Page 23 of Truck Hard

The sound of a motorcycle engine revving draws my attention back to the window. Warren’s still out there, now helping Christian with some complicated-looking repair job. They work in perfect sync despite their different styles—Warren methodical and precise, Christian more intuitive and experimental.

Watching them, I’m struck by a memory. Warren at eighteen, standing in this same garage, telling me he was leaving for college. I’d been so angry, so convinced he was abandoning the family just when we needed him most. The business was struggling and on the verge of closing. I needed him to help work the shop. My other brothers were still in school and couldn’t work full-time. It was just me and Warren at the time.

When he left, it was just me.

The things I’d said that day... God, what I wouldn’t do to take them back.

My chair scrapes against the floor as I stand abruptly. This at least is something I can fix. One small step toward being the man I should have been all along.

The afternoon sun is brutal as I step out of my air-conditioned office. The scent of motor oil and hot metal fills my lungs—familiar smells that usually comfort me, but today just remind me of everything I’ve been trying to hold onto. Everything I’ve been afraid to let go of.

Warren looks up as I approach, wiping his hands on a rag. “Need something?”

“Got a minute?” I gesture toward the back of the shop where we keep the drink cooler. “Want to talk to you about something.”

He exchanges a look with Christian, who shrugs and goes back to work on the bike. Warren follows me to the cooler,acceptance tinged with wariness in his posture. When was the last time we had a real conversation, just the two of us?

I grab two bottles of water, tossing one to him. He catches it easily, but doesn’t open it. He just watches me with those analytical eyes that always seem to see right through bullshit.

“So.” He breaks the silence first. “What’s on your mind?”

I take a long drink, buying time to organize my thoughts. The water is ice cold, shocking my system into alertness. “Been thinking about when you left for college.”

His expression closes off slightly. “Ancient history.”

“Maybe.” I set my bottle down on top of the cooler. “Or maybe it’s about time I apologized for being such an ass about it.”

That gets his attention. Warren’s eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise crossing his features before he schools them back to neutral. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I do.” I cut him off. “I was wrong. Calling you selfish for wanting something different than what this family had planned for us. You weren’t abandoning the family, you were following your dreams. I should have supported that instead of making you feel guilty about it.”

Warren is silent for a long moment, studying the condensation dripping down his water bottle. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than usual. “We were both young and stupid back then. Said things we didn’t mean.”

“Still.” I lean against the cooler, feeling the cold seep through my shirt. “I was the older brother. Should have known better.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You’ve always taken that ‘older brother’ thing too seriously, you know that?”

“Someone had to.” The words come out more defensive than intended.

“Did you?” Warren’s gaze is sharp now, assessing. “Or did you just convince yourself of that because it was easier than admitting you were scared too?”

The question hits too close to home, echoing Mac’s earlier accusations. Have I been hiding behind responsibility and family obligation all this time? Using it as an excuse to avoid taking real risks?

“Maybe.” I admit. “Probably. I don’t know anymore.”

Warren nods like this confirms something for him. “You’re thinking about Hannah.”

It’s not a question. Am I really that transparent? “That obvious, huh?”

“You get this look on your face whenever someone mentions her.” He takes a drink of his water. “Same look you had back in high school when you thought no one was watching.”

I rub the back of my neck and look away. “I didn’t—”

“Please.” Warren cuts me off with a snort. “You were about as subtle as a hammer to the head. Everyone knew you were crazy about her. Still are, from what I can see.”

The truth of his words settles in my chest like a physical weight. Because he’s right—of course he’s right. Thirteen years, countless distractions, and not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her. Wondered what might have been if I’d been brave enough to fight for what we had.

“Doesn’t matter now.” I push off the cooler, suddenly restless. “I can’t change the past.”

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