Chapter 53
FIFTY-THREE
The day after the Lumberjacks’ loss to MSU, Gram lost her battle with cancer.
The funeral was held at the small chapel where Gram had attended services every Sunday for as long as I could remember.
The wooden pews were filled with neighbors, friends from her quilting circle, and people from the community center where she’d volunteered for years.
Outside, the mid-November sky was a clear, brilliant blue—the kind of fall day Gram would have loved.
I sat in the front pew, sandwiched between Foster on one side and Mason on the other.
My brother had barely spoken since Gram passed, his grief manifesting in a silence so profound it scared me.
He stared straight ahead throughout the service, his face a carefully constructed mask that reminded me too much of how he’d looked after Mom died.
Pastor Mike spoke about Gram’s life—her devotion to family, her tireless community service, her famous huckleberry pies that always won ribbons at the county fair.
I tried to focus on his words, but they seemed to float around me, never quite landing.
Instead, I found myself fixating on small details—the white lilies on her casket, the slight hum of the old heaters, and the steady pressure of Foster’s hand holding mine.
His touch was grounding and I needed it more than I was proud of, but I was thankful I had him.
“Daniella Thomas lived a life of service,” Pastor Mike was saying. “She poured love into this community the same way she poured love into her family. When her daughter passed, she stepped up to raise her grandchildren with the same fierce dedication she brought to everything in her life.”
A sob caught in my throat, and Foster’s hand tightened around mine. I squeezed back, grateful beyond words for his presence. He’d been my rock through all of this, never wavering, never complaining about how little time I’d had for him over the last two weeks as we’d watched Gram wither away.
After the service, we followed the hearse to the cemetery where Gram would be laid to rest beside her husband.
The graveside service was mercifully brief—just a few prayers and the somber lowering of the casket.
I placed a single white rose on top, whispering a final goodbye that felt wholly inadequate for the woman who had been my safety net, my champion, and my home.
As we turned to leave, I noticed the row of hockey players standing at a respectful distance, all in suits, their faces solemn.
Coach Maxwell stood with them, a beautiful brunette woman beside him.
The sight of them—these young men who didn’t even know my grandmother—showing up to support my brother and me, brought fresh tears to my eyes.
Sam appeared at my side, linking her arm through mine. “Let’s get you to the reception,” she said gently. “You need to eat something.”
The local community center had been transformed for the occasion.
Tables covered in white cloths held framed photos of Gram throughout her life.
One showed her as a young woman, radiant in her wedding dress beside my grandfather.
Another captured her holding baby Mason, with me—gap-toothed and pigtailed—grinning beside them.
“Your grandmother was a remarkable woman,” said a voice behind me. I turned to find Mrs. Henderson, Gram’s next-door neighbor, holding a casserole dish. “She talked about you and Mason constantly. So proud of you both.”
“Thank you,” I said automatically, the words feeling worn from repetition. I’d been saying them all day as people shared their condolences and memories.
“She made this community better,” Mrs. Henderson continued, her eyes misty. “We’ll all miss her terribly.”
I nodded, unable to form more words. Foster appeared at my elbow, as if sensing my distress, and smoothly took over the conversation. I watched him charm Mrs. Henderson, thanking her for coming and for the casserole she’d brought, which he promised we’d enjoy later.
“You’re good at that,” I murmured when she moved on.
He shrugged. “Years of practice at my parents’ business functions. How are you holding up?”
“I’m…” I searched for the right word. “I’m here. That’s about all I can manage.”
His eyes, full of understanding, held mine. “That’s more than enough for now.”
The afternoon wore on, a blur of faces and voices and memories of Gram.
I accepted hugs from people I barely recognized, nodded as they told stories about how she had helped them through difficult times or brightened their days with her sharp wit and kind heart.
Each story was a gift, a new piece of her to hold on to, but also a reminder of the enormity of what I’d lost.
I kept one eye on Mason, who had stationed himself in a corner, accepting condolences with nods and minimal words. Drew and Liam had taken up positions nearby, occasionally drawing him into conversation. I was grateful for their efforts, even if Mason seemed resistant.
Foster’s hockey coach approached me with the brunette woman from the funeral at his side. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, the words automatic by now.
“Abby, I don’t know if you’ve met my wife, Maggie.”
“I haven’t. Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.
“You too,” Maggie said. “I’ve seen you at some of the games. If you need anything—meals, someone to talk to, whatever—please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
The genuine kindness in her voice nearly broke me. “That’s really thoughtful.”
