Page 53 of Truck Hard

I head to my car, Sophia and Lina riding with me so I don’t have to drive alone. It’s a nice gesture, even if not necessary. The drive is filled with easy chatter and laughter. Sophia regales us with stories about her latest racing adventures, while Lina shares gossip about the motorcycle club that makes me blush. It feels... normal. Like I’m just another woman enjoying time with friends, not a broken thing trying to piece herself back together.

Charlotte’s house—the one she shares with Garret—comes into view as we round the corner. Even half-renovated, it’s beautiful. The setting sun gilds the exposed beams and fresh lumber, making it look like something out of a fairytale.

It’s on the edge of the homestead, further down the road and out of view from my house. I pass it often and wonder what it will look like when it’s complete.

“Ignore the mess,” Charlotte says as she leads us inside. “We’re still working on most of it, but the kitchen’s done. That was Garret’s priority—making sure I had a proper space to cook.”

The kitchen is a masterpiece of warm wood and gleaming appliances. Garret’s love for Charlotte shines in every carefully chosen detail, from the extra-large island perfect for baking to the window seat overlooking the garden.

“It’s amazing.” I run my hand along the smooth countertop, remembering my own gourmet kitchen in the house I shared with Charlie. He’d spared no expense but didn’t give me a say in any of it. Just like everything else I wanted.

“Garret did most of the work himself.” Charlotte’s voice brims with pride as she pulls ingredients from the fridge. “He’s been teaching me some basic carpentry too. Says if I’m going to live in a construction zone, I might as well learn the trade.”

“That’s...” I swallow hard, fighting back unexpected tears. “That’s really wonderful.”

Lina appears at my elbow, pressing a glass of wine into my hand. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

I take a small sip, letting the rich flavor roll across my tongue. When was the last time I drank wine? Charlie preferred whiskey, and he hated when I drank anything at all. Said it made me uppity. Made me forget my place.

“Stop that.” Amelia’s soft voice breaks through the memory. “Whatever you’re thinking about, stop. You’re safe here.”

I meet her eyes, surprised by the understanding I see there. Of course—she knows what it’s like to be hurt by someone who should have protected her. We all carry our scars. I wasn’t here when she was attacked by her brother’s best friend, but this is a small town and people love to talk.

Charlotte bustles around the kitchen, pulling out pans and spices. “Who wants to help me make enchiladas? Garret’s favorite.”

“Me!” Sophia bounces on her toes. “I need to learn to cook something besides ramen if I want to impress Mac. If I don’t, I may never get him away from Grams.”

The kitchen fills with warmth and laughter as we work. Charlotte teaches Sophia the proper way to roll tortillas while Lina and Amelia chop vegetables. I find myself at the stove, stirring sauce and letting the familiar motions soothe my racing thoughts.

“So,” Lina says casually—too casually—as she slides more onions into the pan. “How are things with Liam?”

My hand jerks, splashing sauce. “I... we’re...”

“Complicated?” Amelia offers with a knowing smile.

“Yeah.” I wipe up the spill, grateful for the excuse to avoid their eyes. “Everything’s complicated right now.”

“Because of Charlie?” Sophia asks quietly.

“Partly.” I stir the sauce harder than necessary. “But also... I don’t know how to do this. How to trust again. How to let someone in without wondering if they’ll hurt me too.”

“Oh, honey.” Charlotte abandons her tortillas to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “That’s why you have us. You don’t have to figure it out alone anymore.”

The simple kindness in her voice breaks something loose inside me. Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Lina’s voice is fierce. “You’ve been so strong for so long. It’s okay to let go sometimes.”

They surround me in a group hug, holding me while I cry. No judgment, no platitudes, just understanding and acceptance. When was the last time anyone held me like this? Let me be vulnerable without using it against me?

Eventually, the tears slow. I wipe my eyes, embarrassed but lighter somehow. “The sauce is going to burn.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Charlotte laughs, squeezing my shoulder before returning to her tortillas. “Garret’s will eat anything I put in front of him.”

“Speaking of—” Sophia peers into the living room where Garret and his daughter Rayne are watching TV. “Should we feed them soon? Before they start gnawing on the furniture?”

“Five more minutes on the first batch.” Charlotte layers cheese over the final row of tortillas. “They’ll survive.”

The oven timer dings, filling the kitchen with the mouthwatering aroma of Mexican spices. My stomach growls, reminding me I skipped lunch again. Another habit from my time with Charlie—eating only when he allowed it.

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