CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE Johanna
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Johanna
“STILL WANT YOU” — brYCE VINE, THE HOME TEAM
Present Day
The house is dark when I return from brunch.
When I pull into the garage, there are no other cars parked in their usual spots. I take the spot closest to the door and cut the engine, releasing the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as I lift my foot off the brake.
After a weekend full of non-stop socializing, the silence feels like a gift—even if it’s only temporary. I know the others will be back soon enough, and the house will fall right back into its normal state of chaos.
But for now—it’s just me.
I push the car door open and step out, gathering my purse and the handful of things I’d tossed into the front seat earlier. Once I make it back inside, I start unloading everything onto the kitchen island in a small, disorganized pile.
The magazine Mia gave me is set off to the side, protected from the rest of the items. I pause for a second, letting my fingers brush over the cover before I force myself to turn back towards the garage.
One thing left.
I head back through the door to grab my suitcase, already mentally preparing myself for the effort of having to drag it back to my room and unpack it all.
Suddenly, I hear the low hum of the gate opening at the end of the driveway and the crunch of tires against the concrete. Brandon’s Bronco rolls into the garage and parks in the space next to mine. He cuts the engine, and before he ever even gets out of the car, I can tell—he’s smiling.
He steps out of the driver’s side, shutting the door behind him. His eyes lift and land on me standing beside my open trunk, one hand resting on my suitcase.
“You need some help with that, ma’am?” he asks, a slow smirk playing on his lips.
“I don’t need help,” I reply. “But you can if you want to.”
That’s all it takes.
He moves towards me, one arm sliding around my waist as he lifts the suitcase out of the trunk like it weighs nothing.
“I’m always gonna want to help you, Hurricane,” he says softly. “That feeling has never gone away.”
I look up at him, tucked easily into the curve of his side, a little shocked at how comfortable this feels. Like it’s second nature and always has been.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
The words feel too small for what I mean.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like I had to do everything alone—and I was proud of my strength and independence. I’ve worn it like armor. No one has ever stepped in to take care of me the way Brandon always has.
He presses a soft kiss against my forehead before tugging the suitcase towards the door, still resting his hand loosely at the small of my back as we head inside the house.
It’s still quiet as we pass through the kitchen and down the hallway to the bedrooms. When we reach my door—the room I’ve claimed as mine without any official invitation—Brandon slows. His hand hovers over the handle, but he doesn’t open it—almost like he can’t.
“What is it?” I ask, watching him carefully.
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I just—”
His voice trails off, but then his eyes meet mine.
“I don’t want to put your things in there.”
His expression is calm. Certain. Like he knows exactly what he wants.
My breath falters when I realize what he means.
He doesn’t want me in that room.
He wants me in his.
“Brandon, I—”
The words catch.
For a split second, I know how easy it would be to say yes. To follow him down the rest of the hallway and fall right back into him—to let myself get lost in something that feels this good.
Instead—sharp, unavoidable logic breaks through. I step back slightly, creating just enough space between us to allow me to think clearly.
“We can’t just… do that,” I say, my voice softer now.
His expression shifts. He’s not angry, but I can tell he’s bracing himself and anticipating rejection—and that’s exactly why I can’t put my things in his room.
Not yet.
“Why not?” he asks.
I let out a slow breath, running a hand through my hair as I look away from him.
“The last time we rushed into things, I blew everything up and left,” I say carefully. “And you—”
My voice tightens as Rylee’s words from brunch echo in the back of my mind.
You don’t know how bad it got when you left.
“I don’t even know what happened after that. Not really.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“What I did to you, Brandon… you changed because of it,” I whisper, forcing myself to meet his eyes again.
He opens his mouth to protest, but I lift my hand to stop him.
“I know you did,” I continue. “Even without your sister reminding me every time I talk to her.”
The words hang between us—real and heavy.
“If we’re going to do this again—if we’re going to have a real shot of making it this time—I need to know everything,” I say. “All of it.”
There’s a beat. Then he takes a step closer to me, closing the space I created. He takes my hand in his before turning in the direction of his room.
“Leave your suitcase,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow, not moving.
“We’ll come back for it,” he adds. “But we’re not having this conversation in the hallway. Not when we don’t know how long we’ve got before everyone gets home.”
If we don’t do it now, we won’t. We’ll just fall back into each other and end up exactly where we were before.
I nod once in acceptance, forcing myself to step forward.
In the privacy of his room, Brandon closes the door behind us and sits on his bed.
I wrap my arms across my chest and stand uncomfortably by the door. Something deep within me is suddenly unsure of where I belong in this space—of how long I’ll even be allowed to be here.
“The lack of information isn’t one-sided, Jo,” he says after a moment, realizing I’m not going to be the one to start this. “I need some answers, too.”
My stomach twists.
“Namely,” he continues, his voice steady but layered with something tighter underneath, “why you left without saying goodbye.”
Heat radiates through my chest and down into my fingertips.
“Why you thought it was a good idea for us to—” he pauses briefly, choosing his words, “—for that night to happen when you knew you wouldn’t be there the next morning.”
I let out a quiet breath—because I know exactly how this looks, and I always have. I’m the villain in this story. I’ve accepted it.
Hearing him say it, though? Hearing the hurt in his voice?
