Brandon
CHAPTER SIX
“SORRY FOR PARTY ROCKING” — LMFAO
Present Day
It’s Grayson’s wedding weekend.
I should be over the moon for him. He’s been my best friend and brother since we started the chaotic dumpster fire that is Catastrophically Charismatic over a decade ago. I am thrilled for him—after everything he’s been through, he deserves every ounce of happiness he’s found with Mia.
I want to be here—to be present for this moment—but I’ve been counting down the minutes until this weekend is over since it started.
I don’t know what possessed me to start something between me and Johanna again during the wedding planning night a few weeks ago.
I’d walked into Grayson and Mia’s house after being at the studio and she was the first person I saw—perched on a barstool with a champagne flute in her hand and ghosts of the past swimming in her eyes.
Something about that moment took me back to a time where all I wanted to do was save her—and if I’m being honest, that feeling has never gone away.
I’ve been dancing around her since then, because I don’t know what to fucking do now. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s hurt me, pushed me away, or made me feel like I’m not enough for her… I’ve always been right here.
It’s fucking pathetic.
I don’t want to follow her around like a damn puppy—but there’s always been something about her that makes me drop everything to be around when it seems like she might need someone to lean on. Like hell if I’m going to let that someone be anyone but me.
It’s the rehearsal dinner tonight.
The room the guys and I are getting ready in smells like cologne, high-end bourbon courtesy of my parents’ collection, and Tony’s god-awful new body spray.
Eric’s blasting his hype playlist—the same one he puts on before every show, claiming it’s good luck—even though this is about as far from a concert as it gets.
Tony’s standing in front of the full-length mirror straightening his bowtie with his tongue out and his eyebrow cocked. Once he’s perfected the shape, he makes finger guns at his reflection and clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
“Yeahhh, Daddy.” He grins at himself. “I still got it!”
Grayson—of course—is pacing like he’s about to headline Madison Square Garden instead of going to a dinner. He tugs at his white dress shirt and looks at Eric.
“Is it wrinkled?” he asks. “I think it’s wrinkled.”
Eric doesn’t even look up from his phone to acknowledge him.
“It’s fine, dude,” he says. “You know what won’t be fine, though? If your dumb ass sweats through it before we even get there.”
“I’m not sweating!” Grayson insists, continuing to tug at the shirt.
“Suuuure you’re not,” Tony snickers, grabbing the bottle of his atrocious cologne and spritzing both himself and Grayson.
“What is that shit—Desperation for Men?” Grayson groans as he attempts to wave it off. “You’re going to choke us out.”
Eric finally looks up as the smell hits him, glaring at Tony with all the disdain in the world. “You spray that again and I’m throwing it out the goddamn window.”
Tony gives a devilish grin, completely unbothered. “You’re all just jealous you don’t smell this good. I’ll be having slutty wedding sex tonight thanks to this intoxicating scent. Brandon, maybe you should try—”
“I think you’re putting a lot of pressure on an overpriced bottle of what easily smells like a malfunctioning smoke machine at a venue,” I cut in, grabbing my suit jacket before he can finish.
“Are you guys done?” Grayson huffs, coughing as he waves the air in front of him. “Gas masks weren’t exactly in the budget for this weekend, and we’ve got to go anyway.”
Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Almost. Just one quick group mirror selfie—to document the moment, ya know?”
Eric rolls his eyes as Tony pulls each of us over to the mirror. “You’re insufferable, honestly.”
“Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Tony grins, whipping out his phone. “Big smiles, boys, come on.”
Grayson shakes his head and mutters something about regretting his life choices. I give a half-hearted grin and I hope that no one calls me out on it as Tony’s phone snaps the photo.
I don’t want to talk about why I can’t pull myself into the rhythm of it all.
As we finally gather our things and head for the door to head to the restaurant, I can feel my heart rate increase, knowing that the next step will be actually seeing her.
Yeah, I see her all the time at the house—or I used to, before we started this ridiculous dance of avoidance. Now we’re in a fucking wedding together—a wedding for our closest friends, and in her case, family.
She can’t avoid me now.
The drive to the restaurant is a blur of noise and chaos, just like life on our tour bus.
I want to focus on how I’m going to get through this stupid dinner, but I really can’t when Tony and Eric are blasting Sorry For Party Rocking by LMFAO through the speakers of the limo.
They’ve shoved themselves through the moonroof and are screaming the lyrics at top volume for the whole city to hear.
For Grayson and Mia’s sake—and honestly, everyone else’s, too—I can only hope they’ll get it all out of their system before we get to the restaurant.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Grayson—he knows we won’t be able to have a verbal conversation over the party rocking happening around us.
Grayson Harris
What’s going on with you?
And don’t say nothing. You’ve been acting fucking weird all day.
I glance up to find him glaring at me—the look he’s perfected after spending a decade living in close quarters together. He knows when I’m lying. Always has—but I’m not making tonight about me.
Brandon Jackson
I’m not talking about this tonight. It’s the weekend of your wedding, man. Let’s just try to get through it without Tony ending up skinny dipping in the fountain at the venue.
We can talk about it after you’re married to the love of your life.
As I slide my phone back into the pocket of my suit jacket, the restaurant comes into view.
We pull into the circular drive and heads turn as the club-style music continues to pulsate through the speakers.
Eric and Tony tumble out first, high-fiving guests like they’re arriving at the afterparty of a show instead of a rehearsal dinner.
Grayson and I make a more graceful exit, shutting the car door behind us. I take a slow, deep breath and adjust my tie again, more out of habit than necessity. My hands feel numb. My brain feels worse.
“You sure you’re good, man?” Grayson asks me again, clapping a hand on my shoulder.
“I should be asking you that,” I sigh, trying to shift the spotlight back where it belongs.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” he says, still searching my face.
“Not the time, not the place,” I tell him. “Let’s just go make sure Tony and Eric are still fully clothed.”
When we step inside, the cool air hits me. The tables are set perfectly, candle flames dancing over crisp linens. Strings of soft, twinkling lights and greenery line the walls, casting everything in a romantic, golden glow.
It’s perfect for them.
I don’t really see any of it, though—because instead, I see her.
It doesn’t take me long to spot her through the crowd. I can pretend all I want that I wasn’t looking for her—but I’d be struck by lightning for lying.
Johanna Harris.
She’s fucking stunning, standing near the bar at the back of the room in a deep purple dress that moves like smoke as she shifts her weight.
Her dark hair looks like satin as it curls effortlessly around her bare shoulders, and her lips—same shade of burgundy as always—pull a memory straight out of me.
The one where I used to kiss that color off her skin.
Now there’s a world of distance between us, even as we stand in the same room.
She’s in rare form, laughing at something Rylee says with her head tilted back as she clings to her glass of red wine—a Bordeaux blend if I had to guess. I swear the floor drops out from under me, because I haven’t seen her look this alive in years.
Not since the first summer we spent together.
Grayson says something next to me—not that I’ve heard him, because she’s just clocked me staring at her.
For a split second, the smile dies on her lips and my heart stutters hard enough to hurt before she turns her back to me and continues with her conversation as if nothing ever happened.
Yeah—this is going to be a long fucking night.