Page 1 of Truck Hard

Chapter 1

Homecoming

Liam

Ifeel like shit. And I look even worse.

Another restless night has left me with bloodshot eyes and a mind that refuses to focus on the paperwork spread before me. The numbers blur together, mocking my attempts at concentration.

Hannah’s back.

The thought hits me like a punch in the gut, just as it has every few minutes since I first heard the news yesterday.

Five months of protective custody, and now she’s returned to reclaim what’s left of her life in Beaver. And not justinBeaver but in her childhood home. That’s within walking distance of my house. That I can see from the front window of the auto shop.

The gossip spread through our small town faster than wildfire, carried on whispers and meaningful glances.

The rising sun casts long shadows through my office window, turning the stacks of paperwork on my desk into miniature silhouettes. Silhouettes that taunt me in my distraction. Working on the books while my mind is on her is pointless.

I’m fucked.

I lean back in my chair, the ancient leather creaking in protest. Outside my office window, the auto shop is alreadyhumming with activity despite the early hour. The familiar sounds of tools clanking and engines revving should be comforting, but today they only amplify my internal turmoil.

Warren’s voice carries through the thin walls as he explains something to a customer. Probably the Miller woman again—she’s been bringing in that ancient Buick of hers every other week, claiming new rattles and squeaks. I should be out there, helping with the morning rush, but I can’t seem to make myself move from this spot.

Besides, Warren can handle it.

It’s good to have him back after being gone for so long. I like having all my brothers home. Though there’s still tension between War and me. At some point we need to talk about that fight we had all those years ago but we’re both too damn stubborn to bring it up.

I keep using the excuse that he needs time, but that’s all it is—an excuse. I need to make an effort to set things right.

Something happened to him while he was gone, and he refuses to talk about it. I’m sure of it. There’s a haunted look in his eyes that has nothing to do with our fight. I make a mental note to ask him out for a beer. See if I can get him to talk to me about it. Maybe clear the air between us while I’m at it.

My phone sits innocently on the corner of my desk. I’ve picked it up and put it down at least a dozen times already this morning, Hannah’s contact information burning a hole in my mind. What would I even say?Hey, sorry your abusive husband nearly killed you. By the way, is Cameron my son?

I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the rough scratch of stubble. The question of Cameron’s paternity has haunted me for months. The boy has my eyes, my build—hell, even my grandmother’s pointed chin. But Hannah never said a word, not even when... I cut that thought off before it can fully form. Thepast is the past. She had her reasons for keeping quiet, if it’s even true.

The shop door slams, followed by the heavy tread of boots on concrete. I recognize Mac’s footsteps before he appears in my doorway, his usual easygoing expression replaced with concern.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “You heard from Ash? He’s not picking up his phone.”

I glance at the clock—9:15 AM. Ash should have been here over an hour ago. “No. Did you try Chase? They sometimes grab breakfast together.”

“Chase is working the farm. He hasn’t seen him, And before you ask, Christian’s been at the shop since seven, working on that custom bike for Edge. He hasn’t seen him either.”

Hearing Edge’s name—even after all these months—still causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. Edge is the reason Hannah is still alive today. He saved her and Cameron with my brother’s help. What I don’t understand is why or how. That’s a story he refuses to tell me.

But it burns me. I should have known she needed saving. I should have saved her. Not the president of the local motorcycle club. The situation is completely fucked. Or rather I’m the one that’s fucked.

Mac shifts his weight, a tell-tale sign he’s worried. “We’re getting backed up out there. Could really use the extra hands.”

I reach for my phone, thumbing through my contacts to Ash’s number. The screen shows Hannah’s name instead—I must have left her contact page open from my earlier internal debate. My thumb hovers over the keyboard as a fresh wave of memories washes over me.

Hannah at sixteen, laughing as I taught her to drive stick shift in my granddad’s old truck. Hannah at twenty-two, tears streaming down her face as I told her to marry Charlie, that he could give her everything I couldn’t. Hannah five monthsago, bruised and broken in Christian’s arms as he rushes her to safety.

“Earth to Liam?” Mac’s voice snaps me back to the present. “You want me to hunt him down?”

“No, he stayed at Andrea’s last night. I’ll text him.” My thumb moves automatically, muscle memory taking over as I type out a message.

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