Page 41 of Truck Hard

“Persistence and superior reasoning skills,” Warren deadpans, flagging down the waitress for beers.

Ash lines up his shot, tongue stuck between his teeth in concentration. “More like he wore him down through sheer stubbornness.” The cue ball clicks against the eight, sending it smoothly into the corner pocket. “Ha! Pay up, little brother.”

Mac grumbles good-naturedly as he digs out his wallet. “Best two out of three?”

“You’re on.” Ash starts racking the balls, then glances at me. “You want in on this, old man?”

The familiar banter helps ease some of the tension from my shoulders. This is normal. Safe. No complicated emotions or painful history, just brothers giving each other shit like always. “Watch who you’re calling old, punk. I taught you everything you know about pool.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ash waves dismissively. “Prove it then.”

Warren returns with four bottles of beer, passing them around.

“Now this is more like it.” Ash grins. “We just need Garret, Chase, and Christian. When’s the last time we all hung out?”

“Too long,” Mac says, taking a long pull from his bottle. “Someone’s been too busy being a responsible adult or whatever.”

I flip him off, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s not wrong. At least Garret, Chase, and Christian have good reasons for not being here. They’ve all found significant others to stay home with.

I, on the other hand, have been isolating myself, especially since Hannah came back. Throwing myself into work because it’s easier than dealing with all the complicated feelings her return stirred up.

“Hey, it’s not just me.” I argue. “Half you assholes have women now. I’m surprised your girlfriends let you out.”

“Sophia went to the movies with Clara,” Mac says, then he points to Ash. “This asshole probably pissed his girlfriend off again.”

Ash glares at Mac like he’s genuinely offended. “Why do you always assume that? Things are fine with Andrea.”

“And how’s your friendship with Clara?” Mac teases.

“That’s fine too. Unlike you assholes, she supports my relationship.” Ash takes his beer and downs half of it, clearly frustrated by Mac’s line of questioning.

I don’t blame him. We all give him shit about Andrea and Clara, but that’s only because we all want to see him with Clara. They’ve been best friends since childhood and would be perfect together.

Besides, I’m pretty sure Clara has been in love with Ash most of her life. It’s a situation I know all too well. Unrequited love. Nothing hurts worse than longing for a soul that’s not yours. I wouldn’t wish that heartache on anyone.

The pool game gets underway, Mac and Ash trash-talking each other while Warren and I watch from nearby stools. The familiar rhythm of it all—the crack of balls, the lazy sips of beer, the easy flow of conversation—starts to work its magic. I feel myself relaxing incrementally, the knot of anxiety in my chest loosening just a fraction.

Movement across the room catches my attention. Edge has just walked in, his imposing figure drawing eyes as always. The MC president carries himself with the kind of quiet authority that commands respect without having to ask for it. Our eyes meet across the room and he gives me a slight nod.

I excuse myself from my brothers and make my way over. Edge and I haven’t really talked since that night months ago when he explained why he helps women and children escape abusive situations. Why he took such personal interest in Hannah’s case.

“Liam.” He greets me with a handshake, his voice gravelly. “Good to see you out and about.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrug, settling onto the stool next to him. “My brothers can be persistent when they want to be.”

Edge’s mouth quirks up slightly. “Families are good for that.” He signals the waitress for a whiskey, neat. “How’s Hannah doing?”

The question sends a fresh wave of emotion through me—concern, protectiveness, lingering guilt. “She’s... adjusting. Taking it day by day.” I fidget with my beer bottle, picking at the label. “She told me what you did for her. Not just fixing the locks, but installing all new doors. I wanted to thank you for that. For everything you did to help her and Cam.”

Edge accepts his whiskey from the waitress, taking a thoughtful sip before responding. “No thanks needed. It’s what I do.”

“Still.” I turn to face him fully. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how did you know? About Hannah needing help? How did you know before the cops found out?”

A shadow passes over Edge’s face. He stares into his whiskey like he’s seeing something else entirely.

“It was by chance really, but it felt like I was in the right place at the right time.” He looks up at me before taking another sip. “You know what I mean?”

I nod, but don’t interrupt with words.

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