Brandon
CHAPTER TWENTY
“GHOST OF US” — MIDNIGHT TIL MORNING
Present Day
The rehearsal dinner doesn’t end so much as it dissolves.
Guests begin to gather their belongings and shrug on their coats while someone—Tony, obviously—starts an argument about whose playlist gets priority during the limo ride back to the hotel.
Jake is already herding people towards the exit like he’s a goddamn Australian Shepherd and his life literally depends on it.
The night is finally winding down.
I should be relieved. Grateful that I’m finally about to have some time alone to gather my thoughts after this absolute clusterfuck of a night.
Instead, my nerves are wound tight as a live wire. I’m desperate for one more interaction with her, whether it’s a stupid idea or not. What holds me back is Rylee’s voice still ringing in my ears—all the things she said that were undeniably, annoyingly, infuriatingly… true.
I watched you fall apart once.
You stopped letting anyone close to you for years, Brandon.
Don’t let her burn you to the ground again.
I’m about to tell Tony it really doesn’t matter whose music we listen to as the car ride is all of five minutes long—but as soon as I look up, my eyes betray me.
They find her instantly.
Like they fucking always do lately.
Johanna stands back near the bar, Mia at her side, her body angled just slightly away from the rest of the room like she’s already halfway gone. Even without fully seeing her face, I can tell—she’s exhausted.
Not just because it’s getting late and it’s been a long day of being the supportive Maid of Honor. It’s the exhaustion that comes with keeping up the facade of everything being okay, and knowing the mask is slipping.
I wasn’t supposed to see it, and I didn’t hear what was said—but I watched Grayson pull her aside earlier. I watched her posture stiffen the same way mine had when Rylee cornered me outside. I’m sure it had been different words, but the same message.
Don’t put us through this again.
Not unless you’re sure.
God help me, I just want to cross the room and find out if she’s okay. Then, as if she’s reading my mind, she looks up and finds me. Our eyes meet, and the room falls away once again.
She doesn’t smile. Neither do I.
There’s something uncertain in her expression now. It’s as if she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next—if I’ll chase after her one more time, or if I’m going to walk away. Whether Rylee’s words got to me the way Grayson’s clearly got to her.
Fucking meddling siblings.
Rylee’s voice crashes back into my head, louder than ever before.
Make sure you’re doing this for you.
As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t know who I’m doing this for.
I don’t know what I’m doing at all.
For that reason, my feet stay planted where they are even though the rest of my body is fighting me, telling me to go get the girl I’ve never been able to stop thinking about—not once in the last six years.
There hasn’t been anyone else since she left.
It’s not like there hasn’t been opportunity.
The musician thing has done me a lot of favors.
Women throw themselves at all of us before and after every show—but none of them ever came close to Johanna Harris.
When the need started to creep in, I’d picture her and take matters into my own hands.
It’s always been her.
Johanna’s lips part slightly, like she might say something—but Mia interjects by murmuring something softly in her ear before pulling her towards the exit. The moment fractures before it can become anything else.
She looks back once more before fully moving towards the door. It’s not for reassurance. It’s certainly not goodbye.
It is, however, a question.
Are you still here?
I exhale slowly in an attempt to get the burning in my chest to subside.
Before I can truly acknowledge her—answer her in any way that actually matters—Tony claps his hands obnoxiously near the door.
“Let’s go, gents,” he announces. “I’m ready for my bedtime beer and that bitchin’ hot tub at the hotel.”
Laughter erupts around me as the people around me begin to move again, and life resumes as if everything’s normal. As if nothing earth-shattering or monumental happened tonight.
I shuffle towards the exit with the rest of the crowd—further away from her.
Maybe it’s good I can’t say anything else right now.
Maybe it’s for the best that I’m headed to my hotel room—alone.
Maybe tonight was all the closure we’re ever meant to have.
The hotel room is nice.
It’s quiet—far too quiet.
