Hard to Catch (Paperback)

Chapter One · Sawyer

“Beautiful, aren’t you?” I whisper.

My breath fogs up the window. I can’t get used to her. Six hours now, and I’m still standing here just staring. She glows in the sun, that pearl white paint job catching the last light and turning it molten. Makes my chest feel tight. There she sits: sixty-seven thousand dollars of American muscle, thirty-five inch all-terrains, custom lift, the works. All mine. My fingers skim over the hood, slow and careful. I wipe away a fingerprint that probably isn’t even there. Worth every penny of that Dungeness haul. Worth the next six months of ramen and instant coffee, too.

Missy’s gravel lot crunches beneath my boots as I circle the truck again. I don’t know how many times I’ve walked around her. Twenty? Thirty? I keep checking the lift from every possible angle. Got here early on purpose. I wanted that spot right out front, so everyone coming in would see her. The dinner crowd’s about to show, and my brothers with them. I can’t wait to see their faces.

I dig a microfiber cloth out of my back pocket, spit on it, and buff the driver’s side mirror. Dealership in Tacoma gave me the chrome package for free after I talked up the sales girl. Told her about the last crab season. “Best numbers since ’09,” I said, and she probably thought I was full of shit, but it still worked.

Sun’s dropping now, that weird orange glow painting everything. Even Salt Point looks almost decent. The truck looks like it’s on fire, but in the best way. I stand back, hands on my hips, and just drink it in. The custom LED light bar’s waiting for dark. That’s a show for later—the kids will lose their minds.

Dean parks three spots away, deliberately keeping his distance from my new baby. He gets out slow. His eyes lock onto the truck first, then me. His jaw shifts sideways, the same way it did when I blew my first paycheck on that dirt bike at sixteen. He squints, the crow’s feet deepening at the corners, and runs his tongue over his bottom teeth—that thing he always does before telling me I’ve screwed up. One hand stays on his open truck door, like he might need to escape.

“Hey.” I wave the cloth at him, grinning wide. “Come check her out.”

Dean doesn’t hurry. He crosses over, hands shoved deep in the pockets of that ancient oil-stained jacket he’s worn since I was a kid. He circles the truck, slow, not touching a thing, not saying a word. I’m bouncing on my heels, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“White?” He finally says it, knocking his knuckles against the frame. The sound makes my stomach clench. “For a work truck?”

“Not just white,” I tell him. “Alpine Pearl Metallic.”

He snorts. “It’s white. Gonna show every bit of dirt from here to Tacoma.”

“That’s why there’s car washes.” I run my hand over the door handle. “Plus, the chrome pops against it.”

Dean pops the hood like it’s his own truck. The latch gives with a click. The engine gleams, still brand new. He leans in, eyes sharp, focus all on the machinery.

“V8?” He knows the answer already.

“Yep. Five point seven liter. Three hundred eighty-one horses.” I can’t hide the pride.

He stands up, wipes his hands on his jeans for no reason at all. “Could’ve gotten you a better deal at the yard. Jimmy Porter’s brother-in-law works the Toyota place in Port Angeles. Five grand off, easy.”

“Didn’t want to wait.” I shrug, closing the hood with more care than I’d give a newborn. “Wanted new. Not some fleet truck with thirty thousand miles and someone else’s problems.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “Since when do you care about mileage? That Chevy you were driving had, what, two hundred fifty on it?”

“Two sixty-eight.” I’m not letting him round down. “And she died a noble death.”

“Died because you never changed the oil.”

“I changed it plenty. Just maybe not, you know, religiously.”

Dean heads to the back, taking in the spotless truck bed. “How much this set you back?”

I hesitate. “Sixty-seven.”

He whistles, low and slow. “Jesus, Sawyer. That’s a down payment on a house.”

“I already got a house. She floats.”

“That leaky cabin on a boat doesn’t count.”

I bristle. “Got a roof, got a bed, got a stove. Counts to me.”

Dean steps back, hands on his hips. His eyes narrow, flicking from the chrome rims to the custom lift kit, his jaw working side to side like he’s grinding numbers between his teeth. How many crab pots, how many freezing mornings, how many months of rough water to pay for this.

