Brandon
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“ALWAYS LET YOU DOWN” BILMURI, A DAY TO REMEMBER
Present Day
It’s the afternoon of the show, and I’ve never felt more unprepared for a performance in my life.
The venue is already buzzing with energy—techs rushing around, equipment being tested, sound checks taking place onstage—but I’m not. For the first time in years, my heart’s just not in it.
I’m lying on the old couch in the green room, analyzing the patterns of the popcorn on the ceiling when Tony and Eric burst into the room. Jake follows them in, chattering on his headset with someone on the crew about making sure all our equipment made it here.
To anyone else, this scene would look perfectly normal.
Tony flings himself onto the couch next to my feet, cracking open his latest can of Red Bull like it’s oxygen.
“So,” he drawls, glancing over at me as he takes a sip from his can. “You planning on playing tonight or am I going to have to carry the entirety of the rhythm section by myself?”
I huff out a breath that might’ve been laughter in another life.
“Don’t tempt me,” I mutter, keeping my eyes glued on the ceiling.
“You’ve been like this all day,” Eric adds from a stool on the other side of the room. “What’s your deal?”
I let my head fall to the side. “My deal?”
“Yeah, your deal,” Eric repeats. “You’re always kind of weird, but this is like… sad weird.”
“Give him a break, guys,” Grayson says, just having entered the room as Jake leaves, still mumbling on his headset. “You know Joey and Mia left for Paris yesterday.”
Tony groans loudly, dragging a hand down his face.
“Oh my God,” he mutters. “So you’re both going to be miserable for the entire duration of their trip?”
Grayson flips him off without missing a beat, grabbing a water bottle off the table. For a moment, I think he’s going to hurl it at Tony’s head, but instead he cracks it open and says, “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” Tony continues. “You three and these dramatic ass women… I mean, sheesh. How much more of the longing and emotional garbage can we take?”
“You’ll get it when you find the one,” Eric says.
“Oh, please,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to be a bachelor until the end of time. You know full well no one but you guys would put up with me.”
That earns a small laugh from the group, but not enough to fix anything. Not enough to get me to move from this couch and get excited about this show.
Grayson remains completely unaffected. I can feel his eyes on me before I even look his way.
“You gonna make it?” he asks.
I nod. “Sure.”
“Bullshit.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it seem like we’re having a private conversation—even though everyone else in the room is absolutely still listening.
“You’ve gotta stop tearing yourself up about this shit,” he says.
It’s not a suggestion.
I let out a slow breath, because I know he’s right.
“I just need to get through tonight,” I sigh.
Grayson continues to study me for a few moments before asking, “Did they make it okay?”
My throat tightens instantly.
“Yeah,” I say. “She texted when they landed.”
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead—
“Then what’s the problem?” Tony cuts in—fucking typical. “She’s in Paris, she’ll be back in like… forty-eight hours. You’re here, about to play a show and show off all our hard work. Everyone wins.”
“It’s not that simple,” Eric says quietly.
“No, it literally is,” Tony fires back. “Geography is very straightforward—”
“Tony,” Grayson snaps.
Miraculously, that seems to actually shut him up for a few minutes.
Grayson turns back to me.
“You gonna talk to me?” he asks. “Or are we just going to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re clearly not?”
My gaze drifts to my bass, sitting on its stand in the corner of the room. I love this band—I do—but when I sit here, forced to take stock of the things in my life that matter most? It doesn’t even come close to the way I feel about Johanna.
“I fucked this up,” I murmur.
The room stills.
“No,” Grayson replies immediately. “You got put in a shitty position. You didn’t have a choice.”
“I’ve always had a choice, Gray.”
The muffled sounds of the outside world swell through the walls, a reminder that time is moving forward whether I’m ready or not.
Right on cue, Jake pokes his head back in.
“Soundcheck in ten, boys,” he calls. “Showtime in about an hour.”
Eric and Tony rise from their seats, following Jake out of the room to get their equipment set up. I should be going with them, but I don’t move. I can’t.
Neither does Grayson.
“You’re here,” he says firmly. “You’re right—ultimately, you did have a choice. You chose the band, so accept it. Be here with us.”
He’s right again.
I am here—because I have to be, or because I don’t know how to not be. But as I sit on this old, uncomfortable couch surrounded by almost everything I’ve ever wanted, all I can think about is the one place I’m not.
Grayson watches me for a few more moments before turning and heading towards the door. Just when I think he’s given up on me, he gives me one final glance over his shoulder.
“You should check your phone,” he says, pulling it out of my backpack by the door and tossing it to me.
“Why?” I ask, frowning slightly as I catch it.
“Just—” he shrugs, grabbing his water bottle again. “Check it. Then get off your ass and come join us.”
It’s vague. Too vague—like he most certainly knows something I don’t.
I hesitate for half a second before I flip my phone over in my hand and tap the screen. Sure enough, there’s a notification from Mia along with a couple of photos.