“I mean it,” she insisted. “It’s hard enough dealing with grief without having to worry about practical matters.”
For some reason, her acknowledgment of the “practical matters”—all the logistical nightmares that came with death—hit me harder than the more general condolences I’d been receiving. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, trying to maintain my composure.
“Abby is the strongest person I know,” Foster said, his arm slipping around my waist. “But even the strongest people need support sometimes.”
Maggie nodded. “Exactly. And you have more support than you might realize.” She glanced over at the hockey players, who had spread throughout the room, helping serve food, move chairs, and generally making themselves useful. “They’re a good bunch.”
I followed her gaze, noticing how Gordy was now sitting with Mason, apparently showing him something on his phone that had caught my brother’s interest. Sam hovered nearby also keeping an eye on the interaction. “They really are.”
After Coach Maxwell and his wife moved on, another well-wisher approached—Mrs. Schmidt from the community center board, who launched into a tearful recollection of how Gram had reorganized their entire volunteer program.
I could feel my carefully constructed facade beginning to crack. The weight of the day, of maintaining strength for Mason, of accepting condolences with grace—it was becoming too much. My chest tightened, and I knew I needed air before I completely fell apart in front of everyone.
“Excuse me, I-I need to go check on something,” I said, but instead I snuck out a side door and leaned against the exterior wall, breathing in the crisp mountain air.
It was unseasonably warm for November in Montana, but there was still a chill to the air that made me wish I’d thought to grab my coat.
I was about to turn around and go back inside—even though I desperately didn’t want to have to keep a smile on my face for another person to tell me how much they loved Gram when I was already missing her with every fiber of my being—when Foster came out.
I caught sight of the jacket in his hand first—my jacket—and when my gaze met his again, the dam broke.
My tears fell as he wrapped his arms around me, offering the warm comfort I’d grown so used to.
“What do you need?” he asked, his voice soft against my hair.
“A break,” I said shakily. I wasn’t just talking about a break from the people inside.
I wanted a break from loss. I wanted a break from worry, especially after my most recent meeting with Gram’s lawyer.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. “I met with Mr. Holloway yesterday. He’s the lawyer who handled Gram’s will.”
Foster’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t mention that.”
I leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Gram left everything to Mason and me—the house, her savings. But there’s a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Mason’s still a minor. He’s only seventeen.
” I closed my eyes, remembering the conversation with the lawyer.
“Gram didn’t specify a guardian for him in her will.
She probably thought she had more time, since his birthday is in seven months, or maybe she just assumed I would take care of him. But legally…” My voice trailed off.
“Legally, you need to be appointed his guardian,” Foster finished for me.
I nodded. “Mr. Holloway says I need to petition the court. There will be hearings, home visits to make sure I’m providing a suitable environment. And I’ll need to prove I can financially support him.”
The enormity of it all washed over me again. I was barely keeping my own head above water with school, work, and my internship. How was I supposed to become the legal guardian of a teenager?
“I can’t lose him, Foster,” I said, my voice breaking. “He’s all I have left. But I don’t know how I’m going to manage all of this. The legal fees alone—”
“Hey,” Foster interrupted, taking my face in his hands. “Listen to me. You’re not alone in this. I’m here. Sam’s here. The guys. We’ve all got your back. We’ll figure it out. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
“But—”
“No buts. We’re a team. You’re not doing this alone.” His thumbs gently wiped away the tears on my cheeks. “When do you need to meet with the lawyer again?”
“Next week. He’s going to start the paperwork, but there’s so much to consider.
Where we’ll live, how I’ll support us both, my school schedule…
” I shook my head, overwhelmed. It was all so incredibly daunting.
“And Mason—he’s so withdrawn. I’m worried about him, but I don’t know how to break through to him. ”
Foster pulled me close again. “One step at a time, okay? We’ll make a plan. Maybe Gordy, Drew, and Liam can spend more time with Mason—they seem to be connecting with him. As for the rest, we’ll figure it out. I promise.”
I wanted desperately to believe him, to trust that somehow everything would work out. But the reality of my situation felt crushing—a college student with no parents, no grandparents, and now responsible for a grieving teenage brother.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, the words barely audible.
Foster pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I know. But you’re also incredibly strong and capable. And you don’t have to be strong all the time. That’s what I’m here for.”
I hugged him tighter. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
We stood there for a few more minutes, the sounds of the reception muffled by the closed door. Eventually, I knew we had to go back inside. People would be wondering where I was, and I needed to check on Mason.
“Ready?” Foster asked, sensing my thoughts.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”