. And to her credit, she had, too, telling me that she hadn't meant to overreact.
In the end, we'd hugged it out, and here we were – back on the same couch, discussing the exact same topic.
Griff.
Tessa gave me a sympathetic look. "Well, I guess that explains it."
I wasn't following. "Explains what?"
"Why he's so good with bicycles. I mean…they're simpler than motorcycles, right?"
I sighed. "Maybe."
Nearly ten hours had passed since the news from Trevor had changed the way I looked at everything – at Griff, at my shop, and most of all, at myself.
How had I gotten everything so wrong?
But deep down, I knew how. In the void of information, it was oh-so easy to believe the worst. And yet, it couldn't be all my fault. Could it?
After all, I'd given Griff plenty of chances to explain.
He hadn't.
In fact, he'd said nearly nothing.
And like an idiot, I'd let all of it drop – too hurt to dig deeper and too stubborn to ask again.
But today, right after work, I'd begun digging like my sanity depended on it.
Who knows? Maybe it did.
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 launched Griffin Built – a company that specialized in custom 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.
Was that how he'd gotten his start?
There had to be more to the story.
Desperately, I wanted to get it – all of 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 it couldn't explain 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 love me?
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, the real jerkwad was me.
Next to me, Tessa said, "You did hear me, right?"
I blinked. "Sorry, what?"
She smiled. "I asked what you're gonna do about it."
One thing I wasn't going to do was go off half-cocked like I had the last time. Last night, I'd shown up at his place demanding answers before looking for any myself.
Not this time. That's why I'd come straight home after work, to do enough research so I didn't make an ass of myself the second time around.
I'd also sent Griff a text asking if we could talk.
I'd done that at noon, and I hadn't heard back.
But I prayed like crazy I would. Now that I knew more, I couldn't just let it drop. I'd been blind, unfair, and flat-out rude – especially for me.
I let out a long, nervous breath. "Well…if he doesn't text me back by nine, I'm gonna go over and knock on his door."
And I would be knocking. Not pounding. Not yelling.
Just asking.
And apologizing.
Would I end up groveling?
Maybe.
He'd done so much for so little. And all I'd given him was grief.
So, maybe I shouldn't have been surprised at what happened next. But like a ginormous fool, I was more than surprised.
I was utterly shocked – and not in a good way.