“Katch?” Caitlin’s loud, booming voice vibrates throughout my garage.

I crawl out from under the hood of the car. Slam it down and grab a rag to wipe my hands. I need to stop her before she gets all the way back here.

I know why she’s pissed off, and to be honest, I can’t blame her. Don’t mean I’m going to give in and let her read what was in that envelope.

After dinner, she cleaned up and went straight back to the bedroom with her mother. Pissed off at the world once again.

After a few hours of no sign of her, I said fuck it, came out here with that damn thing burning a hole in my pocket, and ripped it open.

The contents inside nearly fucked me up. It’s that elusive piece of the puzzle that fits this all together.

“You may as well march your pretty little ass back in the house. I ain’t telling you.”

“Excuse me? If it has something to do with me and my mother, then neither you nor Curtis have a right to keep it from me. That’s bullshit, Katch.”

“The fuck, it is. It ain’t my story to tell. You want to know, then I suggest you go wake up your mother.” She rears her head back.

Her face pales as if I’ve slapped her. Goddamn it.

I came out here to work on this car because I couldn’t sleep knowing she was going to stay in there all night. Her way of thinking, she was going to get me to give in. Any other time I would have. I would have barged in there and dragged her out by all that fucking beautiful hair if I had to. I can’t do that shit. Not with what I learned in this letter.

We sent Snake and a couple of other men to break into her father’s old office to see if there were files, records, any damn kind of proof that he might have saved that linked him to Vince. There was nothing, which didn’t surprise me a bit, but what they did find was another twist to this story that I never saw coming. It’s so surreal that it explains so much of the mystery behind the fake death of her mother.

The part I’m struggling with is, it isn’t up to me to tell Caitlin. It’s up to her mother, and I think there have been times when she’s wanted to tell her, and yet with everything that happened, I don’t think she has the heart to pile this on her. It’s wrong, and I intend on telling Louisa first thing in the morning. This will make Caitlin feel much better about herself.

“Katch, is that…” She moves past me before I have the chance to snatch her by the arm. “This is the car you’ve been working on all week? Oh, my God. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fuck. If only I could see her expression right now. She has her back to me as she runs her fingers across the hood of her mom’s Mustang. This was the only thing I could think of to give her a piece of her mom back.

“I wanted to do something for you. Hell, Hollywood. I don’t know how to say all this romantic shit. I felt bad when you told us about the car. I had JimBob meet me at your place, and I stole it. He brought it out here when he dropped off that piece-of-shit fancy thing you call a car.”

The ice in her angry eyes from moments ago melts as they sear into mine. The moment I felt the first touch of her sweet little body up against mine was when I knew this woman was going to wreck me in the best possible way. It wasn’t. Not even fucking close. She’s made it crystal clear to me how she needed to be taken care of and embedded the need deep inside of me to be the one giving her the world. It isn’t money, power, or greed. Not like she used to think. It’s this. Showing her the only way I know how that she’s my end game. That I’ll do anything within my power to make her smile and live again the way she wants to. Not the way society demands her to function.

“You love me,” she whispers.

I half-ass shrug. Damn right, I do. “It’s the way I work,” I tell her. The words still taste like bitter fucking vomit in my mouth. I pull her close into my body until our fronts are touching. I feel her reservation and pissy attitude dissipate. “I’ll show you every single day if you let me.”

Caitlin finally gives in, wrapping her arms low around my waist and staring up at me with a deep intensity. “I really don’t think you understand how much this means to me. A week was all my father gave me to grieve the loss of my mom. He didn’t pester me or make me come out of my room. Then one morning, he woke me up, told me to take a shower and not to come downstairs until I looked my best. I was fourteen, Katch. I had no idea what in the hell he was going on about. I thought maybe someone important was coming over. One of his big-shot friends. Senators, mayors, movie stars. I didn’t know. I did what he asked. Went downstairs to find him sitting behind his desk with stacks of money in front of him.”

She pauses, her eyes searching out something behind my shoulders. Solace, the courage to go on. Not sure. But whatever it is, I wish to fuck she would look at me for it.

“I was a teenager, Katch. A young girl who had just lost the most important person in her life, and here I had been summoned to my father’s office as if he was going to dish out punishment for me sneaking out of the house. He lifted his eyes, and the words he spoke stole the rest of my teenage years away from me. He said, “I have four things to tell you, Caitlin. One, you will never speak of your mother in my presence. It’s your fault she’s gone. You’re the one who has to live with it, not me. Two, you will not be leaving this house without my permission. If I find out you did, then none of this will be yours. Not one dime. I will kick you out and wash my hands completely of you. Three, you will stay away from everyone on your mom’s side of the family. If I even catch a whiff of you talking to any of them, I’ll destroy them. They aren’t your family. I am. And four, all of your mother’s possessions are gone. Her clothes, jewelry. All of it. It’s time we move on.”

Jesus Fucking Christ. It’s no wonder when I first met her she had a defensive guard about her. I knew the man brainwashed her into believing that money was everything. This, though, I don’t have a clue how to respond to. There’s a piece of information that she dropped that has my curiosity peaked beyond belief.

“Did he say why he had all that money in front of him?”

Not one time in my life have I stared into someone’s eyes and felt a cold, soul-shattering chill run down my spine. Her look is almost inhuman. It’s as if she’s morphed back into the ice queen he made her out to be.

The laugh that escapes her throat is merciless. Heartless. I know I’m holding my gorgeous Hollywood, but I swear to God that I’m witnessing a transformation of an evil version of herself.

“Ten million dollars covered that desk. It was my mother’s life insurance.”

Curtis was right when he said Caitlin lived in hell. Clarence didn’t pave a path for her to get there; he mercilessly shoved her straight into the boiling lava pit of the burning inferno.

“Katch.”

I’ll never be tired of hearing her say my name. Especially the way it so easily slips from her beautiful lips. Here I thought she was going to go dark on me again. That I was going to lose her for the time being and not find out why she’s telling me all of this now.

“I’m right here, baby.” I lift her up, sitting her on the hood of the car. Nestle myself in between her legs and pull her as tightly to me as I can get her.

How she has lived a life this way and survived is a question I will never have the answer to. The same way the hellish raging fire her mother has lived through and survived to tell about it. Both of them were locked away from living a life of freedom.

“I’m sorry to have dumped all of that on you. It surfaced out of nowhere. I want you to know that I’m okay. I’m not about to let a dead man take anything away from me. I could have changed if I wanted to. I could have gone to the police, told them my suspicions. Hell, I could have run at the first opportunity. Trust me, there were times when I wanted to. I’m to blame for that, not him.” She pauses briefly, and I want to shake the shit out of her and say that is the biggest crock of shit. I bite my tongue. Just like the secret in that letter is her mother’s story to tell, this one is Caitlin’s. “My mom told me something the other day. She said my father didn’t break her spirit. He didn’t break mine, either. He cracked it and fought to finish it. Until I met you, I didn’t think it could be fixed. This”—she leans back and places her palms flat on the freshly-painted surface of the car—“is the sweetest gift anyone has given to me. You’ve not only glued me back together, you carved my way back to being the woman I’ve always wanted to be. I walked straight through hell to find you. And to think it all started out on the highway with me desperate and hitchhiking. I love you, so fucking much.”