There’s nothing that could’ve prepared me for the way my whole body feels like it's been engulfed in flames now. He’s not asking these questions to hurt me. He’s asking because he never understood. The worst part is—I don’t know if I’ve ever fully understood it myself.
My eyes are fixed on the floor. I don’t know if I can look at him while I say this—because where do I even start?
“I’d like to say I didn’t plan it,” I start softly, but the words sound weak.
Insufficient, but they’re true.
“I did know I was leaving,” I admit. “When I walked into your room that night, I knew it would be the last time. My mom had booked the flights that afternoon and I just—I needed to see you before I left. I wanted one night where we could really be together… fully.”
My throat tightens with every word.
God, how am I going to get through this?
His expression doesn’t change. If anything, he’s even more still.
“I told myself it would be easier on you if I just… disappeared,” I continue. “Everything—all the feelings—just felt so big all of a sudden. All I could see was how quickly Grayson was going to destroy it.”
The words taste bitter, but the truth often does—especially when you’re not used to telling it.
“After he found out and you stormed off, I went back to my room,” I say.
“All I could do was watch it all unfold like a movie in my mind. The fights. The tension. You being stuck in the middle of it all—losing your best friend, your band, and everything you’d worked so hard for all in less than a day. ”
I uncross my arms and take a step towards him now—slowly, carefully, and ready to stop the minute he tells me to.
“I didn’t think I was worth it, Brandon,” I whisper, forcing myself to look at him as I say it. “I didn’t want you going and destroying your life for me… because I knew you would have if I’d asked you to.”
His expression flickers—just enough for me to feel like I’ve been sucker punched right in the gut. He drags a hand across his jaw as if he’s trying to steady himself, choosing his next words carefully.
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
Any confidence I had leaves my body in an instant. The force of his words land harder than anything he could’ve yelled.
“I didn’t ask you—” I start.
“That’s exactly the problem, Johanna,” he interrupts, his voice still not raised but certainly sharper than before. “You didn’t ask me anything.”
The silence that follows is deafening. For someone who usually has a sassy comeback for everything in her back pocket, I’m having a pretty hard time coming up with something to say now.
“You made the decision for me,” he continues, standing from his spot on the bed. “You decided what I was feeling. What I could handle. What I was willing to risk.”
He takes a step towards me. Then one more.
“You’re right about one thing,” he says, his voice lowering. “I would have burned it all to the ground for you back then—I even told you I would.”
I remember—of course I do. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget what we said to each other the night I left, no matter how much time has passed.
Every word. Every touch. Everything.
“You also told me you loved me for the first time,” I murmur. “And I said you’d regret telling me that the next morning.”
His head tilts slightly, studying me, but he doesn’t respond.
“I just…” I swallow, forcing the words out. “I need to know how you feel now.”
There it is.
I don’t want to deflect anymore. I don’t want to run.
We can pick apart the past until we’re blue in the face, but none of it matters if what we felt for each other back then has gone away.
I need to know sooner rather than later if last night was the start of something amazing that I’ve only ever dreamed of…
or if we’re getting ready to have the goodbye we should’ve had all those years ago.
“I meant it then,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine—not even for a second. “And I mean it now.”
My heartbeat stutters. His voice is steadier than it has been throughout this entire exchange.
“I never stopped, Johanna.”
The air leaves my lungs.
There’s no hesitation. No doubt.
My chest aches with it—because this feels a little like a fever dream that I’m going to wake up from any second. He’s saying everything I’ve wanted to hear from the moment I allowed myself to fall back into him.
“But—” he continues.
Of course there’s a but.
I can’t stop my heart from sinking, even though I should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.
“I think you know it’s different now.”
My stomach twists. He must see it—the way I start to spiral—because he closes the rest of the distance between us, taking my hands in his.
“I’m not that guy anymore, Jo,” he says, his thumbs brushing slowly over my palms. “I’m not the guy who burns the world down without thinking about the consequences, and I wouldn’t want to be.”
He pulls me closer to him, grounding and steady like he always is.
“I do want you though,” he murmurs. “I want us to have our shot—I just want to make sure we do it right this time.”
Looking into the warm caramel tones of his eyes, something deep within me cracks open. All of the feelings I’d shoved down for so long come rushing back to the surface. For the first time, this doesn’t seem impossible.
I want to meet him where he is.
“I don’t want the version of you from before,” I say quietly. “Because this version of you… the steady, responsible, Daddy version of you? He’s so much harder to walk away from.”
My voice levels out as I give his hands a squeeze and a grin spreads across his face.
“I’m not the same girl, either,” I add. “The one who runs when things get hard? The one who made decisions for you because she was too scared to let you choose?” I glance down, shaking my head. “I don’t want to go back to being like her.”
The words settle between us, real and intentional. Maybe I should stop while I’m ahead, but I don’t. I keep going.
“I’m choosing this,” I say, lifting my eyes back up to his. “I’m choosing you.”
I didn’t think his smile could stretch any wider, but it does.
“It’s not going to be easy,” I sigh. “Telling everybody. Telling Grayson.”
His hand lifts, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face before his fingers settle lightly along my jaw.
“I don’t need it to be easy, baby,” he says finally. “I just need you.”