Page 128 of Truck Hard

The Path Ahead

Hannah

The ladder wobbles precariously beneath my feet as I stretch up to reach the last unpainted section of the kitchen wall. Paint drips down my arm, adding warm yellow to the collection of soft green splotches already decorating my old t-shirt—technically Liam’s t-shirt that I stole from him. The smell of fresh paint fills the air, mingling with the spring breeze drifting through the open windows.

“You know,” Liam’s voice calls up from below, heavy with concern, “I could do that part.”

I glance down to find him watching me with that protective look I’ve come to know so well. His strong hands grip the sides of the ladder, steadying it. Even with the worried crease between his brows, he’s devastatingly handsome—dark hair slightly mussed, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, a smudge of paint on his jaw that I desperately want to kiss away.

“I’ve got it.” I assure him, though my arms are starting to shake from being held above my head for so long. “Just a little more.”

“Mom!” Cam’s excited voice rings out suddenly. “Uncle Warren’s here with the new light fixtures!”

The unexpected shout startles me. My foot slips and for one heart-stopping moment, I’m falling. Before panic can fully take hold, Liam’s arms wrap around my waist, catching me against his solid chest. Yellow paint splashes everywhere—including all over both of us. Good thing we haven’t replaced this old linoleum yet or the new floors would be ruined.

“Got you,” he murmurs against my hair, his heart pounding as hard as mine.

I sag against him, letting out a shaky laugh. “My hero.”

He sets me carefully on my feet but doesn’t let go, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb brushes away a drop of paint. “You okay?”

The genuine concern in his dark eyes makes my heart flutter. Even after all these weeks of rebuilding our relationship, these little moments of tenderness still catch me off guard. They’re so different from what I grew used to with Charlie, whose “concern” always came with strings attached, with blame, with the underlying current of control.

“I’m fine.” I assure him, leaning into his touch. “Though I think we’re both going to need showers now.”

His eyes darken at that suggestion, but before he can respond, Warren appears in the doorway with Cam bouncing excitedly beside him.

“Whoa.” Warren takes in the paint-splattered scene with raised eyebrows. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” Liam chuckles, finally stepping back though his hand finds mine, our fingers automatically intertwining.

“Mom fell off the ladder.” Cam announces helpfully. “Dad caught her though.”

My heart squeezes at how naturally Cam uses that word now—Dad. I’ll never tire of hearing it.

“Your dad’s good at that,” Warren says, setting down the box he’s carrying. “Catching people when they fall.”

There’s something knowing in his tone that makes me wonder if he’s talking about more than just physical falls. Liam squeezes my hand gently, and I squeeze back.

“Let’s see what you brought us,” I say, changing the subject before I get too emotional. These days it doesn’t take much—every small reminder of how far we’ve come, of the family we’re building, brings happy tears to my eyes.

Warren starts unpacking the box while Cam peers over his shoulder, peppering him with questions about how the new fixtures work. I lean against Liam’s side, content to watch our son’s enthusiasm. His face lights up as Warren explains the wiring process, reminding me so much of Liam when he gets excited about engines that it makes my chest ache with love.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Liam murmurs in my ear.

I turn my face up to his. “Just happy.”

His smile is soft, private—just for me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I stretch up to kiss his paint-smudged jaw. “Really happy.”

“Good.” He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “That’s all I want.”

“Uncle Warren!” Cam’s voice breaks into our moment. “Can I help install them? Please?”

“Sure thing, kid.” Warren grins. “If your parents don’t mind?”

I look at Liam, seeing my own joy reflected in his eyes. “What do you think, Dad? Should we let him help?”

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