Page 81 of Campus Crush
“There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”
We got out of the car, and he grabbed something from the backseat before he came around to my side.
“You brought a bouquet of flowers?”
He shrugged. “My mom always taught me to never show up empty-handed. I thought your grandma would appreciate flowers since you told me she likes gardening.”
“These are beautiful, Foster,” I said, surprised by his thoughtfulness.
We walked up the porch steps and before I could even reach for the doorknob, the door swung open. I froze mid-step, stomach dropping. Mason stood in the doorway, arms crossed like a sentry, his expression unreadable as he sized Foster up.
“Hey, Mase,” I said, but he didn’t even look my way, his focus still on Foster.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice deeper than I remembered.
Had Gram not told him I was bringing someone? I’d told her over the phone when I confirmed I was coming so she’d know to set an extra place at the table.
Foster extended his hand. “Foster Kane. Nice to meet you.”
Instead of taking it, Mason narrowed his eyes. “And who are you to my sister?”
“Mason!” I hissed, mortified. What on earth had gotten into him?
To my surprise, Foster didn’t laugh or brush it off. Hekept his hand extended, meeting my brother’s gaze directly. “I’m her boyfriend, and I hope we can be friends too. It’s nice to see she’s got other people looking out for her.”
Mason studied him for another long moment before finally shaking his hand. “If you hurt her, I swear I’ll find a way to ruin your life.”
“Mason James Walker,” I scolded.
“I’d expect nothing less,” Foster replied as if I hadn’t said anything.
I stared at my brother in disbelief. This was the most focused and direct I’d seen him in years—since before we lost Mom.
Mason caught my stare, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward—not quite a smile, but the closest thing to it I’d seen in forever. “Gram is in the kitchen.”
He spun around, but before he could go back in the house I grabbed his arm. “How is she?” I said, keeping my voice low because I didn’t want Gram to hear.
And just like that, all his confidence faded. “I think it—whatever it is—is getting worse.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
When we entered the kitchen, the rich aroma of Gram’s lasagna filled the air. She stood at the counter with her back to us as she arranged garlic bread on a baking sheet.
“Gram, they’re here,” Mason announced.
She turned, and my heart squeezed painfully. Her presence filled the room like it always had, but now, it felt like she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. Mason hadn’t exaggerated—if anything, he’d underplayed how bad she looked compared to the Gram we were used to. Her clothes hung loose where they once fit perfectly, and dark circles shadowed her eyes next to sunken cheeks. Hersmile was still filled with warmth, but it looked like it took effort when it had always come easy before.
I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing with my own eyes. Gram was sick.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron before approaching us.
Foster stepped forward with an easy smile. “Mrs. Thomas, thank you for having me. I brought these for you.” He handed her the bouquet of flowers he’d brought.
“Oh my, how lovely,” she said, accepting them with a beaming smile directed at Foster. “And please, call me Gram, or Daniella if you insist on being formal, but as you’ll see, we’re all pretty casual around here, and Mrs. Thomas makes me feel ancient.”
She glanced at me with approval before turning back to Foster. “Would you help me reach the vase on that top shelf? My old bones don’t stretch like they used to.”
As Foster helped her, I caught Mason watching me with an odd expression.
