CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Brandon
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Brandon
“DO I WANNA KNOW?” — ARCTIC MONKEYS
Six Years Ago
Idon’t sleep much.
If I did, it wasn’t the kind that actually counts.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—standing under the dim bar lights, chin tipped up, asking me why I’m being so territorial when she already knows the answer.
We didn’t get to finish that conversation.
We didn’t get to finish anything.
The second Grayson clocked us from across the room, everything fell apart. The air tightened around us and neither of us could breathe. The ease vanished. She stepped away first, and I let her.
It was smart.
Necessary.
We both knew pushing anything in that moment any further would’ve been beyond reckless.
But I should’ve gone to her later.
I should’ve snuck into her room again after everyone went to bed and talked to her last night—reassured her I’d deal with Grayson and everything would be okay.
Instead, I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling like a coward, letting my own fears and insecurities about the band and loyalty and what if this ruins everything take over, talking me out of choosing her.
When I blink my eyes open, the room is still dark and the house is silent. The weight of leaving her still sits heavily on my chest.
Maybe I have time to bring her coffee in bed before the rest of the house of hungover hooligans wake up.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and move towards the kitchen barefoot, still half asleep, my mind already rehearsing what I’m going to say to her.
Keep it light.
Don’t spook her.
Make sure she knows everything’s going to be okay—even if I’m not entirely sure how yet.
When I enter the kitchen, I don’t turn the light on. I operate on autopilot—filling the coffee pot, measuring grounds, flipping on the switch.
I don’t even so much as look up until—
“You want to tell me what that was last night?”
I look up to find Grayson sitting at the breakfast bar—fully dressed, arms crossed, and watching my every move.
He’s not groggy or hungover.
Not the slightest bit confused.
He’s alert—and pissed off.
My entire body locks as the coffee machine continues to hum behind me, filling the silence that neither of us seems eager to break.
I wish more than anything I had something clever to say—really, that I had anything to say at all—but I’m not prepared for this, especially not before the sun is even up.
“How long, Brandon?” he demands again.
There’s no small talk. No good way to lead into this.
No pretending.
“Just a couple weeks,” I say.
Apparently, that was the absolute wrong answer—but I also think any answer would’ve been. Anger flashes behind his eyes, his jaw tightening so hard I think I hear his teeth grind against each other. There’s no doubt in my mind—I’m in trouble now.
“A couple weeks?” he repeats, ice coating every word. “So, let me get this straight. I sent you to the airport to pick up my sister and watch out for her until I got home. Somehow you thought that meant it would be a good idea to fuck around with her behind my back and hope I didn’t notice?”
“We’re not just fucking around, Grayson,” I say evenly.
That seems to make it worse.
“Oh, don’t do that shit,” he barks. “Don’t stand there and give me the whole high-and-mighty act. Don’t act like you two are making some mature, grown-up decision. I trusted you, Brandon!”
“She is grown,” I fire back at him. “You don’t get to be the one to decide she’s not.”
“Quite frankly, I don’t give a shit how old she is!
” he explodes, slamming his hands flat against the counter and rattling everything on its surface.
“She’s my sister, Brandon. She’s not exactly had an easy go of it in life, and the last thing she needs is some older guy coming around and fucking with her head. ”
“Let’s get one thing clear here, Grayson,” I say.
“It’s not like I’m Eric. I don’t have a little black book full of conquests inside my nightstand and a revolving door of women in my bed.
This is me we’re talking about here. I’m your best friend, which is why I’m trying to have an adult conversation with you about it rather than continuing to sneak around. ”
“You shouldn’t have been sneaking around to begin with!” he shouts, his voice filling the kitchen now.
There’s no more control.
No more carefully constructed sentences.
“You two must really think I’m stupid,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You think I didn’t see it last night?”
“You saw me pull some drunken asshole off of her,” I say.
“I saw you touch her like she belongs to you.”
That one hits—because it’s exactly what I’d accused that guy of right before putting my hand right where he had.
“She doesn’t belong to anyone,” I snap. “That’s the whole point. She’s a big girl, Grayson. Time to let her make her own decisions.”
“You don’t get to lecture me about her,” he seethes. “You barely fucking know her.”
“Maybe not,” I shoot back. “But neither do you.”
We’re both breathing hard as the words sit uncomfortably between us.
Grayson runs a hand through his hair, pushing himself away from the barstool and pacing for a moment like he’s trying not to lose it completely.
Then, he turns back to me.
“Catastrophically Charismatic is my band,” he says, his voice lower now but no less furious. “I’m the frontman—it’s my voice people know. I can find another bassist.”
There it is.
He’s trying to draw the line.
“You won’t,” I challenge him.
“Want to find out?” he shoots back instantly. “Keep fooling around with my sister, and you will.”
More silence, but this time it’s heavy.
Final.
This isn’t just about Johanna anymore.
This is about loyalty.
Power.
Control.
“Come on, Grayson,” I say quietly. “You’re going to fire me because we’re having a disagreement? Because your sister made a choice you don’t like?”
“It’s more than a disagreement,” he snaps. “She doesn’t know what she’s choosing.”
“She knows exactly what she’s choosing,” I fire back. “Unlike you, I tell her the truth. I let her see who I am. You’re just not used to her choosing something that doesn’t go through you first.”
That does it.
His expression shifts, and it’s not just anger now.
My betrayal is all over his face.
“You crossed a line, Brandon.”
“So did you.”
Something fractures between us in that moment.
It’s not loud.
It’s not dramatic.
But right now?
It feels fucking permanent.