The first one loads: Jo’s fitting one of her dresses on a model, her hair tucked behind her ear, a row of pushpins clenched between her lips.
Her hands are steady, precise—completely in her element.
She looks incredible. Focused, confident, and everything she’s supposed to be, yet my chest still aches.
I swipe to the next one: a photo of Mia and Johanna in front of the building where the showcase is being held, the Paris skyline behind them. Johanna’s smiling, but it’s subtle. It’s not the real thing. It kills me that she’s not fully enjoying herself, but hell—neither am I.
A message pops up beneath the photos.
Mia Harris
Lots of fittings and figuring out logistics today. She’s doing great… but she keeps looking for you.
Fuck.
I look at the time. It’s about five o’clock here, which means it’s well after midnight there. Mia’s probably asleep by now, but I take my chances anyway.
Brandon Jackson
Is she asleep?
Lucky for me, Mia replies a few seconds later. She must be waiting to talk to Gray before we go on.
Mia Harris
I think so.
I know you didn’t ask me to do this, but… I did some research.
Showcase is tomorrow at 7pm. The last flight out of LAX tonight leaves at 10:05… if you leave the show by 8, you might just make it.
I stare at the screen, the gears in my brain starting to turn. Suddenly, this clusterfuck of a situation isn’t completely impossible anymore—not like it was before.
It’ll be tough. I’ll barely make it. It’s reckless, and it’s all going to hinge on if I can convince the guys to shorten our set and make sure I’m offstage before eight.
At last, I push off the couch, grabbing my bass and heading for the door. The guys are already gathered in the hallway, Jake running through last minute soundcheck notes while Tony pretends to listen and Grayson and Eric double check their gear.
Grayson glances up the moment I step into view. He clocks the shift in me immediately, knitting his brows together as he tries to figure out what’s changed.
“What?” he asks.
I hold up my phone.
“Your wife is fucking amazing.”
“Yeah,” Grayson chuckles. “That’s why I married her. Care to elaborate for the group?”
“She just sent me something,” I continue. “There’s a flight to Paris tonight—late. If I leave here by eight, I might actually make it there in time to see Johanna’s show.”
They all stare at me—no response as the chaos backstage goes on around us and they process what I’ve told them. To no one’s surprise, Tony is the first one to break.
“How soon can you leave?” he asks.
I roll my eyes as Eric smacks Tony’s shoulder.
“Not because I want you to go,” he adds quickly, rubbing his arm. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to have to watch you mope around for the rest of my life, and I refuse to live like that.”
A breath escapes from my lungs.
Okay. Good. Someone’s on board.
“We’d have to rush through the set,” I say, looking between them. “Shorten transitions. No encore. I’d need to be offstage before eight.”
Jake is already shaking his head while anxiously tapping his pen against his clipboard.
“That’s… a nightmare logistically,” he mutters. “The label is going to lose their minds.”
“Let them,” Eric shrugs. “It’s one night, and it’s not like we’re cancelling.”
Jake looks like he wants to argue, but then he turns to me. He sees the pain and regret behind my eyes and his own expression shifts.
“You’re serious about this,” he says slowly.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I really am.”
Grayson steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder, and for the first time, I feel like he’s got my back on something more important than superficial band bullshit.
“We’ll make it work,” he promises. “We’ll cut the setlist—only play the new stuff. The Label Gods didn’t completely stroke out when I told them we wouldn’t be doing Collapse Into You.”
Tony grins. “I would’ve liked to have seen that.”
“We’ll tighten everything up,” Grayson continues, glaring at Tony. “No bullshit between songs.”
“Hey,” Tony protests. “My bullshit is integral to the Catastrophically Charismatic experience.”
“Not tonight it isn’t,” Eric shoots back.
Jake sighs, already starting to make notes as he pulls his headset back on.
“Gotta talk to the label,” he mutters. “And the venue. And probably God.”
“Good luck with that,” Tony calls after him. “Tell Him we say hi!”
Jake flips him off as he walks away without missing a beat, even with his nose still stuck in his clipboard.
Now it’s just the four of us again—just me and the three people who have been with me through everything.
“Guys—” I start, not knowing what I can say to cover the gratitude I feel.
“Don’t mention it,” Grayson cuts in. “Just go get ready after soundcheck. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Just go get ready.
My heart rate spikes as I realize—this is really happening. I’m really going to make a mad dash across the world to get to the girl I love.
“Thank you.”
Grayson nods once.
“Don’t you dare miss that flight,” he says. “I’ll never hear the end of it if you do, and I’m not covering for your ass twice.”
I have to laugh, because I know if nothing else is true—that much certainly is.
“Yeah,” I assure him. “I won’t.”
I adjust the way my bass hangs on my shoulder as we step on the stage for soundcheck. My heart is still racing, but it’s not from dread or guilt anymore. It’s clarity. It’s the way I can’t wait to get to her and fix something I never should’ve broken in the first place.
As I step out onto the stage and the first notes echo through the empty venue, I know—I’m going to make it to Paris, even if it kills me.