Page 88 of Truck Hard

Because as far as I’m concerned, she does belong here. She always has. As the oldest son, this house goes to me. One day, I hope to share this home with Hannah too.

She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t Grams tell you to wash up?”

“Yes, I did.” Grams scolds, appearing behind me with another dish. “And yet here you stand, tracking dirt on my clean floor.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “Going, going.”

But before I can move, Hannah crosses to me and slides her arms around my waist. The simple gesture sends electricity dancing along my nerves. Something flickers in her eyes—hope warring with old fears. Before I can chase that shadow away, Grams clears her throat pointedly.

“If you two are done making eyes at each other, there’s still work to be done.” But her stern tone is belied by the smile tugging at her lips. “Liam, go wash up. Hannah, help me with these rolls before they burn.”

I steal a quick kiss before heading upstairs, savoring Hannah’s startled laugh. The sound follows me up the stairs, warming me from the inside out.

The bathroom is in chaos when I arrive, with my half brothers jostling for position at the sink. Cam stands on tiptoe trying to reach around Mac’s bulk to wash his hands.

“Move it, squirt.” Mac teases, hip-checking him.

Without missing a beat, Cam retorts. “You move it, Uncle Turtle.”

The room goes quiet for a beat before erupting in laughter. Mac’s nickname from today’s game—earned for his slow-but-steady running style. Hearing Cam use it so casually—claiming his place in our dynamic—it means everything.

“Uncle Turtle?” Mac clutches his chest in mock offense. “That’s it, you’re going down!”

He grabs Cam in a headlock, giving him a gentle noogie while Cam squirms and laughs. The others pile on, turning the small bathroom into a wrestling ring.

I watch from the doorway, chest tight with emotion. This is what Cam should have had all along—uncles who love him, family who support him, laughter instead of fear. The guilt threatens to overwhelm me, but I push it back. I can’t change the past. I can only try to make the future better.

“Alright, break it up.” I call out when the roughhousing threatens to knock over Grams’s favorite towel rack. “Food’s getting cold.”

They settle down, though not without a few more playful shoves. By the time we make it back downstairs, the table is set and loaded with food. The smell alone makes my mouth water.

Hannah and the other women are already seated, along with my father who must have come in while we were upstairs. He catches my eye and nods slightly. We’re still working on rebuilding our relationship, but moments like this help—seeing him make an effort to be present, to be part of the family again.

I take my seat between Hannah and Cam, something settling in my chest at having them both so close. This feels right. Natural. Like coming home after a long journey.

Grams says grace, her weathered hands clasped together. The familiar words wash over me, comfort and tradition wrapped in her accent.

Then the feeding frenzy begins. Dishes are passed, plates are filled, and conversation flows freely. Charlotte teases Garret about the renovation project that’s taken over their house. Christian and Chase argue about which motorcycle brand is the best. Sophia tells Mac about a potential racing sponsorship.

Through it all, Grams holds court at the head of the table, dispensing food and wisdom in equal measure. When Mac reaches for seconds before Christian has gotten firsts, she raps his knuckles with a wooden spoon.

“Manners.” She scolds. “I raised you better than that.”

“Did you though?” Warren asks innocently. “I seem to remember a certain incident with the neighbor’s chickens.”

“That wasyourfault!” Mac protests. “You’re the one who said they needed exercise!”

“Boys.” Grams’s voice cuts through the brewing argument. “Not at the table.”

But her eyes twinkle with barely suppressed mirth. She loves this chaos—the bickering, the teasing, the way we circle back to old stories and inside jokes.

I glance at Hannah, worried she might feel overwhelmed by the Mutter family dynamic. But she’s watching everything with a soft smile, like she’s exactly where she wants to be.

Cam, for his part, is soaking it all in. He peppers everyone with questions about their lives, their jobs, their relationships. His natural curiosity draws even my quieter brothers out of their shells.

When Ash mentions restoring an old Mustang, Cam’s eyes light up. “Can I help? I want to learn about cars!”

“Sure, kid.” Ash grins. “When I finally get it. Could always use an extra pair of hands. Even tiny ones.”

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