Ch 92 ~ After All

The Louisiana heat combined with Jon’s hissy fit during the show wasn’t a recipe for anyone’s happiness.  When Bon Jovi exited the JazzFest stage, the strain of both was easily identifiable on each man’s face, and they all gave Jon a wide berth. 

Habitually, just like she was cautious of voicing opinions on band relationships, she also made it a point to discreetly disappear when tension spiked within the ranks.  Sometimes, though, it wasn’t about the band.  Tonight wasn’t about the unit of men, but the single man who was struggling to lead them – and Rachel couldn’t stand by and do nothing.  His torturous thoughts had already driven him to lash out once, and by all appearances, he was only a breath away from it happening again. 

That’s why, while the rest of the group went to shower before the flight, she pulled him aside to quietly remind, “Everybody here is on your side.  We’re all here to support you.  Please don’t forget that, love.” 

She left him with that soft plea, an equally soft kiss and the promise to be waiting for him at the plane.   What came next she didn’t know.  She probably never would, and that was okay. 

All Rachel could attest to was that, by the time Jon and the boys walked up the stairs and onto the plane, the tension had taken on a different feel.  It wasn’t gone, but rather than being steeped in anger, it now reeked of exhaustion.  Each man bore the unmistakable signs of being both physically and emotionally drained, and her heart ached for them as they settled into their seats.

When Jon scrunched down in his spot beside Rachel, he draped an arm over her leg and forced the faintest of smiles but said nothing.  He’d laid a hand on Phil’s shoulder and murmured thanks on his way, but after that, somber silence ensued for the dozen passengers.  For hundreds of miles, the only sound in the cabin was the constant drone of jet engines as they escaped the unpleasantness of New Orleans.    

Rachel tried to read a magazine, but her attention kept drifting to the man whose eyes were either riveted out the window or hidden behind closed lids.  Physically, Jon was the same arrogant, overconfident Jersey boy with whom she’d fallen in love – familiar in the curve of his mouth, the cleft of his chin and the restless hand that would rub over his head from time to time. It was the air of vulnerability and helplessness arriving along with the news of Richie's visit to rehab that made him different and someone she was still trying to acclimate to.  

He didn’t proudly carry his usual shield of invincibility tonight.  He didn’t have enough hands to hold it aloft while he juggled the blame for a subpar performance and the ambiguity of how long Richie would be out of the Bon Jovi equation.  With no shield and both overflowing hands in the air, all he could do was let the clouds pass him by on his free fall from stability. 

Jon didn’t have a solid plan for the immediate future, and it was eating him alive. 

“Baby,” she finally murmured in his ear, unable to stand it any longer.  “If Plan A doesn’t work out, there are 25 other letters in the alphabet.  You’ll find something that works, and the world won’t stop turning before you do.  I promise.” 

“I swear sometimes I think you really can read my mind.”  Lifting the arm that he had draped over her lap, Jon angled his hand back to bury fingertips in the hair above her ear and used the leverage to pull her close enough to kiss.  “If this real estate gig doesn’t work out for ya, palm reading might be a good backup plan.”

There was a slight sparkle to the blue eyes she knew so well, and it gave Rachel hope.  With a little encouragement, his spirits would lift, even if it was just a little.

“That’s not a bad idea… I could set up a little booth in the concession stand at your shows and just travel the world with you.”

The soft snort of derision was more amused than anger-infused as his forehead tenderly butted her temple.  “Always the tease, aren’t you Rach?” 

If only you knew. 

“You’d enjoy the teasing if you weren’t so wiped out.”

“I can enjoy it and still be wiped out.” His tired grin switched to remorse, complete with an involuntary duck lip as he drew back to meet her eyes.  “I’m sorry about the last few days.  My dick hasn’t been cooperating any better than the rest of my world, but I’ll make it up to you.”

They’d found a spark of light in the dark gloominess, and Rachel wasn’t going to let it go so that he could wander back into the shadows of accountability.  She’d do whatever it took to cultivate something that even vaguely resembled carefree and happy.

“Oh really?  Hmm…” Rachel pretended to contemplate the possibilities while stroking the hair from his forehead.  “Exactly how would you define ‘making it up’ to me?  I mean, I want to be sure we’re on the same page here.  I’ve been living celibate for nearly a week, so my perception is that you owe me big.  Bigger than big.  Huge.  Massive, even.  The sun, moon and the stars seem a pretty reasonable exchange for the orgasms I’ve been cheated out of.”

His smile was still weary, but she loved the affection that managed to come along for the ride and hitch the corners a little higher.  “Whatever my money can buy is yours, baby.  All you have to do is name it.”

