Page 40 of Truck Hard

I huff out a humorless laugh. In a way, I have. The ghost of the man I used to be, young and stupid and convinced I knew what was best for everyone. “Just... thinking.”

“Ah.” Warren takes a slow sip of his beer. “Hannah again?”

“Always Hannah.” The admission comes easier than expected. Maybe because Warren understands better than most what it’s like to carry regret. To wish you could go back and make different choices. “I can’t shake this feeling that she’s nowhere near done with Charlie. A divorce is not going to make him go away.”

The words taste bitter on my tongue. Charlie may be in jail now, but he won’t stay there forever. Knowing his family connections, they’ll find a way to get him out early. And when he gets out... I’ve seen the hatred in his eyes, the way he looked at Hannah in court. He’ll come for her again. Try to hurt her, to control her.

Over my dead body.

Warren studies me with that too-perceptive gaze of his. “You know that brooding doesn’t help, right? If you want to be there for her, just do it. But you can’t take all her burdens on your shoulders. She has to want it too.”

“Yeah, but...” I push away from the window, restless energy coursing through me. “This is different. She’s been through hell, War. You didn’t see—” I break off, the memory of her showing me her scars still raw. “The day’s coming when he’ll be released. I can’t sit back and do nothing.”

“Then make sure she knows you’re serious,” Warren says simply. “Be there for her. Be consistent. Be the rock she needs. This won’t be easy, especially when the past pops up.” He lifts his beer in a mock toast. “Just be prepared for whatever comes.”

The truth in his words mirror what I already told Hannah. But I’ve got to be more than words. I need to show her everyday that I’m not going to push her away or abandon her. I won’t make that mistake again.

“You’re right,” I admit.

Warren’s mouth quirks up. “I’m always right.” He drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle aside. “Now come on, you need to get out of this shop before you wear a hole in the floor with all your pacing. When’s the last time you actually relaxed?”

I have to think about it. Between running the shop, worrying about Hannah, and trying to figure out how to be a father to Cam, relaxation hasn’t exactly been a priority. “I don’t know. Before—”

“Before Hannah went into protective custody.” Warren finishes for me. When I don’t deny it, he continues. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mac and Ash are over at Posey’s. Let’s go get a beer, play some pool. Get out of your head for a while.”

Part of me wants to refuse. To stay here surrounded by the comforting familiarity of engines and tools, where I can pretend to be productive while actually just brooding. But Warren’s right. I need a break from my own thoughts.

“Fine.” I concede. “One beer.”

Warren grins. “That’s what you always say.”

I grab my keys and jacket, following him out into the cooling evening air. The sun has almost completely set now, leaving streaks of deep purple across the horizon like bruises. A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature.

She’s safe. I remind myself firmly.Charlie’s in jail. Edge made sure her house is secure. She has people watching out for her now.

But the nagging worry remains as we walk to my truck.

Warren claps me on the shoulder. “Stop thinking so hard. One night off from being everyone’s protector won’t kill you.”

No, I think as I open the truck door,but it might kill someone else.

I’ll never forgive myself if Charlie hurts her again and I’m not there to stop it.

The familiar neonsign casts a red glow over the cracked sidewalk, and even from outside I can hear the muted thump of music and the crack of pool balls.

Thoughts of Hannah follow me inside like a shadow, refusing to let go even as Warren steers me toward the pool tables where Mac and Ash are locked in what appears to be an intense game. But maybe, just for tonight, I can stop thinking. Pretend I’m just a guy having a beer with his brothers, without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Maybe tonight I can just... breathe.

The familiar smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke wraps around me as we weave through the scattered tables. Country music plays from the ancient jukebox in the corner, barely audible over the murmur of conversation and occasional burst of laughter. It’s a slower night than usual—mostly regulars nursing their drinks and a handful of people gathered around the pool tables.

I pass Tanner Koch sitting at a table with someone he went to high school with. He nods as I pass. I nod back. A few months ago, our responses to each other would have been very different. Our greetings would have included name calling like “asshole” or “piece of shit.”

But now—thanks to Christian’s relationship with Amelia Koch—things between the Mutters and the Kochs are more cordial. We’re not friends, but we tolerate each other now.

We may have agreed to put that damn feud aside for the benefit of Christian, Amelia, and their newborn baby girl, but that doesn’t mean we’ve all forgotten generations of fighting.

Mac spots us first, his face lighting up with that infectious grin of his. “Well, look who finally crawled out of his cave! Warren, how’d you manage to drag him away from the shop?”

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