Johanna
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“ONLY LOVE (ACOUSTIC)” — PVRIS
Present Day
Ikick my shoes off by the door to the garage, grateful that Rylee is out and the guys are at the studio—leaving me with something I didn’t realize I needed so badly.
Silence, and the house completely to myself.
It feels necessary in order to decompress from my lunch with Grayson.
Don’t get me wrong, it had gone well—better than anything I had expected, actually—but it doesn’t mean it was easy. My social meter has completely maxed out for a while after all the togetherness I’ve experienced in the last few days.
I drop my bag on the island in the kitchen, bracing my hands against the cool granite of the countertops while replaying the scene from earlier at the restaurant over and over again.
Grayson had been so… understanding. He has his reservations, and I saw that much coming, but there wasn’t any yelling.
No bitterness. Just the opposite of how it had been before.
The door opens and shuts behind me, but I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t even register it until I hear his voice.
“Hey,” Brandon says, causing me to nearly jump out of my own skin.
Normally, I would turn around and be relieved at the sight of him, but when I see the look on his face?
The last thing I feel is relief.
“Jesus—” I breathe, trying to catch my breath before I ask him what’s wrong.
He looks completely defeated—like something knocked all the wind out of his sails and he can’t figure out how to get them back up.
My stomach drops, all the resolve I’d had just moments ago vanishing completely.
“What happened?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t clock the hesitation in my voice. “Lunch with Rylee didn’t go well?”
He lets out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair as he steps further into the kitchen.
“It’s not about Rylee,” he mutters. “You may want to sit down for this one.”
My chest burns.
Fuck, what else could make his face look like that?
I don’t move, even though I probably should.
“Brandon,” I press, my voice softer but more firm. “What happened?”
He hesitates, still unable to look directly at me. It’s as if he’s trying to figure out which move won’t make things worse—which means it’s already bad.
Really bad.
“I may have accidentally…” he starts, trailing off and looking up at the ceiling.
My heart pounds erratically in my chest. “Accidentally what, Brandon?”
His jaw tightens, and finally he allows himself to look at me.
“I accidentally confirmed our relationship to the entire band at the studio this afternoon.”
My brain tries to catch up with what he’s telling me, but I can’t quite—
“I’m sorry… what?”
He moves past me and sits at the bar, putting his head in his hands with a loud, frustrated groan.
“They played back a track I’d been working on last night before you came by,” he says slowly. “I thought I’d stopped recording, but apparently…”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh no.
No, no, no—
“You’re joking,” I whisper. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he says flatly. “I wish I was.”
Heat rushes to my face instantly as the full reality of what he’s saying crashes over me and memories of last night come flooding back to the surface.
“So they heard—?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Everything,” he confirms. “They heard everything.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, willing the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment to just… swallow me whole.
“Did Gray—?”
“He didn’t do anything,” Brandon sighs. “Or, rather, I left before he could.”
I press my lips together, pacing a few steps as I try—and fail—to process the absolute disaster that unfolded without me even being there to see it. Letting out a slow breath, I force myself to calm down enough to think straight even though my pulse is still racing.
“Okay,” I say, more to myself than to him. “We knew it was going to come out eventually.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Just maybe not like that.”
A small, strained laugh escapes me despite everything.
“No,” I agree. “Definitely not like that.”
Neither of us say anything else for a few moments, letting it all sink in, but when I step closer, sit on the stool next to him, and force him to pull his head out of his hands—I can tell. There’s more to it than what he’s told me so far.
“Hey,” I say softly. “What else is going on?”
His eyes lift to meet mine. “I didn’t like it.”
My brows pull together. “You didn’t like—well, neither did I—”
“No,” he says immediately, his voice lowering. “I mean I didn’t like them hearing you. Hearing the noises you make when I’m inside you… those are mine.”
Oh.
“You’re mine, Johanna.”
My pulse picks back up listening to the possessive tone coating his voice and my name on his lips, but what he says isn’t about ownership. It’s about certainty.
