Chapter 56
FIFTY-SIX
Sam had been a little stingy with the details about why we had to go over to the hockey house, but I needed a mental break, so I went along with it.
“You’ll see when we get there,” was all Sam would say when I pressed her for the third time as we walked up the path to the guys’ front door. The late fall air had a bite to it, and I pulled my coat tighter around me.
When we showed up, all the guys were already in the living room. They were arranged in a semi-circle—Drew and Liam sprawled on one couch, Gordy perched on the arm of the other, and Foster standing by the TV with his hands in his pockets looking uncharacteristically nervous.
I slowed my steps and glanced around the room, taking in their serious expressions. “Is this an intervention?” I asked, only half-joking. The setup certainly looked like those scenes from TV shows where friends confront someone about their problems.
Sam squeezed my arm reassuringly before she made her way to the couch and sat next to Gordy.
Foster closed the distance between us, his blue eyes soft with concern as he reached for my hand. “Not quite, but I wanted to run something by you that might make things a little easier on you.”
I was all for any suggestions he had because I felt like I was drowning and it had only been three weeks since Gram died.
Foster guided me to sit on the only other seat left in the room.
“We’ve all been talking,” Foster began, gesturing to include everyone in the room, “and we’ve come up with a plan that might help with your commute situation and give you more support with Mason.”
I glanced around at the faces watching me—Sam’s encouraging smile, Gordy’s steady gaze, Drew’s uncharacteristically serious expression, and Liam’s casual nod. Whatever this was, they all seemed to be in on it.
Foster laid out the plan methodically, the way he approached everything—thoughtful and thorough.
Sam would move into his room at the hockey house.
Foster would move into my apartment and share my room.
Mason would take Sam’s room. The arrangement would keep all our current leases intact while cutting my commute time dramatically.
As he spoke, I found myself mentally calculating the time savings. Thirty minutes each way, sometimes more with traffic. An hour of my life reclaimed each day. Time I could use for studying, for Mason, for sleep—the thought alone made my exhausted body ache with longing.
When Foster finished explaining, he watched me carefully, waiting for my reaction. The others remained quiet, giving me space to process.
“Yeah, this shortens my commute and makes things more manageable for me,” I acknowledged slowly, turning the idea over in my mind.
“But how will Mason get to school? The bus doesn’t come out this far and he doesn’t have his license.
” It was the first practical problem that came to mind, though I was already mentally listing others—Mason’s adjustment, the logistics of moving, whether this was too much change too soon.
“I’ll take him,” Sam said immediately. “I have plenty of time before my first class in the morning.”
“And we can rotate picking him up if there’s ever days you can’t,” Drew said, pointing to Liam, Gordy, and Foster.
“We’re happy to help pitch in,” Liam added. “Mason’s a good kid. We want to see him thrive, but he can’t do that if he knows you’re pulling yourself apart at the seams to take care of him.”
Foster watched me carefully for a reaction, but I was so shocked and overwhelmed by what they were offering that I was worried my face was frozen in a stupefied expression.
These guys—who’d barely known me a few months ago—were offering to rearrange their lives to help me and my brother get through this impossible time.
I knew I couldn’t do this myself—not if I was going to convince the courts that Mason had a solid support system—but the generosity of it all made my chest tight with emotion.
“I appreciate you all so much,” I said finally, my voice slightly hoarse, “but I don’t want to put anyone else out.” The last thing I wanted was to be a burden on these people who had already done so much for me.
“You’re not putting us out,” Gordy said firmly, leaning forward. His usually quiet demeanor made his words carry more weight. “You’re part of our tribe now. We’re here to help.”
The word “tribe” hit me hard. Since Mom died, it had just been Mason, Gram, and me against the world—although I couldn’t deny how Sam had become an integral part of my support system during that time, which made me all the more grateful that she was here now.
The idea that our family had somehow expanded to include these people was beyond comforting.
I glanced at Sam, searching her expression for any hint of reluctance. “And you’re sure you’re okay with moving in here and living with the guys?” Sam loved our apartment, and I couldn’t imagine she’d be thrilled about living with three hockey players, no matter how cool they were.
“One hundred percent positive,” she said, her smile genuine.
“You guys are all on board with this?” I asked, looking around at Gordy, Liam, and Drew, still not quite believing they’d all agreed to this disruption.
“We’ll tell you as many times as we need to,” Liam said, his usual playboy persona set aside for a moment of sincerity. “But this is your family now,” he said, gesturing around the room. “And we’ve got your back.”
Tears of gratitude burned behind my eyes, but I’d cried enough over the last few weeks, and I really didn’t want to break down now. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the moisture at bay.
