Page 83 of Truck Off

After a quick glance around the apartment, I head to the door. It’s still a mess, but it’s a lot cleaner than it was when I arrived. Mom probably won’t even notice.

For a man who just shared the best night of my life with a woman I’ve wanted for years, I’m in one hell of a shit mood.

When I slide behind the wheel of my truck, a heaviness weighs me down. Hopelessness and defeat. I’ve spent my entire life caring for a woman who doesn’t care that I do it. Hell, she doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. And she’s my fucking mother.

Am I setting myself up for failure by trying to do the same thing for Lina?

She said she doesn’t want my help, and yet I keep insisting. Unlike my mom, I want to take care of Lina. I need her to want to rely on me.

I can’t tell if her resistance is stubbornness or that she really doesn’t want me the same way I want her.

Either way, I’m already in too deep. All that I can hope for is that Lina is truly in this with me too.

If she’s not, it just might destroy me.

Chapter 19

Stubbornness and pride that run a mile wide

Lina

There’s a hint of guilt nibbling at the fringes of my thoughts, but I push it back for what feels like the hundredth time.

Okay, maybe it’s not a hint. More like a large neon sign flashing before my eyes that says STOP! Don’t do it.

But I’m predictably stubborn. And I don’t stop.

I bummed a ride from my neighbor after I received word that my car was fixed and ready to be picked up.

And now, I push right past that glaring imaginary sign trying to get my attention, and march into Mutter’s garage.

I walk right past Sophia, who’s standing next to an old Buick with a greasy car part in her hand. Christian pushes to his feet from where he was sitting next to a bike he’s building. I see a few other bodies move in my peripheral vision, but I ignore those too.

I head straight for Liam’s office.

“Lina.” He pushes to his feet, surprised to see me. “I told you we’d drop it off for you. You didn’t need to come down.”

“I know, but I wanted to make sure I paid you for the work.”

He furrows his brow and stares at me like I spoke a foreign language.

“I can’t take your money,” he says in a low, almost threatening tone. It causes my already tense nerves to tighten even more.

“Of course you can. Now tell how much I owe you,” I demand as I pull my wallet out of my purse.

This is going to hurt and might even cost me our electricity, but I can’t take this level of charity from Chase. I thought the inks and new cabinet he bought me for work were too much, but this takes his so-called help to a whole new level.

I’m not a dummy. I know how much a fuel pump for my car costs. The part alone is over three hundred dollars. The labor I was quoted to replace it was even more. I can’t afford this—not even close—but I can’t let him do this for me.

I run through my mental checklist of all the bills I still haven’t paid this month, and I start to feel ill. I owe the electric company a payment soon, and this will eat away at what I’ve saved. It also means I still won’t be able to fix the water heater.

Looks like it’s another month of cold showers.

At least it’s getting warm outside now that we’re working our way into the summer months.

Thank goodness my sales at the street fair were so good and I was able to stock up on Dad’s medication. If that hadn’t been the case, I’d be screwed on an unbearable level.

I pull my bank card out of my wallet and hand it to him. He tosses his hands in the air and steps back like I’m shoving a poisonous snake at him.

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