“It may not feel like it yet,” he continues, placing a hand firmly on my upper thigh and brushing his thumb along my hip. “Not completely, not when we haven’t made things completely official between us, but—” he exhales. “But you are.”
Something shifts inside me, hearing his words. All the fear, all the hesitation, all the years I’ve spent convincing myself that we would never work… it all falls away.
I am his—and I don’t ever want to be anyone else’s.
I stand in my room later that evening, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the blinds and casting long, golden shadows across the floor. Everything feels… still. Like the world has finally paused long enough for me to catch my breath.
In my hand, I’m holding a small, black velvet box, turning it over slowly between my fingers. Inside it is my father’s wedding ring, and the necklace chain I used to wear it on.
I haven’t worn it in a while. Lately, it’s just hurt too much to think about them—my parents. My thumb traces over the edge of the box as I let out a slow breath, my chest tightening with the weight of it all.
Life has been moving at a pace I haven’t been able to keep up with.
One moment, I’m finding out about my mother’s cancer and it feels like my whole world is caving in around me.
The next—I’m running again. Running away from a reality I didn’t want to face, back to the one place I said I’d never go again because facing it felt impossible.
Because nothing felt worse than the idea of watching her die.
Then there was the tour. I was out there with the crowds every night, watching my brother and his band chase their dream and pretending I didn’t want the one thing I couldn’t have.
Pretending I didn’t want him.
I was out there—distracted, avoidant, hiding from it all—and my mother died alone. Because neither of her kids could get it together enough emotionally to be there for her at the end when it mattered most.
The guilt I’ve never completely let go of settles heavily in my chest, familiar and suffocating. I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe through it.
I got through that—somehow.
As soon as my life felt like it was getting more normal—like maybe the worst of it was actually over—we almost lost Mia in a car accident.
Another moment where everything could’ve shattered. Where we almost lost someone we love.
But she stayed. She fought. She lived, and now she and my brother are married. They’re together, and stronger for it.
They beat the odds, and now… Brandon and I have a chance to do the same thing.
My gaze drops to the box in my hand and I flip it open. The beveled gold catches the soft light coming through the blinds. It’s simple. It was bought before my dad’s band made it big and it was all they could afford, but he loved this ring. He never wanted another one.
My father was haunted by demons most of his life, but at the core of it all—he always loved my mother. That part of him never wavered.
My mom and I have passed the ring back and forth over the years, but she’d had it for a while when she passed.
I knew where my mom kept the ring when she had it at the house, and sure enough, when I was going through her room after her funeral, it was tucked safely at the bottom of her jewelry box—exactly where I thought it would be.
What I wasn’t expecting, though, was the note that I found with it.
I move to my nightstand, opening the bottom drawer slowly.
The paper rests where I left it, edges slightly worn from the number of times I’ve unfolded it to read one of the last pieces of advice my mom would ever give me.
I lift it carefully, smoothing it out between my fingers before opening it again.
My Dearest Johanna,
I knew you would come looking for this eventually—and I want you to have it. Your dad would’ve wanted you to have it, too.
Someday, you’ll meet a man who you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with. When you do, I hope he loves you the way your father loved me.
We weren’t perfect, and we certainly made mistakes—but the love we shared was full and fierce, and that’s what I want for you.
You’ve always been the strong one in this family, but you don’t have to do everything on your own. I hope you’ll give Dad’s ring to the man who reminds you of your worth, but challenges you to be the very best version of yourself.
I’m sorry I’m not there to tell you this in person or to give you the ring myself—but just remember to trust yourself. I always have, and always will.
I love you.
—Mom
I knew from the moment I read this letter last year that the person who made me feel the way she described was Brandon. Reading it back then just made my heart hurt, because I never thought I’d be here—looking straight at a future I thought I’d never get another shot at.
Brandon makes me feel strong. He makes me feel brave and wanted. I don’t know when it happened, but at some point over these last few days, I stopped feeling scared of the way he makes me feel. I want him to know that.
A steady breath fills my lungs as the decision settles into something solid. I close the box, setting it aside as I curl my fingers around the ring. Then I turn towards the door, because I already know where I’m going.