CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Johanna
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Johanna
“RUIN ME” — CORBYN BESSON
Six Years Ago
After my well-executed dance of avoidance during dinner with the guys, I finally manage to excuse myself to my room. Between getting up early for my shoot, my afternoon antics with Brandon, and Grayson’s unexpected arrival—I’m fucking exhausted.
It’s late, but the house is still loud as I lie in bed practicing my new-found hobby of watching the ceiling fan spin while waiting for the guys to go to their rooms. Tony’s laughter echoes down the hallway as they all say their goodnights and the doors open and slam shut one by one behind them.
At last—quiet.
But the last thing I feel is peace.
I can still feel the kiss—the heat of it all lingering on my lips and radiating through my chest.
With a frustrated groan, I curl into my duvet cover and reach over to click off the lamp. Darkness swallows the room, and I doze off within minutes. It doesn’t take long until I’m jolted back awake by a soft knock on my door.
Before I can even process it, the door opens just wide enough for a broad shoulder to slip through. It closes quietly behind him.
Brandon.
Neither of us speaks.
Instead, he moves further into the room until he’s standing next to my bed. Like he belongs here. Like it’s not completely insane that my brother is right down the hall.
Then, without permission, he tosses the covers back and gestures for me to move over. I hesitate for a moment. Just half a second before I shift over and he climbs in beside me.
“You can’t be in here,” I whisper. “This also very much breaks the rule of no touching me unless I say so.”
For once, I hope my voice betrays me. I don’t want him to leave. I absolutely do want him to touch me.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I’ll take my chances.”
Even in the dark, I can tell—his eyes are focused on me.
“Why?” I ask. “Why risk getting caught?”
He rolls over onto his side and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me closer until my back presses against his chest. Until I can feel how hard he already is against my ass and my core begins to ache with a need for him I haven’t wanted to acknowledge before.
“Because I wanted to know how sleeping next to you feels,” he murmurs, moving my shirt upwards and tracing shapes on the bare skin of my stomach. “Because I wanted to make sure you knew the cold shoulder from earlier was an act—and this is where I really wanted to be.”
I relax into the warmth of him and his words as his hand sneaks below the waistband of my silk pajama shorts.
“Bad idea,” I try to warn, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing.
His fingertips brush lightly against my clit, and even the lightest touch ignites a shiver down my spine.
“I just want to make you feel good, Hurricane—return the favor, if you’ll let me,” he says breathily next to my ear. “Tell me to stop.”
This time—for once—I go with honesty.
“Don’t,” I say, a soft moan escaping my lips as he adds pressure.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs with a touch of humor in his voice. “Needy, greedy girl. I love the way your ass feels so perfect against my cock. I know you can feel how much I want you right now.”
He uses his other hand to pull my waist as close to him as possible as he moves his own hips forward and slowly rocks against me.
The thin fabrics of the minimal clothing between us leaves very little to the imagination.
The reality is so much better than anything I conjured during my self-care session during my first night here.
Without even seeing anything, I can feel how powerful he is.
I can tell based on that alone how good it would feel to ride his length.
I already know it would be more intense—more passionate—than anything I’ve ever experienced before.
He slides two fingers into me with ease. As he works them in slow, devastating pumps until I’m on the verge of begging him for more—a door slams open.
I grab his wrist to stop him, my eyes widening and spine stiffening at the sound.
“I thought they were all asleep,” I whisper.
“I’m sure it’s just someone getting water—”
“You’ve gotta go,” I say, pulling his hand out of my shorts by the wrist and scrambling to put some distance between us.
“What? Johanna, that’s ridiculous—”
“It’s not,” I insist. “What if it’s Gray and he wanders into your room to talk—and you’re in here?”
He sits up in the bed, shaking his head.
“Guys don’t go looking for each other in the middle of the night to chit-chat,” he says. “But I’ll go, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t,” I admit, my expression softening. “But you should.”
With a sigh, he tosses the covers back and stands from the bed. “I know.”
He begins to walk towards the door, but stops short before he fully gets there. Turning back to face me, he comes back over to my side of the bed and leans in to press a kiss against my forehead. He lingers there for a moment, our lips just an inch apart now.
I close my eyes, but don’t move towards him.
Suddenly, I feel his lips form to mine and I suck in a breath at the connection. It’s a soft kiss—slow, sweet, and intentional.
“Fuck what your brother thinks,” he murmurs. “You’re mine, Johanna.”
Before I can say another word, he pushes himself away from the bed and makes his way back towards the door. He’s gone and likely back in his own room before I can catch my breath.
Am I still asleep? Did any of that really just fucking happen?
The next morning, I sit at the breakfast bar scrolling through my phone, pretending to be deeply invested in literally anything other than that I woke up wishing I’d been tangled up in Brandon’s arms.
The house smells of the coffee I just brewed, and for once, I’m not fighting for my life to get a moment of peace and quiet.
It doesn’t last long.
Eric and Tony come tumbling down the hallway from their rooms, shattering every ounce of calm I’d been clinging to.
“Jo, are you coming tonight?” Tony says, dropping down onto the barstool beside me with a near offensive amount of energy.
