Page 55 of Truck Hard

Maybe, I think as I put the car in park,maybe it’s time to be brave.

I killthe engine but don’t immediately get out, taking a moment to collect myself. The evening with Charlotte and the other women left me emotionally raw in the best possible way. For the first time since returning to Beaver, I feel... normal. Like maybe I could actually build a life here, find my footing again.

A tap on my window startles me. I jump before recognizing Grams’s kind face peering in at me. The familiar crinkles around her eyes deepen as she smiles, and I quickly roll down the window.

“Lost in thought?” she asks gently.

“Something like that.” I manage a small smile in return. “How was he today?”

“An absolute joy.” Her weathered hand reaches through the window to pat mine. “That boy of yours has quite the helper’sspirit. He insisted on helping me can tomatoesandbake cookies.”

The pride in her voice makes my throat tight. “He’s always loved being in the kitchen.”

“Just like someone else I know.” The words are soft but deliberate, and my heart skips.

Before I can respond, Cam bursts out the front door, practically bouncing down the porch steps. “Mom! You’re back!” He’s carrying a cloth-covered basket that I’m sure contains some of whatever they baked together.

“Ready to head home, sweetie?” I ask, grateful for the interruption.

He nods enthusiastically. “Grams taught me how to make her famous chocolate chip cookies! And we put up like a million jars of tomatoes.”

“Only twelve.” Grams corrects with a chuckle. “But he was a tremendous help.”

I finally step out of the car, pulling Grams into a tight hug. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”

She squeezes me back. “You’re family, dear. Always have been.”

The words hit me hard, and I have to blink back tears. Cam’s already settled himself in the passenger seat, carefully arranging his basket of treats.

I glance back at the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Liam, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Shifting my gaze to Grams, I give her another smile and wave. “Well, I better get him home. Thanks again for letting him hang out with you.”

“Of course. He’s welcome anytime.”

I slide back into the driver’s seat and pull out to make the very short drive home, but I don’t make it far before I stop. Light spills from our windows, casting warm rectangles onto thedarkening lawn. My hands tighten on the steering wheel as fear claws up my throat.

“Mom, it’s okay.” Cam’s voice cuts through my rising panic. “It’s just Liam. He came over to fix some stuff around the house while I helped Grams.”

My racing heart slowly begins to steady. “Liam?”

“Yeah. He’s been working on it most of the day. Said he wanted to surprise you.”

I pull into the driveway, studying the house with new eyes. Now that the initial fear has passed, I notice the pile of lumber near the porch, the toolbox visible next to the door.

The thought of him working on my house all day, trying to make it safer and more comfortable for us, stirs something deep in my chest. But it also terrifies me. Having him back in my life, even in this limited way, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff—exhilarating and dangerous all at once.

Cam’s out of the car before I’ve fully stopped, eager to show off his baking accomplishments. I follow more slowly, trying to steady my nerves. When I step inside, the house smells of fresh sawdust and...paint?

“Hey!” Cam calls out, running into the kitchen. “I baked cookies!”

“Welcome back.” Liam emerges from the kitchen, laughing at Cam’s excitement. He wipes his hands on a rag as he watches his son set down the basket and rush back out. My breath catches at the sight of him—dusty work boots, tattered t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders, a smudge of what looks like spackle on his cheek. He looks...right, like he belongs.

Cam barely pauses long enough to say hello before disappearing upstairs, no doubt eager to immerse himself in whatever game he’s currently playing. The sound of his door closing leaves Liam and me in charged silence.

“Thought I’d get some projects done,” he says with a soft smile, though I catch the uncertainty in his eyes. “Fix the wall so you don’t have to be reminded of Charlie.”

My gaze drifts to where Charlie had cornered me, had punched holes level with my face. The damage is gone now, the wall smooth and freshly painted. But the memory lingers, a phantom ache that makes my hands tremble.

“Thanks, but I...” The words catch in my throat as emotion wells up unexpectedly. I drop my purse and the leftover enchiladas on the coffee table and look around the space. “I really appreciate this but I—”

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