CHAPTER FORTY Brandon #2
“I’m starving,” Tony announces dramatically, bringing my attention back to the group as he stretches out like he’s just completed a triathlon instead of sitting behind a drum kit most of the morning.
“You’re quite literally always starving,” Eric sighs.
“Because I care about my body,” Tony shoots back, tossing a drumstick at Eric’s feet.
“It doesn’t count when—” Eric stops, shaking his head. “You know what? Never mind. I give up.”
“So,” Tony claps his hands together, standing. “Food? Now? Tell me at least one of you is in.”
Eric stands, too, as he fishes his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll take you if it means you’ll shut up while you eat.”
Tony looks expectantly between the remaining members of the group. “Gray? Jake? Brandon?”
Grayson finally finishes off his coffee, certainly cold by now, and tosses it in the trash. I shake my head.
“I’ll meet you there,” Grayson says. “Just gonna call Mia first.”
“I’ll go,” Jake agrees. “I might sit at a different table, but I’ll go.”
Tony nods in acceptance, already halfway out the door with Eric and Jake following closely behind him. “Don’t take too long, Grayson. I’m not responsible for my actions if I have to wait more than twenty minutes to eat.”
“No one’s ever responsible for your actions,” I call after him.
“Exactly!”
The door swings shut behind him, leaving the studio quiet. It’s just me now—and Grayson. It takes him a moment before he speaks. But then—
“Are we finally gonna have that conversation you dodged on my wedding night?”
Straight into it.
No bullshit.
I keep my focus on my bass, adjusting the tuning like I didn’t just feel that question land directly in my chest.
“It’s still not the right time, Grayson.”
A beat of silence passes before he lets out a quiet huff.
“Alright,” he says. “But you’re not getting out of this, Brandon. We will talk about it eventually.”
My grip tightens.
Yeah, I know we will.
Finally, Grayson pushes off from his position against the wall and heads for the door.
“Don’t stay too late,” he adds. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
I nod without another word, but I know he doesn’t see it as the door closes behind him. At last, I’m alone again. I glance at my phone, still sitting on the stand beside me.
She’s waiting on me.
A slow breath leaves my chest as I reach for it, thumbs hovering over the screen for a second before I start typing.
Brandon Jackson
They’re gone.
I hit send before I have time to change my mind, setting the phone down and running a hand through my blonde curls as I look to the door.
This is a terrible fucking idea—but I’m near desperate to see her, too.
I’ve been running between the sound booth and back into the studio while I wait for Johanna to arrive, recording little sections of rhythm to test on different tracks during our session tomorrow.
It’s not long before I hear the sound of the studio door opening while I’m in the middle of playing—quieter than it had been earlier today—like whoever’s walking in doesn’t necessarily want to be heard.
“It’s after hours, ma’am,” I say, a slow smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth even though I haven’t dared to look at her yet. “Pretty sure this is a restricted area.”
The door to the control room clicks shut behind her. I finally allow myself to glance up, and I swear I nearly lose my mind right there. She’s hovering over the soundboard, fingers grazing the edge of the mic like she belongs here. Like she always has.
“I’ve never been big on following rules,” Johanna replies, sin dripping from her voice.
Yeah. That fucking tracks.
I set the bass down on its stand and turn to face her fully.
She’s leaning against the doorframe now, looking entirely too comfortable.
Her hair hangs in soft waves as minimal makeup accents her features—just enough to make it impossible to look anywhere else.
She wears a tight-fitting black mini-skirt that accents her hips perfectly, but she’s wearing one of her vintage band t-shirts again.
I haven’t seen her wear one in years—not since before she left.
Lately, it’s been all-designer everything to the point where I’d started to question if this version of her even still existed.
Suddenly, all the memories I have of imagining her wearing that t-shirt and nothing else while she wanders around my kitchen come flooding back to me.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
This is a problem if I’ve ever seen one.
“Need something, Hurricane?” I taunt, choking out a casual tone that absolutely doesn’t resemble anything I feel.
She looks up at the ceiling, considering how honest she wants to be. For a moment I almost worry I’ve embarrassed her, but before I can correct myself, she speaks.
