Page 92 of Truck Hard

“A dress?” I ask uncertainly. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Nope.” Cam’s confidence makes me smile. “It’ll look good on you. And wear your hair down—you know, like when you curl it? Dad will like that.”

I stare at my son, amazed by the young man he’s becoming. Despite everything—despite Charlie’s abuse, despite my failures to protect him—he’s grown into someone strong and kind and wise beyond his years.

“When did you get so smart about these things?” I ask, throat tight with emotion.

He shrugs, but I catch the pleased smile tugging at his lips. “I pay attention. And...” He hesitates, then adds quietly, “I want you to be happy, Mom. Both of you.”

The simple honesty in his voice brings tears to my eyes. I pull him into a hug, marveling at how tall he’s gotten. Soon he’ll be taller than me. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“I know.” He hugs me back, then pulls away with typical teenage awkwardness. “Now get dressed. You’ve only got like an hour left.”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.” But I’m smiling as I shoo him out of the room. “I’ll be down soon.”

Once he’s gone, I look at the dress with new eyes. It really is pretty, and the color reminds me of summer skies and lazy afternoons—days when I felt young and free and full of possibility. Days with Liam.

I slip the dress over my head, adjusting the straps until they lay flat against my shoulders. The fabric swishes around my legs as I move, light and feminine. When was the last time I felt feminine? Charlie preferred me in business casual clothes or suits, things that hid my body and kept other men from looking. But Liam...

Liam looks at me like I’m beautiful. Like I’m worth seeing.

Taking a deep breath, I sit at my vanity and pick up my curling iron. Cam was right about the hair too—Liam always loved it when I wore it down and curled. Back in high school, he’d spend hours running his fingers through it, twirling strands around his finger while we studied or talked or kissed.

The memory sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. I work methodically, section by section, until soft waves frame my face. A light touch of makeup comes next—just enough to enhance without hiding. Charlie hated makeup too, saying it made me look cheap. But I’m done letting his preferences dictate my choices.

I’m done letting him dictate anything.

Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I smooth my hands down the front of the dress. The woman reflected back at me looks... different. Softer somehow, more like the girl I used to be. But stronger too, with an edge of hard-won wisdom in her eyes.

“Mom?” Cam calls from downstairs. “You almost ready?”

“Coming!” I grab a pair of sandals—low heels, pretty but practical since I don’t know what Liam has planned. A small purse, a spritz of the perfume my sister sent for my birthday, and—

I pause, hand hovering over my jewelry box. Inside lies the delicate silver bracelet Liam gave me for our one-year anniversary, back when we were seventeen and thought love could conquer anything. I’d kept it hidden from Charlie, unable to bear the thought of him destroying it.

With trembling fingers, I fasten it around my wrist. The familiar weight feels like coming home.

Cam waits at the bottom of the stairs, sprawled across the bottom step with his phone in his hands. He looks up when I approach, and his face breaks into a wide grin.

“See?” He says, gesturing at my outfit. “I told you that was the one.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I ruffle his hair as I pass, laughing when he ducks away. “When did you get so fashion-conscious anyway?”

He shrugs, but there’s something soft in his expression as he looks at me. “You look happy, Mom. Like... like you used to look in the old pictures.”

My heart squeezes. I know the pictures he means—the ones I keep in an album under my bed, memories of better days preserved in fading photographs. Pictures of me and Liam at football games, at prom, at the lake where we spent countless summer afternoons. Pictures where my smile reached my eyes and no shadows lurked behind them.

“I am happy.” I tell him, and I’m surprised to find it’s true. Despite the anxiety thrumming through my veins, despite the echo of Charlie’s voice in my head—I’m happy. Hopeful, even.

“Good.” He gets up, stretching his lanky frame. “Because Dad’s here.”

“What?” I whirl toward the window, heart leaping into my throat. Sure enough, Liam’s truck is pulling into our driveway. “But it’s not noon yet!”

“It’s 11:58.” Cam’s voice holds barely suppressed laughter. “Breathe, Mom. You look great.”

I force air into my lungs, trying to calm my racing pulse. This is Liam. Just Liam. The boy who held my hand through freshman algebra, who taught me to drive stick-shift in his granddad’s old pickup, who kissed me for the first time under the bleachers after a basketball game.

The man who still looks at me like I hang the moon.

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