I know Grayson, Eric, and Tony are at the roof top hot tub, and honestly, I should be there with them. They’d tried to get me to tag along, but I made up some half-assed excuse about a headache and retreated to my room instead.
I feel like shit for it.
For not wanting to celebrate Grayson’s last night of bachelorhood and close out the evening with them.
When I shut the door behind me, I turn and lean my forehead against it, gripping the handle like it might be the only thing keeping me upright. I briefly consider banging my head against the wood hard enough to give myself a real headache—something physical, something easier to explain.
I need to get some sleep.
Turn my mind off and try to get my head on straight so I don’t ruin this weekend for Grayson and Mia more than I feel like I already have.
Eventually, I force myself to move.
The overhead lights stay off as I cross the room, dropping my jacket over the back of the nearest chair and flipping the switch on the little lamp on the desk. I loosen my tie, tug it free, and toss it towards the dresser without fully knowing where it lands.
I sit on the edge of the bed and drag a hand through my hair, a hard exhale escaping me.
Maybe I should’ve gone after her.
Maybe we should’ve finished whatever the hell we started tonight—said everything circling us for six years—so we could get through the rest of the weekend without this constant hum of what if pulsating between us.
The same sense of what if that’s been around since the moment we fucking met.
It’s too late now.
Even if I wanted to talk to her again tonight, the girls are staying at a completely different hotel. Rylee had insisted—had refused—to tell any of us where they were staying because she was convinced Grayson would sneak out to see Mia if he had even the slightest chance.
Seeing the bride before the wedding is bad luck, she’d said a few weeks ago as she booked the rooms. We’re not risking it.
I let out a quiet, humorless breath at the irony of it all and fall back against the mattress.
As I stare at the ceiling, my phone buzzes against the bed.
It’s probably just Tony sending a video of him doing body shots off one of the hotel bartenders.
I almost don’t check it, but something in my mind tells me I should.
When I see the name on my screen, my heart feels like it stops in my chest.
I haven’t seen it in years outside of a stupid group text.
Johanna Harris
Hey.
My thumb hovers over the screen, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I should ignore it—because I know better.
I should toss the phone aside and go to bed—because nothing good can come of this.
But instead—
Brandon Jackson
Hi.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Johanna Harris
What are you doing?
I sigh.
What is she doing?
Brandon Jackson
Johanna.
Haven’t we had enough of this for one night?
A few beats pass. More annoying fucking dots.
Johanna Harris
No.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
What the fuck?
She has to be drunk.
Brandon Jackson
Where are you?
Minutes pass. No response.
I’m this close to calling her until she picks up, but I think better of it.
I’ll just—
Brandon Jackson
Johanna. Don’t disappear on me again. Tell me where you are.
Johanna Harris
My room at the hotel.
Relief hits. She’s not out, drunk at some bar. She’s in the safety of her hotel room, likely with a bottle of something bubbly she’d had room service deliver.
Johanna Harris
I know you said the ball’s in my court. I want to talk to you about this… about us.
But I really think it needs to wait until after the weekend’s over.
This weekend should be about Grayson and Mia.
She’s right.
I know she is.
I sit up and plant my feet on the itchy carpet beneath the bed, hoping the sensation might ground me. Maybe it will keep me from doing something reckless like going to every hotel in the city just to see if she’s there.
I want to see her. More than that, I want to know if she’ll still feel this way after the wine-induced haze has worn off.
When the adrenaline of the night has faded.
When it’s just the two of us, alone, with no distractions and nothing but the truth of the last six years hanging between us.
I stare at my phone for a moment before beginning to type again.
Brandon Jackson
I’ve been waiting for you for six years. What’s another few days?
The words sit there—maybe a little too honest, a little too vulnerable—but I don’t take them back.
It scares me, because the truth is—I don’t want to.
We’ve both spent a lot of time running, but this time feels different.
This time, I’m not running—and I hope to God she’s not either.