CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Brandon
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Brandon
Present Day
The first thing I notice when I wake up is the light streaming through the curtains.
The brightness makes me turn away from the window, tossing my arm across my face to shield my eyes with a low groan.
For a second, I don’t move. I’m not thinking about anything more than how I wish I’d pulled the blackout curtains shut before I passed out. I just lie there, caught somewhere between sleep and the memories of the night before.
Johanna.
Instinct takes over. My free hand moves across the bed beside me—searching for her. Expecting her warmth, but—
Nothing.
The feeling of cold sheets and empty space causes my eyes to snap open and my chest to tighten right along with it. It’s the same sharp, familiar feeling hitting me all at once—like I’ve lived this exact scenario before.
She’s gone.
Again.
I push myself up too quickly, scanning the room.
“Johanna—”
My voice is rough with sleep, but the panic underneath is there in full force.
This cannot be fucking happening to me for a second time.
As I begin my internal spiral, I hear a soft rustle of movement from across the room. I freeze, then slowly turn to face the direction that the noise came from.
She’s here.
Johanna stands near the window, wrapped in one of those absurdly fluffy, white hotel robes. Her hair is still tousled from sleep and sex as she balances the hotel phone between her shoulder and ear, absent-mindedly tucking a loose strand behind it.
“I think we’ll do a carafe of coffee—yes, with vanilla sweet cream on the side,” she says into the phone, completely unaware that my world just stopped and started again within the same thirty second period. “Also, maybe the breakfast platter? With the French toast if you recommend it.”
The tension releases from my shoulders. The burning in my chest dissipates so fast, it almost hurts. She’s still here—ordering French fucking toast like it’s an every day habit for her.
“Thank you,” she adds softly before hanging up.
There’s a few beats where she’s still facing away from me towards the window. She sets the phone back in its place before she turns to face the bed again. The moment she notices I’m awake, her expression softens.
“Morning,” she says.
As if we’ve done this thousands of times.
As if this isn’t one of the most surreal moments of my life—waking up together after six years of unfinished history.
I let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand down my face.
“Jesus, Johanna…”
I trail off as her brows knit together.
“What?”
I shake my head, still trying to come back down from the panic I didn’t know I was still carrying—buried deep somewhere I hadn’t touched in years.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter. “Just—”
I stop myself. Explaining it would mean admitting to her that I thought—maybe even expected—I’d woken up alone.
Because six years ago I did.
“You thought I’d left again,” she says softly, her gaze dropping from mine.
It’s not a question—it’s a realization.
“I knew I should’ve waited to get up until you were awake,” she continues, already second-guessing herself. “I just wanted to surprise you with the stupid breakfast thing and—”
My heart sinks into my chest, the tightness returning for an entirely different reason now.
“Hey.”
I toss the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed, crossing the room within a few quick strides.
“Hey,” I repeat, softer this time as I reach her, cradling her face gently in my hands.
She blinks up at me.
I don’t want to lie to her, so I say the first honest thing that comes to mind.
“Breakfast is good,” I say quietly.
She studies me for a second, like she knows there’s more I’m not saying. With the two of us, there always is. Even then, her shoulders relax as some of the tension leaves her body.
“The French toast won’t be as good as yours,” she says, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
A small smirk pulls at mine.
“I know,” I reply. “Worth a shot, though.”
She huffs out a quiet laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, my thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. “That seemed to be the consensus last night, too.”
Her eyes stay connected with mine for a second longer than necessary—long enough for the air between us to shift again.
It’s not heavy.
Not like last night.
It’s softer now—easier.
Just as I’m about to pull her in for a kiss, a knock sounds at the door. We both glance towards it at the same time as she slips out of my hands.
“Fucking room service,” I mutter.
She rolls her eyes and moves towards the door, tightening the belt of her robe as she goes.
“Try not to scare the poor guy,” she tosses over her shoulder, grabbing the other robe and throwing it at me as she passes the bathroom.
“No promises,” I say, shrugging it on before taking a seat at the small breakfast table by the window.
I watch her as she grabs a ten dollar bill from her clutch before opening the door to let the valet in.
“Good morning, Miss Harris,” he says as he rolls in the cart stacked with trays and coffee essentials.
She smiles and hands him the cash. “Thank you, Javier.”
