Page 1 of Truck Off

Chapter 1

Cold showers

Lina

Dammit. He lied to me. I fucking hate liars.

I waited a good twenty minutes for the water to turn hot, and nothing. It’s still cold as fucking ice water. Turning it off, I head down the narrow hallway of the rundown trailer I live in with Dad. It’s not much—barely holding together—but it’s a roof over our heads.

And until three weeks ago, a major bonus of our subpar living conditions was we still had hot water. Now, we don’t even have that.

When I reach the utility closet, I swing the door open and sigh. There’s no sign the water heater has been touched.

I fight back the tears that I refuse to let fall. I don’t cry. Ever. But if I were to let these tears break free, having to take another cold shower is a damn good reason to shed them.

Back in my bedroom, I unplug my phone and dial my brother’s number. He answers on the second ring.

“Hey, sis. What’s up?”

“Don’t hey sis me. You said you came down yesterday to change the heating element. Why did you lie to me?”

I can hear the dismissive shrug of his shoulders, and it pisses me off even more. “Couldn’t fit it in. Got busy.”

I close my eyes and fight the urge to scream. “Then why didn’t you just say that when I texted you last night?”

“You texted me?”

“Jonas! Don’t act like you don’t remember. I messaged you around ten and asked if you got it fixed. You responded to me that you did.”

“Huh.” He pauses like he’s thinking really hard. Or maybe he’s reading over our text conversation to see if he can dispute my claim. “Well, look at that. I must have misunderstood what you were asking. I was at the bar when you messaged me.”

I drop my head and rub my eyes.

“You promised.” The words come out weak and hurt and I hate it. I never let anyone see my pain. Not even my piece of shit brother. “Going without hot water is torture.”

“Hey, sorry,” he says like we’re talking about him eating the last piece of candy and not him lying to me about fixing the water heater. “I’ll try to make it next weekend, but no promises. I’m really busy.”

“You’re always busy. You haven’t visited us in months.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a life. And now I’m late for work. I’ve gotta get going.”

“It’s Sunday. You never work on Sundays.”

“I took a double-time shift. Money’s too good to pass up. People pay a lot for emergency plumbing issues.”

“Glad to see nothing’s changed. What’s the point in having a plumber for a brother if he refuses to help his family in need?”

“Hey, I gotta get paid. It’s not cheap living in Columbus.”

“Well, your sick father needs hot water. It’s not healthy living like this.”

“Lina, I said I’m sorry. But I gotta go. Work is calling.”

“Fuck you, Jonas.” But the line is silent before I even get the words out.

Typical Jonas. I don’t know why I expected anything more. Or let my hopes rise that he’d actually show up and fix it yesterday while I was at work.

He bailed on us the first chance he got. The day after Jonas graduated high school, he moved to Columbus to start an apprenticeship. He didn’t even bother telling Dad or me that he’d gotten it.

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