Page 39 of Truck Hard

Clara sets down her knitting, teacher mode engaged. “Of course! Honestly, homeschooled students often transition really well. They’re usually ahead in some areas since they’ve had more individual attention. When did you want to start the process?”

“As soon as possible? I just...” I swallow hard, remembering Charlie’s insistence on controlling every aspect of Cam’s education. “I want him to have a normal life. Friends his own age. A chance to just be a kid.”

“We’ll make it happen.” Clara’s warm smile holds no judgment. “Come by the school tomorrow and we’ll get the paperwork started. School administration is very understanding about special circumstances.”

The rest of the evening passes in a comfortable blur of knitting and conversation. By the time we pack up our projects, my sock actually resembles something wearable thanks to Grams’s patient guidance. More importantly, the knot of anxiety in my chest has completely dissolved.

As I help stack chairs, Charlotte catches my arm. “We’re glad you came back,” she says softly. “It wasn’t the same without you.”

Tears prick at my eyes. “I missed this. Missed all of you.”

“Well, you’re stuck with us now.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “No more disappearing acts, okay?”

I manage a watery smile. “Promise.”

Stepping out into the cool night air, I feel lighter somehow. Stronger. The path ahead still seems daunting—rebuilding a life from scratch, helping Cam heal, figuring out whatever this thing is with Liam. But for the first time, I truly believe I won’t have to do it alone.

The stars wink overhead as I drive home. As I pass the Mutter homestead, a light burns in the window of Mutter’s Auto, and I know without looking that it’s Liam, working late as usual. My heart gives a familiar flutter.

I don’t know why I thought I could move back into my childhood home and not have to see him—be reminded of him daily—when he lives so close. Such a foolish thought.

But I’m glad he’s close. There’s safety in knowing he’s right there, ready to come if I need him.

One step at a time. I remind myself.You’re learning how to make socks. You can learn how to be whole again too.

Chapter 9

Shadows of Doubt

Liam

The empty beer bottle dangles between my fingers as I stare out the shop window. Beyond the grease-stained glass, the setting sun bleeds across the sky in shades of purple and orange, painting Beaver in haunting hues that match my mood. The garage is silent except for the occasional ping of cooling engines and my own troubled thoughts.

I can still taste her on my lips. How willing she was to kiss me back.

Fuck.

The kiss replays in my mind for the hundredth time today—the softness of her mouth, the way she melted against me, the salt of her tears on my tongue. For one perfect moment, we were transported to the past, young and desperate and in love.

But that’s not us anymore. We’re both scarred now, carrying the weight of choices made and paths not taken. She needs time to heal, to find herself again after everything Charlie put her through. As much as I hate it. I understand. The last thing she needs is me complicating things by letting my feelings run wild. By pushing her too hard.

Telling her I still loved her a few weeks away was probably already too much. She’s not ready for that. Moving forward, Ihave to do better at keeping my feelings in check. I need to put her first. My wounded heart can wait.

I take another pull from my beer, grimacing when I find it empty. The familiar scents of oil and metal surround me, usually comforting but now just another reminder of all the ways I failed her. I chose this—the shop, the responsibility of providing for my brothers—over her. Told myself I was doing the right thing by encouraging her to marry Charlie instead.

Some ‘right thing’ that turned out to be.

The scarring on her ribs flashes through my mind, followed by the haunted look in her eyes when she talked about the baseball bat. My fingers tighten around the bottle until my knuckles whiten. She’s got way too many scars. How many are invisible? The urge to hunt Charlie down and make him suffer rises like bile in my throat.

But more violence won’t undo the past thirteen years. Won’t erase the scars or heal her trauma or give back the time I should have spent being a father to Cameron.

The thought of being a father still feels foreign. I’d reconciled years ago that a family of my own likely wasn’t in the cards for me. You don’t find a love like Hannah twice. I’d come to terms with the idea of not fathering my own kids. Of growing old alone and enjoying whatever nieces or nephews my brothers gave me.

And now… I have a son. A twelve-year-old son who’s seen more harm and hate in this world than any one person should ever see. Who may or may not let me be a part of his life. But I’m not going to give up. No matter what happens between Hannah and me, I want a relationship with him.

The sound of boots on concrete pulls me from my spiral. I don’t need to look up to know it’s Warren. I’d recognize that measured stride anywhere. His reflection appears in the window moments later, beer in hand and concern etched across his features.

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning against the workbench beside me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

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