Page 19 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

Hemlock shifted uncomfortably on the steps, his gaze flicking between the ground and Truck.

There was a sheepishness in his eyes that made Truck’s blood start to simmer again, but he held himself back—just barely.

He wanted to yell. He wanted to shake him, to knock some sense into him.

But instead, he breathed out through his nose and managed a low growl. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I have,” Hemlock muttered, his voice defensive.

Truck narrowed his eyes. “Where’s your bike been?”

Hemlock gave a small, guilty smile. “Inside with me,” he muttered, as if that somehow made it better.

Truck’s jaw clenched as he stared at Hemlock, still sitting on the steps, looking like a kid who’d gotten caught sneaking cookies from the jar. The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable, but Truck wasn’t backing down this time. He wasn’t letting this slide.

“No,” Truck said firmly.

“Yes,” Hemlock shot back, his voice laced with a kind of stubbornness that only made Truck’s frustration boil hotter.

“You’ve been eating my Uncrustables ?” Truck asked, unable to stop the incredulous edge in his voice.

Hemlock’s shoulders tensed, and he avoided Truck’s gaze. “About that,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, “you’re out of the strawberry ones.”

Truck stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “What?”

“I love Charlie and when I figured it out…” Hemlock blurted out.

Truck leaned forward, letting out a sharp exhale through his nose. “You got scared shitless.”

“Yeah. Then I tried calling her all afternoon. And you, too. When I rolled up and saw the car…” he trailed off, his voice ending in an uncomfortable silence.

Truck felt the weight of the confession, the raw emotion behind it.

Hemlock hadn’t just been hiding from them —he’d been hiding from himself, from the truth.

And when the fear took over, it had clouded his judgment, made him see things that weren’t even there.

“You assumed the worse before you ever stepped foot inside,”

Truck’s voice was low, a little more tired now, like the fight was draining out of him.

“You let your own damn paranoia screw you over, kid.”

Hemlock’s eyes flickered, guilt and shame evident on his face. “I did.”

Truck exhaled, his shoulders slumping just a little. “Let’s not jump to conclusions anymore. Okay.”

“Okay.” Hemlock’s gaze flickered to the steri-strips on Truck’s chin, and a sharp pang of guilt hit him.

It was hard to ignore, especially with how raw it felt now, the way his actions had just hurt someone who’d never done anything but have his back.

Hemlock’s voice dropped a notch, the weight of it settling in his chest, “I’m sorry for punching you. ” the words thick with regret.

Truck winced slightly as he ran his thumb over the edge of his chin where the cut was still tender. “About that. My chin’s still killing me,” his voice held an almost dry humor, but it was clear that despite the pain, he wasn’t angry.

Hemlock chuckled. “Getting soft on me, old man?”

Truck snorted, shaking his head. “Nope, and once this is healed, we’re going another round.” He glanced at Hemlock with a little glint of mischief in his eyes.

Hemlock’s eyes widened, half in disbelief, half in genuine amusement. “Truck,” his voice was a little more serious now that the same vulnerability was creeping back in.

Truck answered, sensing the shift. “Yeah.”

“How do I fix things with Charlie?” Hemlock’s words were quieter now, almost like he was bracing for something heavy. His fingers laced together, his uncertainty about how to approach the whole situation making his chest tighten.

Truck’s expression softened, the tough exterior giving way just a little as he looked at Hemlock.

“Your cinnamon girl is worried sick about you. Don’t think she’s been sitting around with her hands folded.

Trust me, she’s been pacing, texting, calling, asking me what the hell happened.

” He leaned back against the porch step, his tone steady, but kind.

“But if I were you, kid, I’d start by telling her about your past. Really telling her.

All the stuff you’ve been carrying around. ”

Just the thought of sharing made Hemlock’s stomach twist. He hadn’t wanted to go down that road.

He hated the idea of digging up all that old shit—the things he’d tried so hard to leave behind.

But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Charlie didn’t know everything , and without that understanding, how could she?

How could she see him for who he was, for all the things he was trying to be if he wasn’t honest with her about the things that shaped him?

Maybe he could just buy her something shiny and apologize.

“I see you plotting and don’t,” Truck said, knowing exactly where Hemlock’s thoughts were heading and he cut that thought process off. “After everything that girl’s been through, she deserves more than some trinket and a pitiful I’m sorry.”

Truck knew him better than he thought. “Pitiful. I was sincere when I told you I was sorry,” Hemlock said and smiled at his brother.

“It was pitiful.” Truck made sad puppy dog eyes at Hemlock. “Absolutely, pitiful.”

“Jackass.” Hemlock sighed. “I don’t know how to even start,” Hemlock admitted, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t know how to say any of it without... pushing her away.”

Truck gave him a look that was part concern, part challenge.

“The truth’s gonna come out one way or another, Hemlock.

You can’t hide from it forever. And you sure as hell can’t keep running from her.

If she cares about you—like I think she does—you owe it to her to let her see all of you.

Not just the pieces you want her to see . ”

There was a weight to Truck’s words. It was the kind of truth that was hard to swallow, but necessary. If Hemlock knew anything, he knew that much.