The flight crew made the announcement that they were beginning descent, so Rachel buckled her seatbelt and snuggled into Jon’s side.  Money was an easy fallback for a man who had it, but his assumption was both lazy and mistaken, compelling her to nip the thick tendon in his neck as punishment. 

“Silly man,” she chided in his ear after gentle lips nuzzled away the sting.  “What I want can’t be bought with your money.”

Rachel’s desire was far too precious for the likes of money. 

                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late when the driver navigated the last turn on Navesink River Road.  The sun had long-since set and brought a chill to the spring night that was comparable to the cool façade Jon couldn’t seem to let go. 

Upon landing, he’d made a point to hug each one of his band members before they headed their separate ways and issued promises to call soon.  It went a long way toward easing the lines in all their faces, and Phil received another round of gratitude with the same pledge to be in touch before Jon slid into the back seat beside Rachel.  

Since then, he’d tried to be pleasant and engage in her occasional commentary, but it was obvious that his thoughts were elsewhere.  Jon seemed to have moved past the events on that hot New Orleans stage, because there was no self-loathing in the set of his jaw.  The thumb that scraped back and forth over his bottom lip was a sign of deliberation.

It was the murkier horizon of the future that he saw instead of the darkened scenery, and she imagined that he was lining up his alphabet of options.  Rachel laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly, confident that he’d find one.  He just needed to stop pressuring himself into doing it right now.

As they passed the mansion that was the “known estate of rock star Jon Bon Jovi”, she nudged him and nodded out the window.  There was a trio of women posing in front of the gates, with the house lights the only illumination for their souvenir photos.  It really was a beautiful background for a picture, but Rachel couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“You know you have too many houses when your fans don’t even know which one you actually live in, Jon.  Maybe it’s time we downsize a little.”

“I got no problem with them stalkin’ an empty house.  Keeps ‘em away from my real front door.”

“Touchè,” she conceded as the driver braked outside the gates to their private kingdom.  It was going to feel heavenly to climb into that huge, antique bed with him and put this day behind them.

“Excuse me, sir,” the driver intruded upon her blissful anticipation.  “There seems to be an issue with the gates.  They aren’t opening far enough to drive through.”

Anticipation became reflection as a barrage of memories went flying through Rachel’s mind.  Those temperamental gates were responsible for… everything.  If they’d worked properly in the first place, Rachel wouldn’t have been stuck trying to squeeze a suitcase through their narrow opening.  Jon wouldn’t have stopped to rescue her. 

There were a lot of moments between then and now that she wished had gone differently – moments that could have gone so much better.  Many of them should have gone better, but they’d been finding their way on a path that was overgrown and unfamiliar to them both.  The landscape may not be even, but the path was now clear, and it led to this moment together. 

To their home.

When she turned to see if any of this was going through his mind or if she was just being hormonal, Rachel found him grinning tenderly at her.  He remembered their beginning just as clearly and fondly, and that realization brought a lump to her throat and a loving grin to her face. 

It’s time.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jon chuckled to the driver, grabbing Rachel’s hand and their carry-ons.  “The damn things never have worked right.  We’ll just walk from here.”

With the moonlight shining upon them and their interlaced hands as they strolled up the driveway, Rachel stroked his left ring finger with her thumb.  He was still wearing the hundred-and-nineteen-dollar economy ring she bought him in Paris after his grand marriage proposal.  He wore it every day, just like she wore “the Hope Diamond and all her sisters” – as a sign of their commitment.

“Hey,” he mused, drawing her to a halt just before they reached the front steps.  “You never told me how you managed to clear your schedule enough to be here this week.  What happened to the important meetings that were keeping you in California?”

“Something more important came up.”

“So, the loss of a band member can shift your priorities.  Good to know.”

“No, dumbass,” she cooed, lifting feathery fingertips to the cheek hollowed by a hellish week.  “the shift in priorities came when you didn’t just want me here but needed me.  That changed everything.”

Jon sloped his shoulder so that their bags dropped to the steps and then released her hand, draping it over his shoulder.  His hands laced at the small of her back, tugging her close to kiss her forehead.  “You’re the dumbass for not realizing I’ve always needed you.”

He was right, and Rachel knew it. 

“Touchè again.”  Her sigh was as gentle as the breeze that chilled her, but she couldn’t make herself go inside yet.  This moment had been too long in coming.  It was too important to risk missing for something as menial as comfort, and she hugged him closer.  “When we first met I was so… sooo broken.  I know it’s no excuse, but pain and fear kept me from allowing myself to believe I meant as much to you as you do me.  Then…  Well, everything that was wrong in my world, you made right – or as close to right as possible.  Now I want to give the same back to you.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Lifting her chin deliberately, she leaned back to meet the moonbeams reflected in his eyes and vowed, “It means that I’m done with being afraid, done with running, and done with anything that keeps me from the life I want more than anything.  A life with you.  My meetings didn’t get magically postponed, Jon.  I quit my job.”

