CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE Johanna
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Johanna
“IF I GO” — ELLA EYRE
Six Years Ago
My bags are packed, stacked neatly beside the bedroom door.
I do a final sweep through the drawers and large closet, making sure I haven’t forgotten anything. It’s important that I don’t. I have no intention of coming back here.
No visits.
No conversations.
No closure.
Once the front door shuts behind me and I leave this house, I’m done.
The room already feels unfamiliar, like I’ve been slowly erasing myself from it all afternoon—even though it was never really mine to begin with. The bed is perfectly made. The bathroom counter in the en-suite is pristine. No evidence left behind.
Good.
It’ll be easier for everyone if I never existed in this space.
My phone buzzes softly on the comforter, confirming the flight my mom just booked for first-thing tomorrow morning. Less than twelve hours from now, I’ll be three thousand miles away from this place. My chest burns at the thought of it, but I force it down.
This is the right thing to do.
For Grayson—no matter how much I hate him right now. He’s my only brother, and I can’t lose him like my mom did.
For their band.
Most importantly—for Brandon.
The one person I selfishly can’t leave without saying goodbye to, even if he doesn’t know I’m going anywhere.
Even if he won’t realize it until I’m long gone.
The hallway is quiet when I step out of my room. It’s late now. Grayson left with Eric and Tony earlier in the afternoon and hasn’t been home since. I heard Brandon come back a couple hours ago, but the rest of the house is still empty. For the first time maybe ever, we’re completely alone.
I could leave now, too. Get a hotel room by the airport and just be done—it would probably be easier if I did—but I already know I won’t.
One thing is true—if I leave without seeing him one last time, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
The short distance between his door and mine seems longer than ever, but I finally hover outside his room.
This is a terrible idea on so many counts.
Maybe I should just—
I knock lightly before I can change my mind.
There’s movement on the other side of the door before the handle turns. The door opens, and there he is, wearing a worn gray t-shirt and low hanging sweatpants. His hair is messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day and red rings line his normally striking caramel eyes.
Has he been crying? Over me?
The burning sensation returns to the center of my chest in full force.
For a few moments, neither of us speaks.
“Are you going to let me in?” I ask finally, forcing a version of my usual tone as I linger awkwardly in the hallway like we’re strangers.
He hesitates for a moment—just long enough for my stomach to twist—before stepping aside just enough to let me slip past him into the room. The door clicks softly behind me. I take a few steps into the room before stopping near the edge of the bed, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.
Brandon doesn’t move right away. Instead, he maintains the distance between us and stands idly by the door, watching me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle where none of the pieces fit.
“Thought you were done with me,” he mumbles, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him.
He’s always been the quiet one of the group, but now his voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“That’s not what I said.”
Finally, his gaze meets mine. His brow lifts slightly.
“You said none of this meant anything.”
The words land between us with an unwanted weight.
We’ve never really talked about what this is—what we mean to each other. We didn’t get much of a chance before shit hit the fan with Grayson. It doesn’t feel right to say it now, when I’m leaving in the morning, but if I don’t…
“Like I said this morning, I was trying to fix things,” I say softly. “You’re important to me, Brandon. You must know that.”
“Yeah?” he asks. There’s no anger in his voice—just hurt. “Because sometimes it’s hard to tell with you.”
I swallow hard.
“I don’t mean for it to be.”
The space between us suddenly feels unbearable as his jaw tightens.
I can tell he’s not buying it. I take two steps towards him, but he takes a step back, shaking his head.
“Don’t,” he says. “You don’t get to walk in here and act like this morning didn’t happen. Not when you folded about half a second after Grayson started yelling. I was ready to fight for us, Johanna—for you—and you just…”
He trails off, looking down once again and putting his head in his hand. I close the distance between us and tilt his chin up just enough to meet my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, more sincerely than anything I’ve ever felt.
I can't quite tell what he’s thinking as his eyes search my face.
Perhaps he’s trying to figure out which version of me he’s standing in front of tonight—the one who stood in the kitchen this morning and told him nothing mattered, or the one standing here now, wanting him to know it means more to me than anything ever has.
I move my hand upward from his chin and brush my thumb across his cheek.
“You’re sorry,” he repeats.
He’s not mocking me, but he’s not forgiving me either.
“I didn’t mean any of it,” I tell him. “I thought you knew that.”
“Why say it then?”
Because I’m not good enough for you.
Because I’m leaving and I’m a coward.
Because the bottom line is this—if I stay, my brother will destroy the best thing in your life.
“I really thought I was fixing it.”
He studies me for another long moment, weighing my answer.
“You didn’t mean it?” he asks finally.
“No,” I assure him.
The word barely leaves my lips before his hand comes up to meet mine, wrapping around my wrist. It’s not rough—just firm. Grounding.
“You scared the hell out of me, Hurricane,” he murmurs. “I really thought I screwed everything up.”
He couldn’t.
I’m the one who always makes a mess of things. This situation is no different.
He’s right about one thing without even realizing it—I am and always will be Hurricane Johanna. I leave only destruction in my path.
I shift my weight forward. I don’t want to say anything else.
Before he can push any further for an explanation, I press a kiss softly to his lips.
He freezes for just a moment at the unfamiliar contact as if he’s trying to decide if he should let himself have this.
