Page 57 of Truck Hard

“I should—” I gesture vaguely upward. “Check on him.”

“Of course.” Liam steps back, giving me space. But his eyes are still dark with want, promising more to come. “I’ll finish up down here.”

I smooth my clothes with trembling hands, trying to make myself presentable. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I pause and look back at him.

“Liam?”

He looks up from where he’s collecting his tools. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For... everything.”

His smile is soft but heated. “Anytime, sweetheart.Anytime.”

I practically float up the stairs, my body still humming with pleasure. Through Cam’s door, I can hear him talking to someone through his headset—probably one of his long-term online friends.

Standing there, listening to my son’s laughter while the man I never stopped loving works downstairs to make our home safer, I feel something unfurl in my chest.Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of it.

For the first time since returning to Beaver, I can almost see a future stretching out before us. One where we’re not just surviving, butliving. One where love doesn’t come with conditions or pain.

One where we’re finally, truly free.

The sound of Liam’s hammer from downstairs seems to echo my heartbeat—steady, strong, and full of promise. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

One step at a time.

Chapter 13

Moments of Connection

Liam

The power drill whirs in my hands as I secure another board, replacing the rotted wood along Hannah’s front porch. Sweat drips down my back in the late afternoon heat, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on making her house safe, making it a real home again.

Every repair feels like healing—each nail driven, each broken thing fixed bringing us one step closer to something whole. Three weeks have passed since I started working on her place, and the changes go deeper than new doors, fresh paint, and a new porch. I see it in the way Hannah’s shoulders relax when she walks through her door now, in Cam’s eager grin when he shows me his latest video game achievements.

I hear Cam’s excited chatter drift through the open windows, punctuated by Hannah’s soft laughter. The sound warms something in my chest. This is what I’ve been missing all these years without knowing it—the simple joy of family.

I set down the drill and wipe my brow, surveying my progress. The porch is nearly done, sturdy boards replacing the weathered ones that creaked ominously underfoot. Next week I’ll sand and stain it all to match. Maybe add a porch swing—I can picture Hannah curled up there with a book on quiet evenings.

The screen door squeaks open behind me. “Liam?” Hannah’s voice is hesitant but warm. “Would you... would you like to stay for dinner?”

I turn to find her hovering in the doorway, the afternoon sun catching the honey highlights in her dark hair. Even in simple jeans and a faded t-shirt, she takes my breath away. Always has.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” I hedge, though every part of me aches to say yes.

She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “It’s not an imposition. I’m making chicken, and there’s plenty. Besides.” Her eyes dart away then back. “Cam would love it if you stayed.”

Just Cam?I want to ask, but I hold my tongue. We’re still finding our footing, this delicate dance of becoming whatever we’re becoming. I won’t push.

“Well, if Cam insists,” I say with a grin, and her answering smile lights up her whole face.

“Great! Let me just—” She gestures vaguely at the house. “Get things started.”

As she disappears inside, I gather my tools, tucking them away in their designated spots in my truck. It’s become a familiar routine these past weeks—showing up after work or on weekends, tackling whatever repairs need doing. Sometimes Cam helps, eager to learn and full of questions. Other times Hannah brings me cold drinks and watches with worried eyes as I fix plumbing issues or reinforce windows. Always making her home more secure, though we never directly discuss why.

The smell of roasting chicken and herbs greets me when I step inside. Hannah moves confidently around the kitchen—another change I’ve noticed lately. She seems more at ease in her own space, less like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I slip into the bathroom first to clean up. I do my best to make myself more presentable. I hadn’t expected to join them for dinner or else I would have brought a clean shirt. After washing my hands three times, I splash water on my face and through my hair. It at least gets all the dust off me.

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