He gives a polite nod before retreating from the room. When she turns back around to face me, her expression is relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before—maybe ever.
“Coffee?” she asks, already pouring herself some in a glass with ice and topping it with her vanilla sweet cream.
“Sure,” I tell her. “Hot and black, please.”
She fills one of the mugs and passes it to me, then fixes each of us a plate before sliding into the seat across from me.
I could get used to this.
“Okay,” she says, eying her plate. “Moment of truth. Does the French toast at a five-star hotel even come close to yours?”
I lean back in my chair slightly, watching her as she cuts into it, dragging the fork through the syrup on the plate before taking the first bite. Her expression stays neutral for an extra beat.
Then—
“It’s fine.” She shrugs, her mouth still full. “Nothing to write home about.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her response.
“I’m surprised you even remember what mine tastes like enough to compare the two.”
Her eyes flick up to mine again—something unreadable passes between us.
“I remember more than you think,” she says quietly.
I know exactly what she means—and I doubt either of us are truly ready to unpack everything we remember just yet. Before I can conjure an appropriate response, her phone starts ringing on the nightstand. The sound cuts through the otherwise peaceful room like a blade.
Reality.
Right on cue.
She exhales softly, setting her fork down as she pushes her chair back from the table.
“Saved by the bell once again,” I mutter, taking another sip of my coffee.
She shoots me an apologetic look over her shoulder as she crosses the room to grab her phone.
“It’s Mia,” she tells me, glancing at the screen before swiping across the screen to answer.
“Hey,” she says into the phone. “Yeah, I’m up.”
There’s a pause while Mia talks on the other end, and I watch her expression carefully as she listens. Her posture straightens just slightly—barely noticeable but just enough to make a difference. Like she’s slipping back into the version of herself that the rest of the world knows.
“Yeah, I’ll be down soon,” she continues. “I remember we’ve got brunch reservations at noon—don’t worry about anything except getting ready.”
Another pause before a small smile tugs at her lips.
“I’m sure everything’s fine, Mia,” she says. “Just enjoy your morning with Gray. I’ll be in the lobby to check out at eleven as planned.”
She hangs up and lets out a quiet breath, setting the phone back down on the nightstand.
I raise a brow.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She hesitates—just for a second.
“She heard you didn’t make it back to the hotel with the other guys last night,” she says. “She wanted to know if I knew anything about where you ended up—to which I told her everything’s fine.”
I frown. “That’s what she’s worried about the morning after her wedding?”
Johanna rolls her eyes, but where it would’ve been playful before, there’s tension behind it now.
“They know,” she says. “Obviously, Grayson was with her. I’m sure that call was a test to see if I’d tell them you were here—because they already know the answer. It’s not like subtlety is our strong suit."
“Don’t read too much into it,” I say, attempting to reassure her. “They don’t know anything. They were all so distracted by booze and dancing last night, there’s no way anyone noticed us leaving together.”
She huffs out a quiet breath.
“I’m glad one of us is confident about that fact.”
I’m the one who rolls my eyes this time.
“Why does it have to be such a big secret?” I ask, a slight edge creeping into my voice.
“Because Brandon,” she sighs, that familiar exasperation slipping in. “We don’t even know what this is yet. I’d love it if we could have the chance to figure it out on our own before our entire friend group decides they get a vote. Is that too much to ask?”
The edge in my chest settles almost as quickly as it flared—because I understand where she’s coming from.
After Rylee basically begged me not to put anyone through another round of the Brandon and Johanna Tortured Love Saga until we were absolutely sure about each other, I know keeping this to ourselves is definitely the right move.
Even if I don’t like it.
I push my chair back and stand.
“Alright,” I sigh. “Strategic retreat it is.”
Relief at the fact that I’m not about to go shout about our reunion from the rooftops softens her expression.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I shake my head as I move to put on last night’s clothes.
“Don’t thank me,” I say. “We’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like this—” I motion between us after pulling on my slacks. “—is something we have to apologize for.”
Her lips part like she’s going to argue, but nothing comes out. She knows I’m right.
Still—she hesitates and lets her gaze drop to the ugly pattern on the carpet.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Talk to me—don’t go silent on me now.”
“I just…” she trails off, looking towards the door. “I don’t really want you to go.”