Page 47 of Truck You

I don’t answer him. Instead, I hold up the letter from Heidi.

“What’s this?” he asks as he takes it from me.

“Just read it.”

He watches me for a moment before he smooths out the paper and uses his own phone as a flashlight. He’s silent as his eyes roam over the letter. When he reaches the end, he lets out a low curse.

“Whoa. Three more siblings. That’s heavy.”

All I can manage is a nod.

He says something else, but my mind shuts down. All I can think about is how little I meant to her. She never cared about me. If she did, she would have come back.

Instead, she made a new family and forgot all about me. She had three more kids and never told me. More lies. More hate. More pain.

More reason to never trust a woman with my heart.

Chapter12

Not all history lessons are boring.

Sophia

Rolling over in bed, I hide my head under the pillow to stifle my groan. Mac Mutter gets under my skin like no one ever has before. And for reasons I can’t explain, I have zero control around him.

So much so, I can’t believe I had sex with him—a man whoactslike he hates me—out in the open, where anyone could walk up and catch us.

And his hatred toward me is definitely acting. No man—I don’t care who he is—would ever barge into enemy territory like Mac did last night if he didn’t have feelings for me.

The way he tossed me over his shoulder was so primal and hot.

It infuriated me and turned me on at the same time. Clearly, since I let him fuck me against a building no more than a block away from Main Street, where all the festivities were taking place.

I don’t even want to think about how many people heard us.

His brothers heard us. I know that much. After Mac ran off, Ash followed me. He tried to talk to me and make up some sorry ass excuse for Mac’s behavior. I didn’t want to hear it.

Instead, I found Clara and told her I needed to go home. She gave me her keys and said she’d get a ride from someone else. How did I get so lucky to make a friend like her?

Deciding I need to repay her, I toss the covers back and climb out of bed. It’s still dark outside, but the sun will be up soon.

I put on a pot of coffee, then dig around the refrigerator and pantry to see what we’ve got to make for breakfast.

There’s a package of maple sausage links and everything I need for pancakes.My favorite. I’d eat pancakes for every meal if they were available. I hope Clara likes pancakes too.

While the coffee is brewing, I fry up the sausage and mix up the batter. By the time I’m ready to cook the pancakes, the sun is up and glaring through the small kitchen window above the sink.

It’s so bright, it’s blinding, but I like it. There’s something about it that leaves me with a feeling of ease and comfort. It’s like a welcoming friend greeting me as I start my day.

I also like the quiet. Living my entire life in a big city, I got used to the constant hum of noise. There is no noise in the country. I hear an occasional tree branch creek when the wind blows, but otherwise it’s just me, the sizzle of the sausage, and my thoughts.

Though, I’m not having much fun with my thoughts today.

I plate up the sausage and cover it with foil to keep it warm as I flip the pancakes. I’m almost done, and Clara still isn’t up, so I turn the oven on low heat to keep the food warm.

Her kitchen is old, but large. It’s so open there’s room for a center island if she ever decides to remodel it.

It’s got one of those ceramic farmhouse-style sinks I always thought were cool. The cabinets are solid wood, but could use refinishing, and the countertops have seen better days. They’re laminate with chips throughout where it looks like someone dropped stuff on it over the years.

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