“Crab season must’ve been good,” he says.

“Best I’ve ever had.” I can’t stop the grin. “Three full loads in two weeks.”

“And you blew it all on this.”

“Not all.” I pat the pocket where my wallet sits lighter than it ever has. “Still got enough for dinner.”

Dean shakes his head. There’s a glint at the edge of his mouth. “Typical. You get a windfall and instead of investing or saving it—“

“I get something that actually makes me happy.” I know how this sounds, but I say it anyway.

The sun drops lower, shadows stretching across the gravel. The truck catches the last light, white-gold and blinding. Dean didn’t see me patching my old Chevy with duct tape. Didn’t see me holding the door shut with a bungie cord. Didn’t see me driving in the rain with water leaking right onto my head. You can only patch things so many times before you deserve something new.

“It is a nice truck.”

I stagger back dramatically. “What was that? Dean Halvorsen admitting I did something right? Somebody call the press.”

“I said it’s nice, not that it was a smart buy.” He thumps my shoulder. Almost knocks me off balance. “But if anyone was gonna blow three months’ wages on a truck they’ll trash in a week, it’d be you.”

I grin. I’ll take it. “Coming from a guy whose truck is a biohazard, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Dean checks his watch, the same Timex he’s always had. “The others’ll be here soon. You done admiring, or you planning to eat tonight?”

“Just a minute.” I’m not done. “Gotta finish wiping her down. Want her looking perfect for the grand entrance.”

Caleb’s SUV pulls in, rumbling over the gravel. Mazy’s face smooshed up against the window, eyes huge when she spots the truck. Their family wagon hasn’t changed in a decade, caked with mud, windshield cracked along the bottom. Caleb parks it far away, like he’s afraid my new truck will catch his dirt if he parks too close.

“Uncle Sawyer got a monster truck!” Mazy yells, spilling out before Caleb’s even turned off the engine. She bolts over, sneakers flashing pink with every step. “Can I sit in it? Can you turn the big lights on? Does it have a horn that goes AWOOGA?”

“Later, bug,” Caleb says. Mari slides out, helps Leo down. Leo stares at the truck, silent, like he’s seeing the eighth wonder of the world.

“It’s so clean,” Leo whispers.

“For now,” Mari says, and she’s already smiling.

Dean takes a detour around Mazy and Leo, heading straight for Mari, who’s hovering beside the SUV with her arms wrapped around herself against the chill. Dean slides right up, lowers his head, and kisses her. Not the stagey kind of kiss—just a quick, grounded press that’s all theirs. He murmurs something soft, hand settling on her elbow. Mari’s smile answers him.

“You guys get picked up okay?” he asks. A real concern in his voice, not just the casual greeting. He’s looking at Mari but the question’s for both of them.

Mari nods, a quick sideways glance at Caleb. “Yeah. Caleb’s a careful driver, even when the roads are shit.”

Leo pipes up, “He let me pick the music.”

Dean arches a brow at Caleb, who shrugs, palms out.

“Kid’s got taste,” Caleb says. “Wanted Yacht Rock. We did the full playlist.”

“And you didn’t get lost?” Dean teases, eyes on Mari.

“We were fine,” she says, then, softer, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He holds her gaze for a heartbeat, then turns to Leo. “You hungry, bud?”

Leo nods, a little flush creeping up his neck. “Can I have the pancakes with the chocolate chips in them?”

“Anything you want,” Dean says, and I know it’s not just a figure of speech.

Meanwhile, Mazy’s already scampering around my truck like it’s a jungle gym. Caleb plucks her off the running board before she can climb through the open window.

“That’s not a playground,” he says, but he’s grinning. He sets her down with a bounce.

Caleb circles the truck. Doesn’t touch, just looks. He meets my eyes, a little quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“Nice rig,” he says. The words make me stand up straighter. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, man.” I give him a slap on the back. “Got her this morning.”

“What’s it get for mileage?” Of course that’s his first question.

“Who cares? Looks sick, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.” He nods. “Those custom tires? Gonna cost you a fortune.”

“Worth it.” I pat the hood. “Handles the logging roads like nothing else.”

“Bet it does.” He checks under the chassis, quick and efficient. “Insurance hit you hard?”

