Page 1 of Truck You

Chapter1

Apples aren’t the only things that are red.

Mac

There’s an energy in the air that feeds my soul and sends a buzz of excitement through every bone in my body.

I love this time of year. The temperatures are cooler, the leaves are changing colors, and before long, there will be snow on the ground. I might have to wait a few more months for that, but it’s coming. Racing ATVs in the snow is one of my favorite activities.

But for now, there’s still a warmth that draws people out to enjoy good food, silly games, andmostlysafe carnival rides.

Because it’s festival season.

My brother Ash and I step into a local tavern in downtown Jackson, a small city close to where we grew up racing and fixing cars in the hills of southern Ohio with our five older brothers. Many of whom should be here soon. We’ll grab a couple of beers before we head out to enjoy the opening night of Jackson’s locally famous Apple Festival.

“Yo, jackass! What are you drinking?” Ash yells across the noisy bar.

I cup my hands around my mouth and call back. “A Bud’s fine.”

He nods while I claim a pool table in the back corner. I’m surprised to find one open considering how busy this place is tonight. It’s always crowded in here during the Apple Festival, and playing pool typically isn’t an option.

I’m racking the balls when someone jumps up on my back and hollers in my ear. Normally, I’d stiffen and ready myself for a fight, but not tonight. I know it’s my dumbass brother Chase. I can pinpoint his fancy-ass cologne anywhere. Plus, he’s always doing shit like that.

“Get off me, motherfucker.” I jab my elbow in his ribs before I turn around and secure him in a headlock. I tousle his hair, knowing how much he hates it.

“Off the ‘do, man.” He shoves against me and runs his fingers through his hair, attempting to put each strand back in place.

“Aw, did I mess up the pretty boy’s hair?” I tease and rush to the other side of the pool table before he can retaliate.

“Mac, stop razzing your sister,” Liam, our oldest brother, teases as he drops onto a stool at a neighboring high-top table. It’s good to hear him joking around. He’s always so serious and acts like he’s our dad most of the time instead of our brother.

Chase glares at him, but the jab doesn’t stop him from fixing his hair.

“Who’s up first?” Ash asks as he sits two bottles of Budweiser on the table next to Liam and keeps one for himself. Another one of my brothers, Christian, hands a bottle to Chase while taking a long pull on his own.

I stare at Christian and Chase and shake my head at how different they look. Sometimes I can’t believe they’re identical twins.

Chase is clean cut, in a nice button-down shirt and crisp jeans, while Christian looks like he just stepped off the set ofSons of Anarchyin his ripped-up jeans and black leather jacket. Chase’s dark brown hair is perfectly styled, and Christian looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Their personalities are just as different as their appearance. Chase is fun-loving, playful, and charming. But Christian has perfected the silent bad boy, damaged soul demeanor. It amazes me how much the chicks dig it. He gets more tail than any of us.

“Babies first,” Chase says with a grin. Good thing he’s on the opposite side of the pool table or else I’d mess up his hair again.

Bybabies first, he means Ash and me. We’re the youngest of the Mutter brothers, with me being the actual baby, as they love to remind meall the fucking time. Not that we’re all that young anymore. I’m twenty-seven, and Ash is a year older. Maybe when we hit our thirties they’ll shut the fuck up.

One can hope.

“Where’s Garret?” Ash asks. He brushes his dark blond hair out of his eyes where it swoops down into his face. If he’d go get a haircut, that wouldn’t happen. He’s the only one of us that has dark blond hair and blue eyes. The rest of us Mutter brothers all got our dad’s exact shades of brown hair and brown eyes. Which, if you think about it, is pretty fucking amazing since we don’t all have the same mom.

Liam shakes his head and sighs. “Couldn’t get him to come out.”

Garret’s the third oldest of seven, and a recluse. I swear he’d never show his face in public again if he didn’t have to work.

We all live on our family’s property in Beaver, a tiny ass village in the middle of nowhere. It’s so small, it’s barely a map dot.

But the Mutters have owned over sixty acres in the surrounding countryside of Beaver for almost a hundred years, so that’s where we all live.

All of us except our brother Warren. He moved away for college sixteen years ago and never moved back. He lives somewhere in North Carolina designing racecars now. At least he’s doing something with his life that we can relate to. He’s the smartest of all of us. Earned his PhD and everything.

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