Page 98 of Truck Hard

“Then you know better than anyone why she might need time to process this,” Warren says gently. “Love isn’t just words for her anymore. It’s loaded with trauma and fear.”

“I just…” I grip the edge of the workbench until my knuckles turn white. “I thought we were past this. We were doing so well, you know? She was letting me in, trusting me with her heart, with Cam. It felt like we were finally building something real.”

“You still are.” Ash chimes in, his earlier anger forgotten. “But maybe you need to take a step back. Let her come to you.”

“What if she doesn’t?” I admit my deepest fear quietly.

Neither of them has an answer for that. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sound of a car driving down the road outside.

Finally, Warren sighs. “Look, you can’t force this. Either she’ll work through her fears and choose you, or—”

“She won’t.” I finish for him. The possibility sits like lead in my stomach.

“But running yourself into the ground won’t help either way.” He continues. “When was the last time you actually slept?”

I shrug, turning back to the engine. Sleep has been elusive lately, my mind too full of what-ifs and might-have-beens. Most nights I lie awake remembering the way Hannah felt in my arms, the sound of her laugh, the light in her eyes when she looks at our son. All the things I’m terrified of losing.

“That’s what I thought.” Warren’s voice takes on that authoritative tone he uses when he’s about to hand down orders. “Go home. Get some rest. The shop won’t fall apart without you for one afternoon.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “And you won’t be any good to Hannah or Cam if you run yourself into the ground.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. But the thought of going home to an empty house, with nothing but my thoughts for company, makes my skin crawl.

“The Reynolds’ truck needs to be done by—”

“I’ll handle it.” Ash cuts in. “Seriously, man. Take a break before you hurt yourself. Or someone else’s car.”

I look down at the engine I’ve been supposedly working on all morning. In my distraction, I’ve managed to cross-thread one of the bolts and probably stripped the threading. They’re right—I’m liable to do more harm than good in this state.

“Fine.” I concede, tossing the wrench onto my tool cart with more force than necessary. “But I’m coming back first thing tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” Warren claps me on the shoulder. “Just... try to get some actual sleep, yeah?”

I grunt noncommittally as I gather my things. The walk to the house feels longer than usual, each step weighted with exhaustion and worry. But I don’t make it very far. I stop halfway between the shop and the garage and stare out at the open fields.

I pull out my phone and open the text chain with Hannah. The last message from her sits at the top of our conversation thread, sent three days ago.

Hannah

Cam has baseball practice after school. Don’t worry about picking him up.

I scroll up through our texts, watching our easy banter deteriorate into short, practical exchanges about Cam’s schedule. I hate that it feels like we’re strangers again?

A memory surfaces. Hannah in my arms that day by the lake, sun-warmed and laughing as I kissed my way down her neck. The way she gasped my name, her fingers tangling in my hair. The perfect feeling of rightness when I slid inside her.

I thought we were healing. Thought we were building something stronger than before. But maybe I rushed it. Maybe I asked for too much, too soon.

Warren’s words echo in my head.Either she’ll work through her fears and choose you, or she won’t.

The problem is, I’m not sure I can handle it if she doesn’t. I’ve already lost her once. The thought of losing her again, of losing Cam. It’s too much.

After stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I rest my hands on my hips, trying to breathe through the ache in my chest. This must be what drowning feels like—watching everything you love slip away while you struggle to keep your head above water.

The sound of the garage door creaking open draws my eyes behind me. Warren stands there, concern etched across his features.

“Hey,” I say, forcing a neutral expression.

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