32. Brielle

The sizzle of bacon fills the kitchen as I flip another slice, golden and crispy, onto the mounting pile on the plate.

"Morning, Dad," I say, sliding the plate in front of him. "Hope your heart's ready for this."

He chuckles, the sound warm like the morning sun streaming through the window. His fork dives into the crispy heap. "Brielle, you trying to clog my arteries?"

"Never," I tease, pouring myself a cup of coffee. "Just making sure you remember me when I'm off on my field trip."

"Ah, that's right." He chews thoughtfully, then looks up at me with those soft eyes that seem to see right through me. "Conrad's class, isn't it? Where are you heading again?"

"A museum in New York," I reply, leaning against the counter. "There's this exhibit on Greek Gods. It'll be epic."

"Sounds educational," Dad says with a nod, spearing another piece of bacon. "You always did love your mythology."

"Yep, something about those capricious gods and their messy lives." I smile, taking a sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth spread down my throat. "Makes ours seem simple in comparison."

"Nothing simple about gods," Dad agrees, his gaze holding mine for a moment.

I tuck my phone into my purse, ensuring it's within easy reach. "I'll text you when we land," I promise Dad, catching the flicker of concern in his gaze.

"Call if you need anything, alright?" he says, his voice a mix of fatherly protectiveness and understanding that I'm not a child anymore.

"Of course, Dad. Don't worry, I'll be fine." I try to sound more confident than I feel. The thought of navigating the busy streets of New York adds an edge to my nerves, but I push it down. I will be safe. I have to be.

With a final hug that feels like a shield against the world, I grab my bag and head to the airport. The hum of conversations and the clatter of luggage wheels fill the space as I weave through the crowd, looking for my group.

There, ahead, I spot Conrad. He's deep in conversation with Grayson, their heads close together, serious expressions on their faces. Curiosity prickles at me. Is Grayson coming on this trip? It hadn't occurred to me before, but it makes sense—another professor to handle our sizable group.

I want to say something, but I decide against it, not wanting to draw attention. Instead, I just board the plane.

The plane's engines hum a steady promise of departure as I settle into the window seat, clutching my bag like a lifeline. The aisle fills with chattering students, the air tinged with the scent of too-strong perfume and underlying excitement.

"Cozy spot you've got here," Sierra teases, slipping into the seat beside me. Her grin is infectious, but I know what's coming next.

"Expecting someone special to join us?" She winks, elbowing me gently.

I roll my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips despite the flush creeping up my neck. "No, just hoping for a good view."

"Sure, Brielle. Because you're all about the scenery," Sierra chuckles, her gaze flickering to where Conrad stands a few rows ahead, giving instructions to another student. "Not the Greek-god-looking professors leading the trip."

"Sierra…" I warn, though the heat in my cheeks betrays my feigned annoyance. She knows I find them attractive, of course—everyone does—but I'm not just another girl caught up in a crush. With Conrad…it's different. Real.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you." She nudges me playfully before turning her attention to the crowd. "Speaking of which, have you seen the new intern in the finance department?"

"Blonde, curly hair, always carries that oversized calculator?" I ask, recalling the woman who caused a stir in the faculty lounge last week.

"That's the one," Sierra confirms. "Heard she's been spending a little too much time in Professor Hargrove's office."

"Scandalous," I murmur, unable to suppress a smirk. We exchange glances, sharing a moment of silent understanding about the soap opera that is campus life.

The plane taxis forward, and we're off. The plane levels out, cruising altitude. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and glance at Sierra. She's flipping through the in-flight magazine, oblivious to the storm brewing in my mind.

"Sierra," I start, voice barely above the hum of the engine. "Is it crazy…to like being with more than one person?"

She looks up, brow creased. "You mean, like, simultaneously?" She snorts, shakes her head. "Brielle, that's just…nuts."

I flinch, as if the word is a physical blow. My gaze drops to the tiny landscape below, heart squeezing tight. The clouds are an unbroken stretch of white, innocent and pure. Not like me. Not like my tangled heart.

"Never mind," I murmur, turning my face away from her and toward the window. The glass is cool against my forehead. I watch the world pass by, a blur of reality speeding underneath us. Each mile widens the gap between what I feel and what's deemed sane.

"Hey." Sierra nudges me gently. "You okay?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Outside, the sun glints off a river, a silver thread in the vast quilt of the earth. It flows, unconcerned with norms and judgments. If only I could be so free.

Finally, we arrive.

The hotel lobby buzzes with people and luggage. I roll my suitcase behind me, the wheels clicking on the polished floor. At the front desk, I give them my name.

"Brielle Rose."

The clerk taps on her keyboard, eyes flitting across the screen. She frowns. Taps some more. The line behind me grows, a snake of impatience.

"Sorry," she says finally, "there's no reservation under your name."

My stomach drops. "What? There must be some mistake. Can you check again?"

She obliges, but her answer doesn't change. No room for Brielle Rose.

Panic claws at my chest, a live thing desperate to escape. I step aside, out of the queue, pulling out my phone. But who to call?

"Everything okay?" Sierra's voice cuts through the murmur of the lobby.

I shake my head, show her the confirmation email that's apparently worth nothing now. "No room for me."

"Stay with me," she offers quickly, but then hesitates, biting her lip. "Except…Jenna's already my roommate."

Jenna. Of course.

"Thanks anyway," I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

Sierra looks guilty, touching my arm. "You'll figure this out."

I nod, but inside I'm spiraling. No room, no backup plan. What now?

I lean against a cool marble pillar, my heart drumming in my chest.

"Hey, Brielle." Conrad's voice cuts through the noise, steady and calm. He's here, suddenly beside me, his concerned eyes searching mine. "What's wrong?"

I bite my lip, hesitant. "It's my room…there's been a mix-up. No reservation for me."

Conrad's brow furrows, his gaze sharp. "No reservation? How is that possible?"

I shrug helplessly. "I don't know. It's all a mess."

He watches me, thoughtful, and then he makes an offer, so casually it takes a moment to register. "You could stay in my room."

My breath catches. "With you?"

His nod is confident. "Yeah. No big deal."

But it is. Rumors at school are like wildfire, uncontrollable and destructive. "People will talk," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Conrad steps closer, lowering his voice. "We'll keep it secret."

My pulse races at his proximity, the air between us charged. Can I really share a room with him?

"Think about it," he says, giving me space, a lifeline in the form of choice.

But is it really a choice when I have nowhere else to go?

My heart pounds. I glance around the crowded hotel lobby, everyone else sorted and settled. Just me floating without an anchor. Conrad stands there, patience etched in the lines of his face, waiting for my decision.

"Okay," I murmur, the word a tiny lifeboat in a sea of uncertainty. "I'll stay with you."

His eyes soften. He grabs my suitcase handle, a simple gesture that sends ripples of awareness through me. We head to the elevator.