Page 13 of Truck Hard

The wrench slips again, my knuckles slamming against the engine block. Pain shoots through my hand, but I barely notice it. My mind is elsewhere, stuck on the image of Hannah standing in her driveway, looking small and vulnerable as she unpacked her car. The way she jumped when I approached, like a frightened animal expecting to be struck.

What have I done?

Grease and oil stain my hands as I reach for another tool, trying to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of mechanics. I mistakenly thought physical labor would distract my mind unlike the endless pile of paperwork I’m neglecting in the office.

But even the comforting sounds of the shop—the whir of power tools, the metallic clink of wrenches, the low murmur of my brothers working nearby—can’t drown out the thoughts that have plagued me since Hannah’s return.

“Earth to Liam.” Mac’s voice breaks through my brooding. “You planning to fix that timing belt or just stare at it all day?”

I grunt in response, not bothering to look up. Mac hovers for a moment longer before wandering off, probably to work on one of his race cars. Usually I’d be riding his ass about neglectingpaying customers in favor of his racing obsession, but today I can’t summon the energy to care.

Sophia catches my eye from across the shop where she’s working on an oil change. She gives me a questioning look but I wave her off. The last thing I need is everyone’s concern. It’s bad enough having to field their sideways glances every time Hannah’s name comes up in conversation.

Through the shop’s windows, I can see a line of cars piling up waiting for service. Mrs. Bapst is here for leaking tire. Mr. Balzer is here for a tune up for his old Monte Carlo. That car is almost as old as me and still shines like it did the day he drove it off the lot.

But my mind can hardly focus on any of that because Hannah’s back.

And she brought our son with her.

Our son.A fact I still need to verify. The words still feel foreign even in my own mind. Cameron. Twelve years old. My son—a kid I’ve only met once. That’s something I need to change.

The wrench slips again and this time I welcome the sharp sting of pain as it reminds me of how much I’ve buried all these years—how much I’ve avoided confronting. This pain is better than the dull ache in my chest that always comes when I think about all those moments denied due to choices made when I was too damn immature to comprehend their consequences.

“You’re bleeding.”

I look up to find Christian watching me from his bike stall next to me, arms crossed and eyebrows raised in concern. He only comes in a couple days a week now that his wife—that still sounds weird to me—had their baby. Once they settle into a new routine, he’ll be moving the custom motorcycle portion of the business to the new garage he built on his property. I didn’t like the idea, not because I don’t trust Christian to keep the business flowing, but because I’ll miss having him here everyday.

“It’s nothing.” I wipe my hand on my coveralls, dark smudges mark my palm and fingers.

Christian snorts. “Yeah? Nothing is exactly what’s got you out here working on cars instead of doing paperwork like usual.”

“Someone’s got to keep this place running.”

“Uh-huh.” He leans against the workbench, tilting his head slightly as if he’s assessing me through some invisible lens that allows him to see right through my bravado.

My grip tightens around the wrench until my knuckles turn white—a physical manifestation of my internal struggle against everything brewing inside me—guilt over Hannah’s situation, anxiety over Charlie hurting Hannah again—and an overwhelming sense that I’ve failed both Hannah and Cameron long before they ever needed me.

“I don’t need this,” I mutter under my breath while attempting to shift focus back onto work rather than dwell on painful memories.

The whirring sounds around me blend into an indistinct hum as frustration mounts within me. It feels like I’m trapped inside a bubble where reality doesn’t touch me anymore—where nothing feels real except for what happened with Hannah and how much time we lost because of fear and pride.

Moments tick by as tension fills every inch of space around us until finally Christian speaks up again. “You know it’s okay to talk about this stuff. I mean, it really does help.”

His words linger heavy between us like a thick fog. I’m not sure if he’s trying to pry open wounds or genuinely extend a hand toward brotherly understanding. It’s not like he’s ever been open to talking about his feelings. Out of all of us, he’s the most quiet, brooding and angry.

Though I have to give him credit, that’s changed now that he has Amelia and a baby.

But talking isn’t an option for me—not yet anyway—and especially not about Hannah or what happened all those years ago when I pushed her away while telling myself it was for her own good.

Anger boils beneath the surface as memories flood back. Her pleading eyes when I let go of her hand not long after graduation—the pain radiating off her face—how she tried so hard to make things work while dealing with my fear-laden excuses cloaked in bravado—of how we were too young and foolishly naïve thinking we could take on life together without truly knowing what lay ahead.

In one swift motion fueled by resentment toward myself and regrets unspoken—I slam down the wrench against the tool bench. Metal clashes loudly against metal sending echoes reverberating throughout our workspace.

Everyone pauses mid-task including Sophia who slides out from under the car to glance over at me with wide eyes filled with concern mingled with confusion. It doesn’t matter though because this isn’t just about them anymore. It’s about facing down everything that’s been haunting me since that fateful day years ago.

“Liam!” Christian exclaims startled by my sudden outburst before quickly adding cautiously. “Dude... calm down.”

“Calm down?” My voice raises louder than intended echoing throughout our otherwise bustling shop which only intensifies everyone’s scrutiny focused solely upon me. Heat rises within me beneath layers worn thin by self-loathing and shame. “Do you have any idea what it’s like knowing you’ve ruined someone’s life? Knowing you could’ve prevented it but chose not to because you were scared?”

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