It doesn’t take long for him to release my wrist and slide his hands around my waist, pulling me against him like he’s been holding himself back all day.
The kiss is different this time, and we both know it. There’s less teasing and curiosity behind it. It’s not about getting to know each other anymore.
I place my hands just above the waistband of his sweats and move them upwards underneath his shirt to pull it over his head. He raises his arms, breaking our connection to push the fabric over his face.
The t-shirt falls to the floor beside us as our breathing intensifies together. He rests his forehead against mine and uses the belt loops of my jeans to bring me closer again.
“You’re confusing as hell, you know that?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin.
Can’t say that’s going to get any better.
I wish I could reassure him.
Tell him this isn’t complicated.
In another life—one where he and my brother never met—we could’ve written our own story. A story where I don’t have to say goodbye to the only person who’s ever made me feel truly alive.
My eyes meet the fire in his, and with no hesitation I whisper, “Take off your pants. Anything confusing about that?”
“No ma’am,” he says, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “I’d just like some clarification on something.”
I raise a brow. “What would that be?”
“It just seems like you’re still wearing an awful lot of clothing for me to be standing here with nothing.”
“Be a good boy and follow instructions,” I murmur, leaning closer and tugging lightly on the waistband of his sweats. “And you might just get your wish.”
His smirk deepens as he shakes his head in amusement.
He steps back just enough to push the sweats down his legs and step out of them, never breaking eye contact with me. The movement is slow—devilishly deliberate—and I can tell he’s enjoying the way my gaze drifts downward to admire him in all his masculine glory before meeting his eyes again.
“Like what you see, Hurricane?” he asks.
I nod, because I do.
Seeing him this way feels different than it did when I walked in on him touching himself before—more real somehow.
I take another step towards him, closing the space he’d just created between us. As I wrap my hand around his cock and slowly stroke upward, he lets out a slow, deep exhale.
“Fuck,” he breathes, tangling one hand in my hair. “You’re playing a dangerous game right now, Johanna.”
I brush my thumb across the tip and he gives a small whimper at the sensation.
“Who said anything about playing games?” I ask, pulling my blouse over my head and tossing it over his shoulder before undoing the button and zipper on my jeans.
The hand in my hair untangles and slides down my side until he reaches my waistband. He sinks down to the floor, tugging the denim down with him until I can step out of them. He moves one hand to caress my ass underneath the dark blue lace of my panties.
My breath catches as he presses a very slow, intentional kiss to my inner thigh, sending a sharp shiver directly up my spine.
He rises back to my level, dragging his fingers up my leg.
His hands linger at my hips for a moment as if he’s steadying himself—steadying us.
His eyes meet mine, the caramel depths of them darker than I’ve ever seen—filled with heat, but searching for something, too.
Like he’s still giving me the chance to change my mind.
“You sure about this?” he asks quietly, needing the verbal confirmation more than the look of lust in my gaze.
“What makes you think I wouldn’t be sure?”
“You walked in here looking like you were about to ruin my life,” he says.
“And yet, you still let me in,” I reply, huffing out a soft laugh before I nod. “Yes, Brandon—I’m sure. I wouldn’t be standing here, naked nonetheless, if I didn’t want you.”
Even if it’s just for one night.
Before either of us can say anything else, I kiss him again—firmer this time. I pull him against me until the minimal space between us is nonexistent. His hard length presses against me and suddenly, I need to know how he would feel inside me—but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make him work for it.
I break the kiss and slowly walk myself backwards towards the bed.
He attempts to follow me, but I shake my head.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, propping myself up with my hands.
I smirk knowingly at him as he remains in the center of the room, practically salivating at the scene in front of him.
“You want me that bad, B?” I say. “Show me how much.”
He raises a brow. “I’m sure you have a suggestion on how I might do that.”
“You just follow instructions so well.”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
“Come here,” I murmur, but as he takes a step forward, I hold out my hand. “No. Crawl to me.”
“Johanna…” His smile falters slightly. “You can’t be serious.”
“Good boys get rewards,” I tell him. “Go on—I’m waiting.”
For a moment he just stands there, staring at me like he’s trying to figure out if I’ve completely lost my mind.
He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Still waiting,” I remind him.
His eyes drag over me slowly before he exhales and lowers himself to his knees.
“Well,” he mutters, bracing one hand against the carpet. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
My pulse skyrockets as he begins to move towards me.
Slow.
Taunting.
His eyes never leave mine.
The closer he gets, the more the playful edge falls away and melts into something heavier—something that sends heat curling through my core.
“Enjoying this, Hurricane?” he asks softly.
I refuse to give myself away. This might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, but he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on me.
Instead, I tilt my head to one side and say, “Maybe.”
By the time he reaches the edge of the bed, the air between us feels electric. His hand slides over the mattress beside my knee as he pushes himself upright, bringing his face level with mine.
“You are the only woman I’d get down on my knees for,” he says, the smirk returning to his lips.
Before I can respond, his hand curls lightly around my ankle and pulls upwards until I’m flat on my back against the mattress. He hovers over me, one hand firmly planted next to my head while using the other to brush my hair out of my eyes.
“Hope you’re ready to reward my good behavior,” he murmurs.
My heart pounds against my ribs.
Because the truth is—I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for anything else in my life.