“Maybe I just didn’t like being away from you today.”
The words land in a place I’m not expecting.
“Yeah?” I murmur, shifting off my stool and beginning to move towards her. “That so?”
Her eyes never leave mine as I close the distance between us, pulling her flush against me and already toying with the fabric on the hem of her skirt.
“I tried to be normal about it,” she says. “Tried to act like it was fine. I thought after spending the last three days playing house together, we could just go back to our lives like nothing had changed. Like I didn’t spend all day today just sitting around that big house wanting you.”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “How did that go?”
“Not great,” she mumbles, determined to not make eye contact with me as she admits it.
I tilt her chin, forcing her gaze back to mine. I never would’ve guessed she would be the one craving my presence the way I’ve always needed hers.
“Normal has never really been your thing.”
“Not yours either,” she shoots back, but there’s no bite behind it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, even as my free hand travels into her back pocket to feel the perfect, round shape of her ass. “I could’ve just come home.”
“I know,” she replies, but she doesn’t move. “I wanted to see you here, though—in your element.”
Her fingers trace lightly across my chest.
“Will you play something for me?”
“If you really want me to.” I shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant, but I know the minute she asks what song I’m going to play.
It’s one I haven’t played in years, but I’m certain I remember it perfectly. I hadn’t been expecting the question, but now that I have the opportunity? I can’t pass it up.
Grayson and Eric’s guitars sit on their stands. For a second, I consider grabbing Grayson’s—but I’m not that stupid. Especially not right now, not when I’m trying to keep myself in his good graces.
Instead, I lean in and press a soft, slow kiss to her lips before dropping my hand from her chin, moving across the room to take Eric’s and reposition myself on the stool.
Johanna watches my every move as I make sure everything is tuned. I don’t think she knows it, but I’m willing my hands to stop shaking as she perches herself on the other stool across from me. I begin to strum through the first chord progression while keeping my eyes locked with hers.
This is either the best or worst idea I’ve ever had.
Her expression shifts almost immediately when she recognizes the song, as if it’s been seared into her memory since the first moment she heard it.
It’s the same song I played the night I invited her to watch the band during one of our regular dingy dive bar shows back when we were just starting out.
After the first few lines, I look back to the strings. I keep my focus on the progression, on the lyrics, on anything that keeps me from looking at her again—because if I do, I’m not making it through the rest of this song.
Somehow, I manage to make it through the final chorus. The last chord rings out around us, echoing through the studio as the last notes fade into silence. I let out a slow breath, allowing myself to bring my focus back to her.
“Brandon…” she murmurs.
Holy hell.
The way she’s looking at me right now—like I hung the moon? Like she can’t wait to devour me? I’m a fucking goner for sure.
“Glad I remembered it,” I say quietly.
The deep blue of her eyes sparkle even in the dim lighting of the studio as my pulse kicks into overdrive.
“Did you ever name it?” she asks.
I’ve never told anyone the title before. We played it at the dive bar and I never let it happen again—not that it took much convincing to take it off the setlist once Grayson realized who it was really about.
If I’m going to dare to say it out loud… it’s now.
“Burn Me Once.”
A small smile tugs on the corner of her lips, but not because she finds humor in it. Not because she’s questioning it—but because she gets it. She gets me in a way no one else ever has.
She stands, crossing the room to reach me, lifting the strap over my head before I can react. She takes the guitar and sets it carefully back on its stand. When she turns back to face me, the look of mischief in her eyes tells me all I need to know.
We’re not leaving this room until we’re both satisfied.
She’s back with me in an instant, her hands finding my chest first as she curls her fingers into my shirt. My hands quickly find their way back to her hips, and I know she can feel how ready I am for her by the way my cock throbs against the zipper of my jeans.
“I never had the chance to tell you back then,” she says softly. “But hearing you play the song that night, listening to the words you wrote about me… it’s what made me realize how I felt about you.”
Something like relief flutters in my chest. The sentiment is six years too late—but somehow coming exactly when I need to hear it most. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger there just a second longer than necessary.
“The song has always been yours, Hurricane,” I murmur. “I never played it again after that show—not until now.”
My thumb brushes along her jaw.
“Only for you.”