Page 101 of Truck Hard

My first instinct is to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and promise that whatever’s wrong, we’ll fix it together. The muscle memory of comfort is so strong it physically hurts to stay standing at a distance.

She stops pacing, and even through the window’s distortion, I can see her wiping at her eyes. She’s crying. Hannah’s crying and I’m standing here like a creep instead of helping her.

Whatever she’s dealing with, she needs to handle it on her own. My presence would only complicate things, maybe even set back the progress she’s made.

The realization settles like lead in my stomach. I spin around, hands stuffed into my pockets. As I walk away, I catch one last glimpse of her when I look over my shoulder—still on the phone, still pacing, still fighting her own battles.

“I love you,” I whisper to her from afar. “I’ll always love you. Even if you never say it back.”

The words dissipate into the darkness, unheard and unanswered. Just like my heart.

Chapter 22

Moments of Clarity

Hannah

The box tumbles from my hands, old photographs scattering across the attic floor like fallen leaves. My fingers tremble as I reach for one that landed face-up—a snapshot of Liam and me at seventeen, his arm draped casually around my shoulders as we lean against his first car. The memory hits me with such force that I have to sit down, right there among the dust and debris of my parents’ belongings.

We were so young then. So full of hope and dreams and certainty about our future together. His smile in the photo is brilliant, unguarded in a way I rarely see anymore. And me? I’m looking at him like he hung the moon and stars just for me.

Maybe he did.

The thought slips in before I can stop it, bringing with it an avalanche of emotions I’ve been trying to suppress for days. Ever since that afternoon by the lake when he told me he loved me and I… froze.

God, the look in his eyes when I couldn’t say it back. When I just sat there, paralyzed by fear and memories of the last time a man claimed to love me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably another message from my lawyer asking about proceeding with the paternitytesting. I’ve been avoiding his calls, just like I’ve been avoiding Liam’s texts. Just like I’ve been avoiding everything that requires me to make a decision about my future.

I pick up another photo. This one shows Liam teaching me to drive a stick shift, both of us laughing as I ground the gears. The memory is so vivid I can almost hear the engine protesting, feel the warmth of his hand over mine on the gear shift as he guided me through the motions.

“Mom?” Cam’s voice floats up from downstairs. “Are you okay up there?”

“I’m fine, honey!” I call back, quickly wiping at my eyes. When did I start crying? “Just going through some old boxes.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, I’m heading to practice. Coach is here to get me and said Liam’s picking me up after.”

My heart clenches. Of course Liam is still showing up for Cam, still being the father our son deserves, even while I’m hiding from him like a coward. “That’s… that’s good. Have fun.”

I wait until I hear the front door close before letting out a shaky breath. The silence feels oppressive now, heavy with all the things I can’t seem to say. To Liam. To Cam. To myself.

Another photo catches my eye—this one from senior prom. I’m wearing a deep blue dress that took months of babysitting to afford, and Liam… God, he was so handsome in his rented tux. We’d snuck away from the dance early, and drove out to the lake in his car. Made love under the stars. Everything felt possible that night.

The contrast between then and now is stark enough to make me physically ache. That girl in the photo didn’t know about fear that runs so deep it becomes part of your bones. She didn’t wake up gasping from nightmares about hands around her throat. She hadn’t learned how quickly love can turn to possession, to control, to pain.

Charlie’s voice echoes in my head, as clear as if he were standing right behind me.You really think he’ll stick around once he sees how broken you are? Once he realizes what a pathetic excuse for a woman you’ve become?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory. But it’s like picking at a scab—once you start, you can’t stop until you’re bleeding again.

I’ll never forget the day Charlie looked at Cam and knew the truth just as I had known. I was holding three-month-old Cam—had just finished changing him. Charlie came home early, took one look at our son—at the way Cam’s features were starting to mirror Liam’s—and something in him snapped. The first blow caught me completely off guard. I remember being more shocked than hurt, at first. Then came the accusations, the names, the threats.

My phone buzzes again, and this time I force myself to look at it. Two missed calls from James Reynolds, and a text.

James Reynolds

Hannah, we need to discuss moving forward with the paternity test. Charlie’s lawyer is pushing back hard. Call me when you can.

Below that, a message from Liam that makes my heart stutter.

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