Chapter 54
FIFTY-FOUR
Between my tutoring job, my internship, my classes, and dealing with Gram’s estate, I felt like I’d barely had any time to breathe or grieve.
I’d been moving nonstop, and I felt myself breaking.
Something had to give.
The constant juggling left me exhausted, both physically and emotionally.
Last night, I’d fallen asleep at the dining room table with my head on top of probate documents.
I woke up at 3 a.m. with a crick in my neck and tears streaming down my face from a dream where Gram was still alive, making her famous huckleberry pie in the kitchen.
Foster had been gone at away games for a few days and I missed him immensely. He was coming home tonight and I couldn’t wait to see him.
I had been living at Gram’s house since she passed in order to keep things stable for Mason while we sorted everything out, but I wasn’t sure how sustainable this was going to be long-term. The commute was killing me with all the other activities I had going on.
Foster showed up early, and I practically collapsed into his arms when I opened the door.
The familiar scent of his cologne—woodsy and masculine—wrapped around me as his strong arms pulled me close. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek. For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.
“Miss me?” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
My arms tightened around his waist. “More than you could possibly imagine.”
I hadn’t realized how much tension I’d been carrying until this moment, when it melted away at his touch. Foster had become my safe harbor in the storm of grief and responsibility that had engulfed my life.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said, “because I’ve missed you like crazy. The last three days without you were rough.”
He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering there as his hands rubbed soothing circles on my back. When we finally pulled apart, I could see the concern in his eyes as he studied my face.
Before he could say anything, I said, “Come on in. Mason is over at a friend’s.”
Foster followed me into the kitchen where the table was set. “I just made spaghetti. I hope you don’t mind that it’s simple.”
The kitchen still felt like Gram’s domain. Her collection of ceramic roosters watched from the windowsill, and the recipe box she’d filled over decades sat on the counter. I’d been afraid to move anything, as if keeping her things in place might somehow preserve a piece of her.
“Not at all. You know I offered to bring dinner, so you wouldn’t have to cook.”
Foster pulled off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. Even in my exhausted state, I couldn’t help but notice how the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders.
“I know,” I said. “I just…I feel like I need to keep moving, or I’ll…” My words faded.
The truth was too raw, too vulnerable to voice aloud. If I stopped moving, stopped doing, stopped being busy every second of the day, the grief might swallow me whole. It lurked at the edges, waiting for a quiet moment to strike.
He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Or you’ll what?” he asked softly.
I spun in his arms, so I could face him. “I feel like if I don’t keep moving, I’ll fall apart.”
My voice cracked on the last word, betraying the fragility beneath my carefully constructed facade of competence. Foster tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle.
“You know I’m here for you, right? You can call me anytime, day or night when I’m away for games.”
“I know you are.” He’d already proved his words. Hell, he was practically living here at Gram’s house with me. Whenever he wasn’t in classes or playing hockey, he was here for me and Mason.
“I just…I don’t know what I’m doing. I finally got ahold of the lawyer, and I need to go to court to get official guardianship of my brother.
They want me to show that I can offer him stable housing.
Why am I even being questioned about this?
I’m his family. Who else can take care of him and love him more than I can? ”
The words tumbled out in a rush, my frustration building with each word. The legal system seemed determined to make an already painful situation even more difficult.
“I’m sure it’s just procedure,” he said.
Foster’s thumb stroked my cheek, and his eyes never left mine. The steadiness of his gaze anchored me when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.
I knew he was right, but that didn’t make me feel better. I felt like I had to prove that I was worthy enough to take care of my own brother.
The weight of responsibility pressed down on me, threatening to crush me beneath its burden.
I was only twenty-one—too young to have buried both parents and a grandmother, too young to be solely responsible for a grieving teenager, too young to navigate the complexities of estate planning and guardianship hearings.
“I feel like I’m failing at everything right now.
I made a mistake on one of Holt’s projects, which thankfully Parker caught, but it’s made me feel awful ever since.
I also didn’t do so hot on a test for my Advanced Structural Analysis class, and I’m just…
I’m—” My voice cracked, and the tears started spilling before I even realized they were there.
Foster wiped them away, his face calm, although concern was clear in his blue eyes. “You’re allowed to fall apart, Abby. You’re allowed to grieve and miss her. You don’t need to beat yourself up for feeling sad or making mistakes.”
His words were like permission—permission to be human, to be imperfect, to struggle under the weight of everything I was carrying. I leaned into him, letting my tears soak into his shirt as he held me, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubbed my back.
“I’m angry at her,” I whispered. The guilt of that statement was eating away at my insides.
“I’m so angry that she didn’t tell us sooner, so we had more time to process this.
So I could have asked her questions, and we could have gotten all of our ducks in a row before anything happened.
She said she had it all covered, but she didn’t.
I’m so mad at her, and at the same time, I miss her so much. ”
The confession felt like a betrayal, but also a release. I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge the anger that simmered beneath my grief.
He held me tighter. “I know you do, and I know you’re overwhelmed. None of this is fair. It’s okay to be mad at her.”
Foster’s acceptance of my complicated emotions, without judgment or platitudes, was exactly what I needed. He didn’t try to fix it or make it better—he simply acknowledged the messy, contradictory feelings that came with my grief.
“How can I be mad at her? She’s gone.”
And maybe that was the root of why I was really mad. I was mad that she was gone. I was mad that once again someone I loved had been taken from me.
The pattern of loss felt cruel, as if the universe had singled me out for more than my fair share of grief. The unfairness of it all burned in my chest, a smoldering anger that had nowhere to go.
And then there was the fear that bubbled up closer and closer to the surface every day.
“What if they don’t give me guardianship? What if they decide I’m too busy and have too much going on to look after Mason? What if they put him in a foster home or something? He’s been through enough. I don’t want him to deal with that—to have to live with strangers.”
My voice rose with each question, the fear I’d been carrying finally spilling out. Mason had already withdrawn so much since Mom died; I couldn’t bear the thought of him being placed with strangers, forced to adapt to yet another loss.
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.
First, we need to show the courts that you can provide a stable enough home for him for the next seven months until he turns eighteen.
But you also have to take care of yourself, Abby.
Come on, why don’t you take a seat? I’ll finish up dinner and get it plated, okay?
You just get off your feet. Take a break. ”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
My body felt heavy with exhaustion as I surrendered control, allowing Foster to take over this small task. It was difficult to let go, to admit I needed help, but the relief that came with it was undeniable.
Before I could walk away, he cupped my cheek and kissed me gently. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”
It was those three words that finally let me breathe again. The weight didn’t fully disappear and it didn’t magically solve any of my problems, but knowing that Foster meant every word gave me strength. Foster had my back and he’d proven he wasn’t going anywhere.