“Jesus, Cal. You sound like my accountant.” I roll my eyes. “Yes, it’s expensive. Yes, the tires cost more than your rent. No, I do not care.”

He straightens up, and he’s almost smiling. “Just checking. Looks great, though. Really.”

That’s Caleb. All concern outside, all heart underneath.

“Can I please sit in it?” Mazy’s already got her hand on the door handle. “Please?”

“No dirty hands,” I warn, and immediately feel like I’ve turned into our father. The thought lands somewhere queasy in my stomach.

Logan’s truck rumbles into the lot, exhaust pipe rattling in protest. Beth’s wedged between him and Sidney, her face half-hidden behind her hair. Logan parks right next to my truck. My gut clenches, imagining his door whacking into my paint.

“Holy shit!” Logan’s yelling out the window before he’s even stopped. “Is that Sawyer’s truck or did God drop a snowball in Missy’s lot?”

Sidney rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide her smile.

“Uncle Logan said a bad word,” Leo whispers to Mari.

“He sure did,” Mari replies, giving Logan a look as he climbs out.

Logan circles my truck, whistling, putting on a show. He runs his hand along the fender. I have to hold myself back from slapping it away.

“This thing’s cleaner than an operating room.” He squints inside the cab. “Still smells new and everything.”

“Fresh off the lot,” I tell him. Can’t help the pride.

“What, they run out of real colors?” He knocks on the hood. “White’s gonna look like crap the second you take it to the marina.”

“It’s Alpine Pearl Metallic,” I say again, not that anyone’s listening.

“It’s a target for every seagull in the county.” He grins, slapping my back. “What are you gonna haul in here? Your makeup kit?”

“Shut up.” I shove him, but not hard enough to risk the paint. “Just because your truck looks like it’s allergic to soap, doesn’t mean we all have to drive tetanus wagons.”

“It’s very nice,” Sidney says, voice soft, one hand on Beth’s shoulder. Beth’s peeking at the truck, too.

“It’s very something,” Logan says. He’s eyeing the chrome. “Surprised you didn’t get flames on the sides. Really round out the midlife crisis.”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“Going on fifteen.” He grins wider. Yep. I walked right into that one.

A gray sedan pulls in at the far end of the lot. Eli, of course, parking a mile from the door to avoid dings. He gets out with Clara, Ivy trailing, glued to her phone.

“And here come the fun police,” I mutter to Logan.

Eli heads over, cautious, like he thinks the truck will bite. Clara sticks close. They have this weird in-step walk now, like they’re stuck together, making up for lost time. You can’t help but notice it.

“New truck?” Eli says, even though it’s obvious.

“No, I stole it. Parked it right out front to show off.”

He ignores that, crouches to look at the lift kit. “How much did they charge for the aftermarket mods? Dealerships are thieves.”

“I got a deal.” I don’t mention the three hours of haggling, or the six-pack I brought the service guy to get the light bar installed on the spot.

“That frame adjustment’s gonna mess up your suspension.” He taps the fender. “Get the alignment checked soon.”

“It’s fine, Eli.” I want to polish away his fingerprint right then. “Drives perfect.”

“It’s cool,” Ivy says. She finally looks up from her phone. “I like the lights.”

“Thank you!” I beam. “App controlled LEDs. Want to see them later when it gets dark?”

She nods, almost smiling. Eli’s already calculating fines for illegal bulbs, I bet.

They gather around, circling. Dean crosses his arms. Caleb’s just standing there, quiet. Logan leans on the quarter panel until I push him off. Even Eli’s squinting at the tires, like he’ll find a flaw.

Dean checks his watch. “We should head in. Table’s probably ready.”

The family drifts toward the diner, kids running, grownups bunching up. I hang back, cloth in hand, for one last swipe.

“Coming?” Dean calls, holding the door.

“Yeah, just a second.” I palm the smooth metal, cool against my skin. “Giving her a goodnight kiss.”

Dean shakes his head, but waits anyway.

I polish the chrome one last time, knowing she’ll be filthy by next week. But right now, in this moment, my truck’s perfect.

Keep reading — the paperback’s at the top of this page.