Page 26 of Truck Up

Mom adds another layer of chaos to my already tumultuous life. I swear “Chaos” should be her middle name. If it weren’t for my brothers, my addiction would have consumed me entirely, just as it had consumed her. They’ve never given up on me.

But she doesn’t have the same support system. My dad, weak and cowardly though he was, gave me a family—a lifeline that’s kept me alive. I’ll forever be grateful for that.

This is why I insist on taking care of Mom. Chase hates it. If he had his way, we’d walk away, severing all ties. I can’t do that. What if my brothers had abandoned me in my darkest hours? I’d be lost, likely already dead in some gutter.

They didn’t give up on me. Therefore, I can’t abandon Mom. Someone has to care if she’s still breathing. That someone is me.

So I accept the stares, the whispers, the judgment. I’ve earned it. I deserve it. I’ll endure it.

But Amelia? She doesn’t deserve this. Days have passed since she told me she’s pregnant, and I’ve acted like a coward, just like my fucking father. Maybe there’s more of him in me than I thought.

Though he never turned his back on his kids, he wasn’t a good father. Grams did most of the raising. But he never abandoned us, never denied his paternity. He simply didn’t know how to heal the gaping wound left by the loss of his true love.

After his wife, Susanne—the mother of Liam, Warren, and Garret—died, he became a shell of himself. From Grams’s stories, I know he loved Susanne with a fierce, unwavering devotion. Her death shattered him. So he sought solace in the arms of women who could never replace her, women he knew he’d never truly love or marry.

That’s why he was with my mother, Christina. And later, with Monika, Ash’s mom, and Heidi, Mac’s mom. He only wanted to escape the crushing weight of his grief. Unfortunately, that escape has proven elusive. He still mourns Susanne today.

Mom never stood a chance, despite her desperate attempts to win his heart. She loved him, but her love was a futile endeavor. He’d never return it, not to her, not to anyone. So she turned to drugs, and the cycle of self-destruction began.

With each woman my dad impregnated, Mom’s addiction deepened. It was a constant, agonizing reminder of his inabilityto move on. Eventually, the addiction consumed her, its grip too strong to break. Now, all we can do is offer what little support we can.

That’s why I insist Chase and I have dinner with her once a month. Everyone deserves love, even an addict like my mother.

If a cynic like me can believe that, there’s a glimmer of hope for humanity.

I finally look up from the shelf, startled by the sudden influx of people. The late church service has likely just let out.

I make eye contact with an older lady a few aisles down, a chilling jolt of recognition. I don’t know her name, but I’ve seen her at town events. She glares at me, her eyes cold and accusing.

She’s probably on Team Koch, entrenched in the decades-old feud. I still can’t fathom how a stupid game of poker, played by our ancestors, can still be a source of such bitter contention. My ancestors were fortunate enough to win, while the Kochs lost. And here we are, generations later, still mired in the consequences of that long-forgotten game.

Feud aside, she’s likely glaring at me simply because I’m Christian Mutter. Thebad twin. The town addict and troublemaker. That’s the reputation I’ve painstakingly cultivated over the years.

I glance around, finding myself the target of multiple icy stares. I should be used to it, but the familiar sting still pierces through me.

If Amelia were here, she’d be showered with smiles and pleasant hellos. Everyone loves her. She’s sweet, kind, and friendly. Strong and intelligent, the antithesis of my weakness and stupidity.

Having a baby with her will never work. We’re too different. Our relationship was never intended to last. It was a temporary solace, a mutual comfort in the aftermath of a near-tragedy.

But now, the thought of losing her sends panic clawing at my chest. She calms my troubled soul in a way nothing else ever has, not even the drugs I once clung to desperately.

In a way, Amelia has become my drug. I’m addicted to her, as desperately as I once was to the oblivion offered by illicit substances.

I crave her presence, her laughter, the warmth of her touch.

The craving leaves me feeling weak, powerless. The thought of losing her is unbearable. But I can’t bring a child into this world, into this judgmental town. It would ruin her. No one would ever look at her the same way again.

I quickly grab the remaining items on my list and hurry out of the store. I don’t need the judgment of strangers adding to the turmoil already swirling within me. I have enough negativity to contend with.

Besides, my day is about to get significantly worse. Chase and I are having dinner with Mom. And Mom has a unique talent for turning even the most mundane of days into a chaotic, soul-crushing experience. She always does.

As is typical,Chase is already at Mom’s cleaning when I arrive. He always gets there early to discard her stash, so I’m not tempted. It’s unnecessary—I can control myself—but I appreciate the effort. While I have a handle on my addiction, removing temptation is always good.

Besides, Chase almost lost me twice. He doesn’t want to risk going through that again—or losing me forever.

I’d do the same if the roles were reversed. The only thing worse than losing Lia would be losing my twin.

Fuck … Losing Lia.