His Dawn

3 - The Other Brother

BROOKLYNN

I take my time packing up after class. The professor for the advanced developmental biology class is surprisingly young. Just from todays into class, however, I believe he knows his stuff. I tell him thank you as I leave his room, receiving a kind smile in return. I have an hour gap before my next class.

Since this is my first real day here, I suppose I can simply take a walk around campus. Take in the sights of my new environment. I am going to spend the next three or four years here, after all.

I wander through the nature-filled campus, taking in the sights and smells. The massive pine and oak trees give off a faint mint and vinegar scent. The smell is surprisingly fresh and invigorating; especially combined with the light breeze blowing through my hair. The air itself just feels so different here than back home in Britain.

I am too focused on a small black bird pecking against a tree that I don’t notice that mountain of a man I am about to plow into. Not until two firm hands grip my shoulders, jarring me back into focus.

“I am so sorry!” I gasp.

The man is tall and crazy built with deep blue eyes and dark hair. As soon as we lock eyes, I feel an immediate connection. It is vague, but something is there.

“No problem,” he rumbles, and I swear the man is practically growling. I swivel the gold ring on my hand around my finger.

“So, do you, um, go to university here too?” I stutter. One corner of his mouth lifts for just a moment before settling back down into the scowl that I am guessing rarely leaves his face.

“You could say that.” His eyes narrow at me. “This your first year?”

“Not my first day at university, but my first here, yes.”

“Oh?” He quirks one dark eyebrow. “Transferred from another school?”

“I am getting my master degree,” I tell him simply. He narrows those dark eyes at me.

“You don’t look old enough to be getting an advanced degree.”

“Mm,” I hum, shrugging a shoulder indifferently. I am not sure I want to go into the whole story of my schooling with a stranger. A gorgeous stranger, but still.

“Did you already have a class today then? Given your aimless wanderings around campus, I take it you don’t have one now.” Now it is my turn to narrow my eyes.

“Why so many questions?” He doesn’t answer, so I continue, “I have to get going. I wanted to get a smoothie or snack or something before my next class.” I take off forward, accidentally grazing his shoulder against mine as I pass by, and feeling that vague connection once more. My foot skids against the even cement, and then his firm hands grasp me to keep me from falling.

“I will walk you.”

I don’t respond to him; subtly shaking off his touch, I just continue my way forward. I am no longer focused on the trees and the birds, but on the large man behind me and the even larger shadow that he casts. This has been a strange start to my day. This man here with me. Who is he? What does he want? I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He is facing forward; steps slow to keep my ambling pace.

There couldn’t be any ill will. I would know by now. Right?

My mom, Chase, and his parents have all told me to be cautious; wary. They told me to be prepared for every situation. To be vigilant around any new people. Even with all the talk of restraint, my mom also ingrained into me the importance of being true to myself.

She always goes all Mufasa on me with her remember who you are talk.

Not that it didn’t sink in. I rub my fingers over the small script tattoo on my left forearm. Ricordare. Italian for remember. It is probably the only word I know of Italian, but I also know that my family came from there. I like to remember that too. Remembering your roots is just as important as remembering who you are. It is one of my two tattoos I have gotten.

Chase lost his mind when I snuck out at seventeen, and showed back up at home with a tattoo covering one of my sides. He was all, ‘how could you sneak out of your house?’ and ‘that guy could have stabbed you or raped you or given you an infection!’

Yeah. Needless to say, my overprotective protector was not happy.

We drift into a small campus café. A small building made of red brick and weathered wood. The inside has a furnished, rustic feel to it with wooden walls covered intermittently with small colorful paintings and silly coffee sayings. The lighting is a natural yellow color that illuminates the silver machines and glass cases on the counter. The smell of coffee and pastries combines with the sound of light music and students quietly chatting or typing on laptops.

A tray of a fruity, flaky pastry come out of the oven as soon as I make my way to the counter. I order two and pay. Thanking the young cashier, I take my treat and turn back to the silent sentinel still waiting behind me. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline when I offer one of the treats to him.

“If you are going to follow me around, I might as well feed you.” I shrug. He takes it, both of us taking a bite of the strawberry tart before going back into the open air. Once we are both gone, he takes both of our wrappers to toss in a rubbish bin a couple of feet away. He watches my eyes hesitantly as he approaches once again.

“I never caught your name,” he says.

“Oh! It's B—”

“Hey. I have been looking all over for you,” Chase’s tense voice calls out. His familiar arms wrap around my waist, and his grey eyes are narrowed in suspicion.

“Who is this, babe?” he asks me. The man’s brows furrow in confusion; his eyes narrowing in on Chase’s arm on me.

“I’m no one. I will see you around, Bee.” I watch him walk away.

“You're alone for a few minutes, and the wolves descend,” he jokes, but his eyes are hard.

“He was nice!” I defend. Chase sighs, slipping his arm up to rest on my shoulders. He pulls me in tight to his body.

“Oh, Brooklynn. You optimistic soul.”