“Red Bull should really consider sponsoring you,” I mutter. “And considering I don’t have a single clue what you’re talking about, I’d say probably not.”
“We’ve got a gig tonight,” Eric explains, head buried in the fridge. “You should definitely come. To support your…” He pauses just slightly. “…brother.”
The hesitation isn’t lost on me, but before I have a chance to respond, Grayson and Brandon descend from the practice room.
“Those lyrics are killer, Brandon,” Grayson says. “I think we should try out the song tonight.”
“We’ll see,” Brandon replies evenly.
I know he’s clocked that I’m here, but he doesn’t look at me.
Not right away.
“Gray,” Tony hollers obnoxiously, completely oblivious to the landmine he’s about to step on. “Jo says she didn’t know about the show tonight.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
Fantastic.
Grayson rounds the corner into the kitchen with a raised brow. “I thought you heard us talking about it last night.”
“I didn’t take that as an invitation,” I reply. “What if I have plans in the morning? Hanging out at a sweaty dive bar doesn’t really seem like the smartest life choice.”
“Plans?” Grayson scoffs. “Johanna, you don’t know anyone here besides us. Plus, it’s not a sweaty dive bar. It’s a small venue that just happens to also have a bar.”
I roll my eyes.
“Comforting distinction,” I say dryly. “Besides, this doesn’t sound like anything I haven’t been to before.”
For a brief moment as the words leave my lips, Brandon finally looks at me.
Please come.
He doesn’t even ask—he doesn’t have to—but I still think it’s a bad idea.
“Come on, Johanna,” Grayson presses me. “Stop pretending you have something better going on and just come with us.”
I exhale in defeat. “Fine.”
Tony and Eric cheer enthusiastically like I’ve just agreed to headline Coachella.
“Let’s go start getting our equipment together,” Eric says, clearing the plates from the bar and placing them in the sink.
Brandon lingers by the bar as the rest of them start heading back up the stairs.
“Coming, B?” Grayson calls.
“Just going to do these dishes since the rest of you refuse to,” he says. “Be up in a sec.”
Grayson nods and disappears into the practice room.
Without even a glance my way, Brandon steps in front of the sink and turns on the faucet. Maybe I should leave—but I don’t.
“You don’t have to come tonight if you don’t want to,” he says finally, his eyes still fixed on the plate he’s scrubbing.
I let out a quiet breath. “You want me to come, though.”
He turns slightly, just enough that I notice a corner of his mouth has lifted into a half-smile.
“Yes,” he admits. “I do.”
“It’s not a good idea,” I say. “You love this band. My brother is your best friend. I don’t want to be the reason everything becomes complicated.”
He shuts off the water and faces me fully, leaning back against the counter like he’s got all the time in the world.
“You’re not a complication, Johanna,” he murmurs. “I wish you’d stop acting like you are.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“None of this is easy,” he counters. “But I want you to be there tonight—so does everyone else. Nothing about that is strange.”
We’re close now. Not touching, but there’s warmth between us.
“Did you write a song?” I ask, knowing the question is a little out of left field. “The song Gray wants to play tonight.”
He cocks his head slightly, studying me for a moment.
“I might have.”
I drop my head into my hands. “You don’t think that’s complicated?”
“Bold to assume it’s about you,” he says with a faint smirk.
“Isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer right away—just looks at me like he’s looking directly into my soul.
My stomach flips, but I still have enough snark to ask again, “Isn’t it?”
The smirk fades.
“You really think I’d put you on display like that?” he asks. “It’s not like I called it Johanna’s Song.”
“I think it’s asking for trouble no matter what you call it.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“Only if you know what you’re listening for.”
Not helpful.
I cross my arms, defensive without truly meaning to be.
“Brandon,” I sigh.
He leans further across the counter.
“You think I haven’t written songs before?” he says quietly. “You think Gray hasn’t poured his entire heart out on stage without anyone knowing who it was about?”
“That’s different.”
He scoffs. “How?”
“Because she was allowed to be there. Because you guys—the band—did know who the song was about.”
The words hang heavier than I’d intended, causing his gaze to shift.
“She is allowed,” he says carefully. “You are allowed.”
“I’m not,” I insist. “Not in the way you want me to be, and you know that.”
“You are allowed to exist in the same room as me without it being a crime.”
I huff out a short, frustrated breath.
“If you don’t come,” he says finally, knowing I can’t conjure anything else to say. “I’ll understand.”
I’m surprised, after all the fight he’s put up.
“But you should,” he continues. “If we play the song, I promise—I won’t look at you. I won’t give you away. I’ll just play. No one will ever know.”
“So, it is about me, then.”
He lets out a short laugh. “You’ll know when you hear it. You know—if you decide it’s worth showing up to see.”
There’s no dramatic confession.
Just—
You’ll know.
“You’re infuriating, you know that?”
A ghost of a smile lingers on his lips. “You’ve mentioned that before.”
Footsteps thud overhead. Someone drops something heavy. Reality creeps back in.
“Brandon!”
He steps away, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Seven-thirty,” he says. “We go on at eight.”
It’s not a demand—just an invitation.
As he ascends up the stairs, I realize something that makes my chest tighten.
I’m already fucking planning what I’m going to wear.