Chapter 55: Public Claiming
The quad was a riot of sound and movement, a tidal surge of backpacks and bright-eyed anxiety. Lilly kept Briana’s arm tucked firmly in hers, a buoy in the chaotic current. “They’re like overgrown Rottweilers,” Lilly muttered, glancing back at her brothers and Lee, who were cutting a grim, protective swath through the crowd behind them.
The freshman wasn’t looking, his head swiveling as he tried to find his orientation group, his bulky duffel bag swinging wide. It caught Briana squarely on the hip, a solid thump that made her stumble a step into Lilly.
“Hey!” The word was out of Lee’s mouth before Briana could right herself. His hand shot out, fingers twisting in the boy’s cheap polo shirt collar, yanking him backward. The kid’s eyes went wide with terror.
Grant was there instantly, his face inches from the boy’s, his voice a low, venomous growl that cut through the surrounding chatter. “Watch your fucking step.” The bubble of silence around them spread, dozens of heads turning.
“Grant, stop,” Briana said, her own voice tight with embarrassment. The boy stammered an apology, his face pale. Tristan said nothing, just watched the crowd, his gaze calculating the attention they were drawing.
Lilly squeezed Briana’s arm. “Let him go, Lee,” she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. Lee released the collar with a slight shove, his jaw set. The freshman scrambled away, vanishing into the sea of students.
Grant straightened up, the menace melting into a cool, practiced smile as he scanned the staring faces around them. “Orientation is hell,” he announced to no one in particular, as if that explained everything.
Briana pulled her arm free from Lilly’s. “I don’t need bodyguards,” she whispered, heat flushing her cheeks. “You’re making a scene.”
“Too late,” Tristan murmured, his eyes locking onto a figure pushing through the crowd toward them. It was Simon, his usual easy smile replaced by a look of grim understanding. He’d seen the whole thing. “We need to move,” Simon said, arriving at their huddle. “Now.” He didn’t touch Briana, but his posture was a shield. “That kid’s gone to find a campus coordinator.” Grant rolled his eyes, but Tristan gave a single, sharp nod. The momentum of the day had just snapped.
Simon’s warning cut through the lingering adrenaline. “This way,” Lilly said, pivoting Briana sharply toward the shadowed path behind the economics building. Grant shot a last, dismissive look at the gawking crowd before falling in step, his earlier aggression cooling into a focused urgency. They moved as a unit, the crisp fall air doing little to clear the charged silence between them.
Once they cleared the quad’s periphery, Briana stopped and turned to face the three of them. “Zeta Pie House,” she stated, her voice firm, a decision made. “Lilly and I are expected.” She stepped into Tristan’s space first, rising on her toes to press a firm, deliberate kiss to his mouth—a quiet anchor. She did the same to Grant, her lips softening against his, a silent forgiveness for the scene. Finally, she turned to Lilly, kissing her cheek with a gentle familiarity that made Lilly smile.
“Bye for now,” Briana said, linking her arm with Lilly’s. They turned and walked, leaving the three men standing on the path. Dean Harper, a rounded man with kind eyes, was already holding the wrought-iron gate of the quaint brick house open, his smile genuine and warm. “Ms. Hawthorne, Ms. Blackwood,” he boomed. “Welcome, welcome!” The scent of baking crust and cinnamon spilled out, enveloping them completely as the door swung shut.
The scent of baking crust and cinnamon spilled out, enveloping them completely as the door swung shut. Outside, the three men stood frozen for a heartbeat in the sudden quiet. “Well,” Grant finally muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away from the cheerful house.
TE GUYS WALKED ACROSS CAMPUS TO ALPHA PHI HOUSE
Their footsteps crunched in sync on the gravel path, a tense, rhythmless march. Lee scrubbed a hand over his face. “The kid was a clueless idiot,” he said, more to himself than to them. Grant’s silence was a palpable, simmering thing, his jaw working.
“She didn’t like it,” Tristan stated flatly, his gaze fixed on the distant, towering spires of their own fraternity house. “The performance.” Grant shot him a dark look. “It wasn’t a performance.”
“It looked like one,” Tristan countered, his voice devoid of judgment, only cold observation. “To everyone.” They crossed onto the manicured lawn that signaled their territory, the vast Greek Revival mansion looming. Lee kicked at a perfectly edged flowerbed. “So we just let people shove into her?”
Before Grant could snap a reply, the front door of Alpha Phi swung open. Simon stood framed in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He’d been waiting.