Page 113 of Campus Crush
“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, tracinga 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 realhome.
“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? Whenhad 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.
FIFTY-SEVEN
“Dude, how many pairs of shoes do you own?” Drew complained as he carried a box labeledFootwearup the stairs to Abby’s apartment. “You’re worse than my sister.”
I laughed, following behind him with my hockey gear. “Says the guy who has an entire shelf dedicated to hair products.”
“It takes work to look this good,” he shot back, pausing at the landing to readjust his grip on the box. “Some of us weren’t blessed with naturally perfect hair.”
Moving had turned into a full-scale operation with all the guys pitching in. Mason’s stuff filled Abby’s living room while we moved the last of Sam’s stuff out. Liam and Gordy were handling Sam’s move into the hockey house while Drew helped me with my boxes.
When we reached Abby’s apartment, the door was propped open. I could hear Sam and Abby inside, laughing about something as they sorted through kitchen items.
“Where do you want this?” Drew asked as we entered.
Abby looked up from where she was wrapping mugs innewspaper. “Bedroom, please. I cleared out half the closet for you.”
“Only half?” Drew teased. “Have you seen how many shoes this guy has?”
