Page 16 of Campus Fake

“Need help with your bags?”

She smiled at him again.

Yeah, I liked him better than anyone else in the Lowe family so far.

“No, we’ve got it. But thanks.”

Eric finally looked at me and lifted his chin. “Who’s this?”

Sam glanced back at me. “This is Harry. My…boyfriend.”

I extended my hand. “Everyone calls me Gordy.”

Eric arched a brow but didn’t ask why “everyone” called me one name but Sam had introduced me as another. The truth was Sam was the only one allowed to call me Harry.

Not because I didn’t like it.

But because it was hers.

Eric glanced back up the stairs and then at our luggage before arching a brow again. “Does Mom realize you’re going to be sleeping in the same room?”

“If she does, she didn’t say anything and I doubt she will.”

Eric’s jaw clenched again. “Don’t worry about her.” He grabbed her arms, gently squeezing. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thanks, Eric.” Her voice was whisper soft, and I knew she was reaching her breaking point. I was amazed she hadn’t already.

“We’ll be back down for dinner.”

Eric took the hint and stepped aside, letting us pass. I followed Sam quietly up the stairs. Along the wall hung photos of the family, so many I couldn’t count. Sam paused halfway up and stared at a frame on the wall. It looked like a recent picture of Jordan holding ski poles. She started looking all over the wall, her face growing paler than I thought possible.

“Sam?”

She shook her head and practically ran up the rest of the stairs. I was hot on her heels, following her until she stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hall.

Her hand hovered over the handle like she couldn’t decide whether to open it or run. Her breathing had gone shallow, and I could see a minor tremor in her shoulders.

“Sam.”

She flinched at my voice but didn’t turn around.

I moved closer, stopping just behind her. Close enough that she could feel my presence, but not crowding her. Not pushing. The same way I’d approach a spooked animal—slow and steady, letting her know I was there without making her feel trapped.

“You don’t have to go in there,” I said quietly. “I can book us a hotel if you need me to. We don’t have to stay here.”

She shook her head, the movement jerky. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine. We both knew it. But before I could say anything else, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

I followed.

The room was clearly Sam’s old bedroom, preserved like a time capsule. There was a purple comforter on a full-sized bed, and posters covered the walls, but they weren’t posters of boy bands like I would’ve expected. They were figure skaters.

There was a corkboard above the desk, still pinned with photos and ticket stubs and what looked like a competition schedule from years ago. Trophies and medals lined a shelf near the window. Gold and silver mostly, all for figure skating with Sam’s name on them.

Sam was a figure skater? Why had she never said anything?

“Sam.”