Page 7 of Truck Hard

So I came home. To a falling down house, no job, and a mountain of fear I’m still figuring out to process.

I sigh at the state of his old house. I was too busy trying and failing at playing the perfect wife in my not-so-perfect house in the next town over, pretending everything was fine while my world crumbled around me. This house crumbled and fell apart with me.

Never again.

I find Cam in the kitchen, staring at the ancient stove like it’s personally offended him. At twelve, he’s already showing signs of the man he’ll become—tall for his age, with a serious set to his jaw that reminds me so much of—

Stop it.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

He turns to me, frustration evident in every line of his body. “How are we supposed to cook anything? This thing doesn’t even turn on.”

I step closer, testing the knobs myself even though I already know it’s useless. The gas was turned off years ago, and even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t trust this relic not to blow us all sky-high.

“We’ll figure something out,” I say, aiming for confidence and probably missing by a mile. “Maybe we can get a hot plate for now? Or there’s always the microwave.”

“Mom.” His voice carries a weight no twelve-year-old should have to bear. “How are we going to afford any of that? I know you don’t have a job yet, and—”

“Hey.” I cut him off, pulling him into a hug before he can see the tears threatening to fall. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

He hugs me back, fiercely protective in a way that breaks my heart. “But I do worry. This house ... it’s falling apart. What if … what ifhefinds out where we are? The doors don’t even lock properly.”

He.Not ‘Dad’ anymore. Never ‘Dad.’ Justhe, like Charlie’s become some sort of bogeyman we can’t even name.

“The locks are getting fixed tomorrow.” I promise. “Edge is sending someone he trusts.”

The mention of Edge makes Cam relax slightly. He knows the motorcycle club president is the reason we got away. The reason I’m still alive. He knows every gory detail and I hate that for him.

I still don’t know all the details, Cameron won’t talk about it. All I know is he met Edge by chance. Edge showed him kindness when he was struggling after a particularly brutal beating. He told Edge what Charlie does to me—or rather did to me—and Edge made him a promise. Said if Cameron ever called him for help, he’d come.

“Okay,” Cam says finally, pulling back to look at me. “But what about food? And heat? And all the other stuff this place needs?”

I force a smile. “One thing at a time, honey. I have some interviews lined up. Frank’s Frosty Kreme is hiring, and there’s a position at a grocery store in Waverly.”

“You used to help with his campaign office,” he says quietly. “Now you’re going to scoop ice cream?”

The words sting, not because they’re meant to hurt—Cam would never intentionally hurt me—but because they’re true. Iused to help Charlie manage staff, organize events, and handle PR crisis. I was good at it, too. It was the only work Charlie would allow me to do because it was with him. He could control me there same as he controlled me at home.

But that was in another life. A life where my husband wasn’t in jail for nearly killing me. A life where our name still meant something in this town besides scandal and shame.

“Hey.” I cup his face in my hands, making him meet my eyes. “There’s no shame in honest work. And right now, what we need is a fresh start. Something simple. Somethingsafe.”

He studies me for a long moment, so serious, so grown-up. Then he pulls me into another hug.

“I know you’re trying,” he whispers against my shoulder. “I just... I want you to be okay.”

My heart clenches. This beautiful, precious boy. When did he start trying to take care of me instead of the other way around?

“I am okay.” I tell him, even though we both know it’s not entirely true. “Or I will be. We both will be. We just need time.”

He nods but doesn’t let go. We stand there in the kitchen, holding each other, while the afternoon sun streams through the windows, highlighting how dirty this house really is. This broken-down house with its creaky floors and temperamental plumbing isn’t much, but it’s ours. A chance to start over. To build something new from the ashes of what we lost.

“You should finish unpacking your room,” I say finally, pulling back with a gentle smile. “I think I saw your Xbox in one of those boxes.”

His face brightens slightly. “Yeah? You’ll be okay down here?”

“I’ll be fine. Go on.”

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