My gaze met Foster’s. His eyes were full of hope and love.
“And you want to live with me?” I asked softly, almost afraid of the answer. We’d only been dating a few months, and moving in together was a big step under normal circumstances, let alone with my teenage brother in tow.
His smile was sweet and sure. “Hell, yeah,” he said without a moment’s hesitation.
His response brought a genuine smile to my face—the first one I could remember in days. The answer seemed obvious when he put it that way.
“Okay,” I said, feeling like I could breathe a little easier already. “But first I have to talk to Mason and make sure he’s okay with this. If he’s on board, then we’ll do it. But if he wants to stay at Gram’s house, then that’s where we’ll stay.”
Everyone reluctantly nodded, understanding that Mason’s needs had to come first. Foster squeezed my hand, silently communicating his support either way.
As the conversation shifted to logistics and timing, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. I was grateful to be surrounded by people who cared enough to create solutions I couldn’t have managed on my own.
I was nervous about talking to my brother about the plan because if he said no, it was dead in the water, and a part of me really wanted this plan to work.
I was stretched too thin, and I knew if we stayed at Gram’s house, I was going to have to give up my internship.
The commute was just too long to maintain with everything else on my plate.
I’d made Mason’s favorite meal—lasagna with extra garlic bread—hoping the comfort food might make him more receptive to change. As he shoveled pasta into his mouth with the boundless hunger of a teenage boy, I gathered my courage.
“So what do you want to talk about?” Mason asked between bites, a smear of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. He looked so young in that moment, despite being taller than me now.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about a potential change in our living situation.” I tried to keep my voice casual, not wanting to influence his response one way or another.
His chewing slowed, and he looked at me with cautious eyes. “’Kay.” The single syllable was guarded, and I could see him bracing himself for bad news. We’d had too many difficult conversations over the past few years.
“How would you feel about moving back to my apartment with me and Foster?” I asked, watching his face carefully for any reaction.
He frowned slightly, his fork pausing midway to his mouth. “Where would Sam go?”
Of course that would be his first concern. Despite his typical teenage moodiness, Mason had always been thoughtful about others.
“Sam would move in with the hockey guys and take Foster’s room there,” I explained.
“Before you ask, Sam has already offered to drive you to school and the rest of us will figure out a schedule for pickup.” Hurriedly, I added, “It’s just an option, or we can stay here if you don’t want to move.
I understand we’ve been through enough upheaval for a lifetime. ”
He took another bite, clearly thinking it over, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between us as he chewed, and I resisted the urge to fill it with more explanations or persuasions. Finally, he set his fork down with deliberate care.
“I think it’s a good idea.” His voice was quiet but certain.
I was momentarily stunned, having prepared myself for resistance. “You do?” I’d really expected him to say he was opposed to the idea, to insist on staying at Gram’s.
“Yeah.” He looked down at the table, tracing a pattern in the wood grain with his fingertip. “It feels weird to be here without her, and it was never really our house, ya know.”
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. I knew exactly what he meant.
Gram’s home had felt comforting, but only when she had been here.
Since she died, that feeling of sanctuary had gone with her.
Now it just felt like a structure that carried memories without the heart—like a museum of our past rather than a real home.
“So you’re on board with moving into my apartment,” I clarified, still slightly disbelieving.
He nodded and picked up his fork again, some of his usual teenage nonchalance returning. “It’s better than you working yourself into the ground. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes,” he said before taking another bite.
I let out a surprised laugh, picking up my own fork now that my anxiety over this conversation had dissipated. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” I took a bite and then confirmed, “You’re sure about this?”
I didn’t want him to feel pressured or like he didn’t have a say. Too many decisions had been made for us over the years—by death, circumstance, or necessity. I wanted him to know his voice mattered in this.
He rolled his eyes in a way only a teenager can.
“Do I need to pay for a skywriter for you to believe me?” He reached out and covered my hand with his, staring straight into my eyes and looking so grown up all of a sudden that my heart hurt.
“I’m sure. I think a fresh place would be good for me.
And getting out of this house would be good for both of us. ”
His hand was bigger than mine now, his fingers calloused from football. When had that happened? When had my little brother started growing into a man while I wasn’t looking?
“Alright, then we’ll move over winter break,” I said, squeezing his hand before he could pull it away and be embarrassed by the show of affection.
As we finished our dinner, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in weeks—hope. Not just the desperate hope of survival, but actual optimism about what our future might hold.
For the first time since Gram died, I could see a path forward that didn’t end in exhaustion and defeat. And that, more than anything, felt like the first real breath of spring after a long, brutal winter.