Curly’s lips twitched at the fury on her face. She marched down her driveway, waving an envelope and giving him the same glare he’d seen take LJ down easily. Speaking of, LJ appeared in the open doorway wearing an amused grin and a pair of charcoal sweats. He folded his gigantic arms, leaned against the door frame, and settled in to watch the fireworks.
“What the hell is this?” Holly shouted as she stomped his way.
Curly sighed. He’d planned on being halfway out of town before she found the envelope. Guess it wasn’t his lucky day. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be an omen for the rest of his trip.
When she reached him, she shook the envelope in his face. “I asked you a question.”
He bit his upper lip to keep it from quirking. Laughing would make him a dick, but she was so damned cute in her anger, it was hard to take her seriously. “Let’s call it rent.”
Holly frowned. “Rent?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ve been living with you two for the past six months. It’s well past time I contributed.”
A head shake joined her frown. The familiar smell of brown sugar wafted off her. He’d miss the scent that never left her home from how she spent her days baking delicious pastries.
“Curly, we’ve told you a million times we don’t want rent money from you. I’ve loved having you stay with us.” Her voice hitched. “We both have.”
Oh, shit. If she brought out the waterworks, he was screwed. He sent LJ a SOS glance.
“Honey…” LJ wore a what’re-you-gonna-do-now smirk.
All of a sudden, her blooming sadness transformed back into anger. “And one hundred thousand dollars? Are you out of your freaking mind? Who pays one hundred thousand dollars for six months of rent? That’s ridiculous. Take this back right now.” She shoved the envelope and check against his chest, but he didn’t budge.
The money wasn’t rent. It was a gift. A gift he wanted them to have with all his being. Fuck, he’d have doubled it if he didn’t think her head would blow right off her shoulders.
“Curly!” She half whined when he didn’t move to take the money back.
They stood there for a few moments, locked in a standoff of stubborn will. Of course, the poor kid had no way of knowing waiting thirteen years for one’s freedom made a few minutes of stare-down laughable.
Finally, her shoulders sagged, and her arms dropped to her sides, limp. “It’s too much,” she whispered, defeated. Tears filled the baby-blue eyes he’d come to care for as though she shared his blood.
With a grunt, he tugged her into a fierce hug. She was everything any man could want in a daughter. Her parents were the worst kind of fools for throwing her away in favor of hatred and lies.
“Please,” he whispered against the top of her head. “You and LJ have so many dreams for this little house. With his talent and a little extra cash, you can make all of them a reality.” Late one night, after they’d moved into the small three-bedroom house, Holly had clued him into the vision she had for the place. A new kitchen to fuel her love of baking, a massive deck in their sprawling backyard with gorgeous views of the Smoky Mountains. LJ wanted to knock down the wall between the two adjoining rooms turning it into a large master, and then add a second story for when they filled the home with children.
Curly couldn’t imagine anything better than seeing little clones of Holly and LJ running around, driving their parents bonkers. Since Holly’s parents were out of the picture, Curly felt it not only his responsibility to help take care of her but also a great honor. Her father’s hatred of him and his old club was what drove the man to commit heinous acts and drive an unpassable rift in the family. This gift was the least of what he owed her.
Maybe some of his generosity came from guilt, but that part he’d keep buried deep inside. She didn’t need anything adding to her unjustified self-blame.
“It’s still too much,” she said against his chest.
Too much. Hell, after the court overturned his conviction, his tale began to hit the news and make the rounds on social media sites. Copper and a very talented attorney worked their asses off to spin the narrative. To the world, the police department in his hometown bungled the investigation, and he got screwed in the worst way. No one beyond the HHMC and the guilty parties knew what had actually happened. He and Holly’s ol’ man wanted to spare her the crippling loss of privacy that would accompany the world, learning her father had framed Curly for Joy’s murder—directing the story where they wanted it to go kept her father out of jail and Holly off the media vultures’ radar. Detective Lane was now living a lonely life under an assumed name in a tiny town in Montana. His wife had left him, his children didn’t speak to him, he had no job and no prospects, and that would have to be punishment enough.