CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE Johanna
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Johanna
“CLEAR” — NEEDTObrEATHE
Present Day
Backstage is chaotic as ever as the show begins.
Models stand on their marks while designers are making their final adjustments, hands flying as the lights heat up and the high-energy music begins pulsating through the speakers.
It’s time.
The first three sets of models have already walked, the fourth group waiting in the wings about to take off down the runway one by one. I’m standing in the middle of it all—all five of my dresses perfectly fitted to each model, every detail exactly as it should be—trying to breathe.
“Johanna Harris, you’re on deck,” one of the assistants calls from the light board.
On deck.
My heart pounds against my ribcage, every ounce of adrenaline I have twisting into something more intense. Something harder to control.
“You okay?” Mia asks, appearing at my side like she always does when I need her most.
I nod, maybe a little too quickly. “I’m good.”
She studies me, not quite buying it—but she doesn’t push. Instead, she reaches for my hand and squeezes, grounding me just like she had done when we first arrived.
“You were made for this, Johanna,” she murmurs. “You know you are. Now it’s time for the world to know it, too.”
I swallow. I want to believe her. I almost do.
“Team Harris—places!” another assistant calls from the curtain.
My hand slips from Mia’s as I step forward.
This is it. There’s no one else to look to, no one else to follow—just me.
The first model turns back, her eyes finding mine as she waits for instruction.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks softly.
The same question. The same line—but this time, there’s no hesitation behind my voice.
“Walk like you own it,” I tell her. “Because you do.”
She nods once, and just like that, she’s swallowed by the light.
The crowd roars and cameras flash wildly as the last model comes back through the curtain.
“You’re incredible,” she says as she passes by me. “No one else got a reaction like that.”
She’s right. I noticed it, too.
At first, I thought I might’ve been imagining it—getting swept up in the moment, everything seeming louder and bigger than it actually was—but I wasn’t.
It was real.
“Johanna—go,” the curtain assistant urges from behind me. “It’s time for you to take your bow.”
My feet move before my brain catches up. One foot in front of the other—and suddenly, I’m on the runway, the spotlight hitting me in full force as the room erupts all over again.
The applause grows even louder as I move forward, instinct taking over. Muscle memory guides me to the edge of the runway, through something I’ve done a hundred times before—but it’s never felt like this.
I lift my gaze, scanning the crowd and taking it all in as the cameras continue to flash. As I bow, I swear I see… him.
Brandon—standing near the door at the back of the room, his hair a mess and shirt wrinkled, looking like he ran here from LA. Looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.
My heart stutters.
No—it nearly stops.
I’ve got to be losing it. Exhaustion and adrenaline have finally caught up to me.
Then—he smiles, and the world tilts back into place.
He’s here. He’s here for me, and everything around me fades into the background.
Nothing else matters anymore—not the success, not the applause, not any of it.
Just… him.
The second I clear the runway and I’m back behind the curtain, everything comes rushing back all at once.
Noise. Voices. Hands reaching for me.
“Johanna—amazing—”
“Incredible work—what’s next?”
“Press wants a comment on—”
I can’t process any of it. I can’t stop. I don’t respond. I barely register any of it because the only thing I care about is getting to him—because he’s here.
He’s really fucking here.
“Johanna—where are you—?” someone calls from behind me.
I ignore it, weaving through the crowd as my heart races so fast I can barely keep up with it as I scan every face, every corner.
Then—I see him.
He’s standing just off to the side by a hallway leading back to the loading entrance. The second he sees me, I can tell he’s holding back. He wants to run to me, but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to come any closer.
So instead I run to him. I don’t slow down, I don’t think—I just go.
My arms wrap around him, colliding with him hard enough that he stumbles back half a step—but he catches me instantly.
“You’re here,” I breathe against him, my voice breaking as I cling to him.
I’ve never been an overly emotional person, but now—I can’t help it as the tears stream down my face.
“I’m here,” he says, just as tightly. “I made it.”
I pull back so I can look at him—make sure he’s real—and he caresses my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away my tears.
“Why are you crying, baby?” he murmurs.
“You weren’t coming,” I admit quietly. “And now you’re here, and I know that means you—”
“I still played the show,” he says, breathless. “It wasn’t great, we rushed through the whole thing—but I did it. I played, and then I got on a plane and came straight here to you to fix the dumbest mistake I’ve ever made.”
I sniffle a little as I process his words.
“I left early,” he continues. “Got in a car, went straight to the airport and still barely made my flight, almost got taken out by some French guy’s suitcase in Customs—”
A laugh breaks out of me as he stops to catch his breath.
“You’re insane.”
“Yeah.” He nods, a laugh escaping him, too. “Only when it comes to you.”
He kisses me, my face still cradled in his hands, soft and slow like we have all the time in the world.
“I hated that you weren’t here,” I whisper. “Mia and Rebekah—it meant the world to me that they came all this way, but it wasn’t the same. They weren’t you.”
His expression shifts instantly, guilt flashing across his face.
“I’m so sorry, Johanna,” he says. “I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel like there’s anything in my life more important than you. The band has been my life, but now—it’s you.”
His hands slide down from my face and into my hands, threading our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m not going to come this close to missing things like this again, Hurricane,” he continues. “Not if I can help it.”
“I don’t need you to choose me over everything,” I say slowly. “This time, it just felt like—I just need to know that when it matters—when it’s big, you’ll try.”
His grip on my hands tightens.
“I will,” he vows. “Every single time.”
I nod, because I never needed perfection. I never wanted him to make a promise he couldn’t keep. I just wanted… effort—and he definitely delivered.
His gaze drops for a moment, down to our hands—to my father’s ring sitting on his finger. My breath catches, because there’s something about the way he’s looking at it now. Something heavy—intentional.
“Brandon…” I murmur, my heart starting to race all over again. “Are you about to—?”
His head snaps back up, another soft huff of a laugh leaving him as he shakes off the almost moment.
“As much as I want to,” he says gently, lifting our joined hands between us. “Not like this.”
I blink as he brings me closer, freeing one of his hands to rest it tenderly against my cheek.
“You deserve more than a rushed, sloppy, jet-lagged proposal in a backstage hallway with no ring,” he says softly. “When I ask you to marry me, Hurricane… it will be with a ring as stunning and special as you are, and it will be a moment we’ll both want to remember for the rest of our lives.”
My chest aches in the best way, because he knows me so well.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he echoes.
A small smile pulls at his lips before his forehead drops to rest against mine.
“You were incredible out there,” he murmurs. “I’ve never been more proud of someone in my life. I’m so grateful I was here to see it.”
I shift my weight to the tips of my toes and close the distance between us as I kiss him again, slow and steady.
Not rushed—just certain.
His hand tightens around my waist, pulling me closer as he kisses me back like he’s trying to prove that he’s just as sure.
When we finally pull apart, everything feels… settled.
It’s not perfect, and it’s never been easy—but it’s right, and we both know it.
“I love you,” he says against my lips.
I exhale, the words settling deep within me, sounding so different now than they did when I left. It’s not a desperate plea anymore.
It’s like coming home.
“I love you, too.”
I squeeze his hand, stepping into him and tucking myself into his shoulder as we turn to the exit together, ready to leave the noise and chaos behind.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not walking away from something.
I’m walking towards it.