CHAPTER THIRTY Brandon
CHAPTER THIRTY
Brandon
“RIGHT THING, WRONG TIME” brYCE VINE, STATE CHAMPS
Six Years Ago
The last chord of the final chorus radiates around us.
The crowd is still cheering when Grayson says good night and we begin to file off the stage, sweat-drenched and breathless as we ride the kind of high you don’t come down from easily. The guys are buzzing—this was easily our best show yet.
I should be buzzing, too.
In fact, I am—but not for the same reasons they are.
Not because I’m feeling the energy of the crowd or riding the high from playing an amazing show.
Not because we just played a song I wrote for the first time.
I’m buzzing because she’s here watching.
Because she actually showed up—and I’m fucking dying to hear what she thought.
About the song.
About me.
I keep my face as neutral as possible as we step into the chaos of the floor. The room swallows us whole—claps on shoulders, strangers hollering praise from every direction, someone asking for a picture as they’re already taking one.
I nod.
Smile.
Shake hands.
I play the part.
I look so cool to everyone who doesn’t know that inside, I’m wound tight as a fucking live wire. I need to get to her—but I can’t be obvious about it.
Grayson can be completely oblivious when he wants to be—and I’m counting on a little of that tonight, especially since Tony just yelled something about buying a round of shots—but he’s not an idiot.
If I bolt across the room and head straight for his little sister the second we break through this crowd, he’ll surely notice.
Eric claps me on the back hard enough to knock the air out of me as he passes by on the way to the bar.
“That song’s staying,” he says. “No question.”
I nod solemnly. “Yeah.”
Like that’s all it was.
Just another song.
He knows who it’s about. I know he does—but it’s like he’s forgotten about the elephant in the room due to his newfound glory of being in a band people actually cheer for.
I approach the bar and join the rest of the band, where Tony is demanding tequila as if we’ve just signed a record deal. I’m keeping my body mostly angled towards the group, but I can feel her eyes on me.
I take a quick glance over my shoulder to see her closely watching from her spot on one of the barstools, like she’s calculating the right moment to come over.
I watch her motion for the bartender as Grayson pulls my attention away.
She’s not leaving, is she?
“Told you it would hit,” Grayson says, his eyes bright.
I swallow hard and hope he doesn’t notice.
“Yeah,” I manage. “You did a good job on the vocals. Guess you were right.”
If he says anything else, I don’t hear it. My gaze is pulled elsewhere as Johanna makes her way towards our group with a fresh drink in hand. I’m about to step forward to greet her, but Grayson doesn’t give her a chance to reach me.
“There you are, sis,” he says, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “What’d you think?”
She smiles at him—easy, practiced, sisterly.
“It was good,” she replies. “Really good. You guys sounded tight.”
“Tight?” Tony repeats from behind them. “That’s all you have to say? It was fucking epic.”
She gives a light laugh. “Fine. It was incredible—truly. Happy now?”
Tony nods and clinks his beer bottle against her glass while Grayson beams like she’s just handed him his first platinum record.
“What about Brandon’s little debut moment?” Grayson presses. “You think we should put it on our regular setlist?”
My pulse spikes, but her expression remains the same.
“I liked it,” she says evenly. “Definitely different, but in a good way. More…mature.”
There’s no smirk.
No knowing look behind it.
No acknowledgment that every single word in the song was about her.
“See, man?” Grayson says with another clap on my shoulder. “Joey’s nearly impossible to impress. If she liked it, it’s gold.”
As I burn alive internally and pray I’m still coming off cool, Tony is already shouting for another round. The circle starts to loosen as Eric spots a new conquest by the stage, downing his shot and giving her a sultry smirk.
“See you at home,” he calls back at us. “Or maybe not.”
The booking manager for the venue approaches Grayson and me, giving us congratulations and talking about potential upcoming dates. Grayson turns to me for approval, looking like he’d just been told he won the lottery.
“Brandon is in charge of most of—”
“Why don’t you handle this one, Gray?” I tell him, hoping it’s coming off like I’m giving him an opportunity rather than trying to get rid of him.
He beams back at me as the manager leads him back to the office.
Perfect.
Just like that, I think I’ve finally got her all to myself—but someone else has the same idea. Some random guy—a complete oaf in his mid-twenties with a backwards cap and all the confidence in the world for someone who’s easily been drunk since two o’clock—stumbles in beside her.
“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?” he slurs.
Johanna lifts the shot Tony had gotten her with a tight smile.
“All set—thanks,” she says.
He should give up there and move on, but he doesn’t. He leans in and whispers something in her ear and puts his hand on the small of her back. She visibly stiffens at the contact, and I choose now to step in.
She doesn’t need my help, not really—but like hell if I’m going to stand here and let some pathetic excuse for a man put his hands on her like she’s his. I gently close my hand around her upper arm, pulling her towards me and away from him.
The oaf’s glazed over eyes meet mine.
“She’s with me,” I say evenly.
It’s not loud. Not aggressive. Just certain.
He looks between us, and even through his drunken haze, he can see that he’s messed up.
“Oh,” he stammers. “My bad, man. Didn’t realize.”
You didn’t bother to ask, idiot.
At last, he stumbles back into the crowd and disappears. Johanna tilts her head up slightly, annoyance flickering in her eyes.
“I didn’t need you to rescue me,” she says under her breath. “I could’ve handled him.”
“I know you could’ve,” I reply quietly. “You just shouldn’t have to.”
Johanna exhales and turns to face me.
“You’re territorial,” she says.
“When it comes to you?” I don’t hesitate. “Yeah, I am.”
She moves closer. Closer than she should be, but I’m not pushing her away.
“Why?” she asks softly.
I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t fully trust what I’d say—and I certainly don’t want to say it to her in the middle of a dirty, crowded bar.
Her eyes search mine as I push a loose strand of hair behind her ear and let my fingers linger there a little longer than I should.
That’s when I feel it—the shift in the room.
Instinct makes me force myself to break the connection with her and look up. Across the bar, leaning against the door to the office, is Grayson—watching us. I can’t read his expression from this distance, but I know he’s not smiling.
Not distracted or oblivious in any way.
Just watching our interaction play out in front of him like it’s a movie up for a fucking Academy Award.
His eyes flick from where my hand rests low on Johanna’s back right to my face. I know I look exactly like a guilty kid with his hand in the cookie jar I know I’m not supposed to touch.
Johanna notices my shift a second later and follows my gaze straight to her brother.
“Fuck,” she mutters, barely audible.
Grayson doesn’t move, but his jaw tightens and eyes narrow, the suspicion clearly evident.
In that moment, I know—we’ve just crossed another line we may never be able to come back from.