Page 36 of Truck Hard

“You sure...” He clears his throat. “I mean, I don’t want to pressure you or him, but I meant it when I said I wanted to spend time with him. Get to know him a little.”

The hesitation in his voice makes me look up. Liam stands with his hands braced on the counter, shoulders tense. For the first time, I really see the weight he’s carrying—the years of not knowing, the guilt of choices made too young.

“As long as Cam is okay with it,” I say finally. “If he wants to get to know you, I won’t stop him.”

Relief softens his features. “Thank you.”

He moves to the sink, assessing the leak with practiced eyes. I return to scrubbing cabinets, hyper aware of his presence behind me. The silence between us feels charged, full of unspoken words.

“You shouldn’t have had to do this alone,” he says eventually. “I wish I had—” His voice catches.

“Wish you had what? Saved me?” The bitterness in my voice surprises us both. “There wasn’t anything you could do, Liam. Besides, you made it clear you didn’t want me when you insisted I marry Charlie!”

The words hang between us, sharp as broken glass. Liam’s wrench clatters against the pipes.

“Is that what you think?” He straightens, turning to face me. “Hannah, I—”

“Don’t.” I hold up a hand, suddenly unable to bear his explanations. He told me he never stopped loving me, but I’m struggling to rectify that confession with his past actions. “Just... don’t.”

But he steps closer, determination hardening his features. “No, we need to talk about this. All these years, I thought I was doing the right thing. Charlie could give you everything I couldn’t—security, stability, a good life. I was barely making ends meet, trying to keep the shop afloat after Dad checked out. The weight of my family’s survival was all on my shoulders. I thought—”

“You thought what? That I cared about money?” Anger rises in my throat, hot and choking. “I lovedyou, Liam. I would have lived in a cardboard box if it meant being with you. But you pushed me away. Told me to marry Charlie because he could ‘take care of me.’ Well, guess what? He took care of me alright.”

I yank up my sleeve, revealing the faint scar that curves around my forearm. “See this? That’s from the time he threw me into a glass coffee table. And this?” I push up my shirt, showing the scars on my ribs. “Baseball bat. Splintered when he cracked it against the floor before hitting me with it. Because dinner was cold when he got home late.”

Liam makes a sound like he’s been punched. His face goes pale, then flushes with rage. “Hannah—”

“No, you wanted to talk about this. So let’s talk.” The words pour out, years of pain and anger finally finding a voice. “Do you know what it was like? Living with him? Watching him get more controlling, more violent, never knowing what would set him off? Having to hide the bruises, make excuses, pretend everything was fine?”

I’m crying now, hot tears streaming down my face. “And the whole time, I kept thinking about you. Wondering why I wasn’t good enough for you. If you ever thought about me at all.”

“Every day.” His voice cracks. “I thought about you. Every. Single. Day.”

He reaches for me, and I should step back. Should maintain the distance I’ve carefully built. But his hands cup my face, thumbs brushing away tears, and I’m lost.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his own eyes wet with unshed tears. “God, Hannah, I’m so sorry. I was young and stupid and scared. I thought I was protecting you, but I just made everything worse.”

I shake my head. “Charlie made everything worse. Charlie would have killed me that night if—” I choke on a sob as thememory of what my son had to do resurfaces. “If Cam hadn’t stopped him. I … I wouldn’t be here today.”

Pain flashes across his features. “I didn’t know. Hannah, I swear I didn’t. But I’m here now. I’ll never let him hurt you again.”

He wipes away more tears with his thumbs as they stream down my face. It’s such a soothing feeling amidst the turmoil. I meet his pain stricken gaze and instantly get lost in the depth of his deep brown irises.

“He has your eyes.” The words come out soft, broken. “Your smile. The way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking hard about something.”

“Hannah.” My name on his lips is a plea. Then he’s kissing me, and the world falls away.

His lips brush mine, soft and tentative, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter. The gentleness breaks something inside me. My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as tears continue to track down my cheeks. He tastes like coffee and mint, familiar yet new, and my heart thunders against my ribs.

One of his hands slides into my hair while the other cradles my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. The touch is reverent, careful, nothing like the bruising grip I’d grown accustomed to. He deepens the kiss gradually, letting me set the pace, giving me space to pull away if I want to.

I don’t want to.

His tongue traces my bottom lip, seeking permission. I grant it with a soft sigh, melting against him as warmth floods through me. The kiss builds slowly, thoroughly, each brush of his lips and sweep of his tongue deliberately measured. Like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s trying to apologize for thirteen years of absence with each careful touch.

The hand in my hair tightens slightly, changing the angle, and pleasure shivers down my spine. I press closer, wantingmore, needing to feel the solid warmth of him against me. His chest rumbles with a low groan that I feel more than hear, and the sound shoots straight through me like lightning.

We break apart just enough to breathe. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I can feel him trembling. Or maybe I’m the one shaking. Maybe we both are.

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