Page 69 of Truck Hard

Hannah disappears into the bathroom to fix her hair while I collect my tools from where I’d dropped them by the front door. The wrench and screwdriver mock me—reminders of work I’d intended to do before getting thoroughly distracted.

“Your shirt’s on inside out.” Hannah calls from the hallway, amusement clear in her voice.

I glance down and curse, quickly yanking it off to fix it. “Thanks for telling me before Cam got home. He’d never let me live that down.”

“He’s observant like that.” She emerges from the bathroom looking fresh and put-together, though her lips are still slightly swollen from our kisses. “Gets it from you.”

“Pretty sure he gets all his best qualities from you.” I cross to her and pull her close, unable to resist stealing one more quick kiss. “Including that stubborn streak.” I tease.

She swats my chest playfully. “Oh please, you’re the most stubborn person I know.”

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together.” I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her arousal and the evidence of sex. It makes me wish I had time to toss her over my shoulder and take her upstairs for another round. “We’re equally hard-headed.”

She laughs at my admission before she retreats from my embrace. I watch her as she gets ready to start painting again and it’s a reminder that I should get to work as well. Seeing her like this—happy, carefree—is a reminder that we’re on the right path. Toward a future together, as a family.

I won’t screw it up. Not this time.

This time, I’ll get it right.

The paint rollermakes a satisfying sound as it glides across the wall, transforming the space into something that fits Hannah’s personality better. My muscles flex with each stroke, finding a rhythm in the repetitive motion. The morning’sactivities with Hannah left me energized rather than drained, and I’m channeling that energy into getting these walls done before dinner time.

Hannah works beside me, focused on cutting in around the window trim. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. There’s a smudge of paint on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and wipe it away. Just watching her—confident, determined, slowly reclaiming her space—makes my heart swell.

“You missed a spot.” I tease, nodding toward a patch near the ceiling.

She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “I was getting to that.”

“Sure you were.” I step closer, deliberately invading her space. “Want me to get it?”

“I can reach it.” She stretches up on her tiptoes, proving her point even as she wobbles slightly.

My hands find her hips automatically, steadying her. “I know you can. But you’re also allowed to accept my help.”

The words carry more weight than I intended, and I feel her tense slightly under my touch. For a moment, I worry I’ve pushed too far, said too much. But then she leans back against me, just slightly, and my breath catches at the trust in that simple gesture.

“I know,” she says softly. “It’s just... hard sometimes. Learning to let people help.”

I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the faint scent of her lavender body spray mixed with paint fumes. “I’m a patient man. Take all the time you need.”

She turns in my arms, paint roller forgotten as she looks up at me. The vulnerability in her eyes makes my chest ache. “Are you though? Patient enough to deal with all my baggage? My fears? Charlie?”

“Hey.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever comes next—Charlie, court dates, nightmares—I’ve got you. We face it together. You and me and Cam. That’s what family does.”

Tears well in her eyes, but before she can respond, the front door slams open.

“Mom! I’m home!” Cam’s voice carries through the house, followed by the thud of his backpack hitting the floor.

Hannah quickly wipes her eyes before she spins around to face her son. Cam stands in the doorway, face lighting up when he sees me.

“You’re here!” He grins, then takes in the half-painted walls. “Awesome! Can I help?”

I laugh at his enthusiasm. “Better change out of your school clothes first, bud. Your mom will kill me if we get paint on them.”

He’s already pulling off his hoodie. “I’ll go put on old clothes. Don’t finish without me!”

We watch him bound up the stairs, both smiling at his energy. When I look back at Hannah, the tears are gone, replaced by something softer, warmer.

“He adores you,” she says quietly.

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