His brow shot high above rounded eyes.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  You, Rachel Braden, quit your JOB?  The only thing that gave you purpose and independence?”

She didn’t flinch at the brutal honesty, because Rachel deserved it.  That was a mild penance for being stupid enough to make him think he didn’t matter as much as a job that would be filled by the end of the week.

“I did.”  Rachel’s fingers skated along the white placket of his button-down shirt, and her ring caught the light with a mocking wink.  “It’s been a really long time since you asked me to marry you.  How do you feel about asking again?”

Those rounded eyes narrowed to slits and he reclaimed the scowl that had been etched into his features for much of the day.  “Don’t fuck with me, Rach.  Not today.”

“I’m not, baby,” she whispered.  “Ask me.  Please?”

He still wasn’t eager.  Reluctance weighed down every breath in the silence as he shifted his gaze from one of her eyes to the other. 

She knew she must look a fright after everything, but she’d looked a fright that first day, too, struggling with her suitcase.  If he’d seen something in her then….  Now, after everything they’d been through, she had no doubt he could see past the flyaway hair and faded makeup to the heart that wanted nothing other than to be the rock he leaned on after days like this.  To be the steadfast presence he’d been for her. 

“Marry me, Rachel.  No more games, no more bullshit.  Just be my fucking wife already.”

Laughing up into his beautiful face, she couldn’t keep from shaking her head.  What else had she expected?  Really?  After all this time and after all the refusals, this was as “Eiffel Tower” as it got with her Jersey man – and she was okay with that.

More than okay. 

“I’d love to be your ‘fucking wife already’ – as much as I love you.  Now kiss me.”

“Well, here we are again

I guess it must be fate

We've tried it on our own

But deep inside we've known

We'd be back to set things straight

I still remember when your kiss was so brand new

Every memory repeats

Every step I take retreats

Every journey always brings me back to you

After all the stops and starts

We keep comin' back to these two hearts

Two angels who've been rescued from the fall

After all that we've been through

It all comes down to me and you

I guess it's meant to be, forever you and me...

...After All.”



~ T h e   E n d ~

Ch 91 ~ Meltdown

Almost from the moment they met, Jon and Rachel had a gift of communicating without words, and that connection had come in very handy since since her return to Jersey.

The days leading up to the New Orleans Jazzfest had at least fifty hours in them that were packed with exhausting rehearsals that weren’t fun for anyone involved.  Rachel watched the men of Bon Jovi trudge through each somber session, working out how to cover this guitar part and that harmony so that there weren’t any holes. 

As well as being physically and emotionally trying, the endless rehearsals limited the amount of time Jon and Rachel spent alone, which meant he had no opportunity to disconnect from work and recharge.  She saw him staring off into space between songs, his face set in lined stone as he struggled with the sole responsibility of filling the hole left by Richie’s stage presence.  That was something no one else in the band could do, and from the looks of it, Jon was trying to convince himself he could.  

It had him as stressed as she’d ever seen him, and Rachel repeatedly tried to absorb the stress as her own – without success.  There was no budging it from his shoulders because he perceived it to be his cross to bear, and that left her able to do nothing but stand by and watch him trudge along.

Her only solace was that he seemed to take solace in her mere presence, as surprising as that was.  It was subtle, but for a woman who knew everything about the man she loved, the evidence was there. 

When she would leave the studio to go home and do some work or fix the guys a meal, he wouldn’t let her out the door without asking when she’d be back.   At night, he collapsed into bed while barely speaking but pulled her close, holding tight with nothing more than the release of a long, tension-filled breath against her ear.  If she happened to scoot away during the night, it was only moments before he followed, folding her close.

Rachel thought maybe she could distract him from his thoughts with something more physical, but her one attempt at seduction proved to be an utter failure.  He simply captured her wandering hands, stilling them to mutter that even his dick had let him down.

By the time they left for Louisiana, there had been little or no improvement.  The entire flight found him either holding her hand, curving tight fingers around her thigh or just leaning close enough to make contact.  His touch was constant, as was his clenched jaw. 

There were moments when Rachel would swear she could hear his teeth grinding, and all of it together felt like the oppressive heat preceding a summer storm.  She didn’t know if the dark cloud of his mood would result in only a low rumble of thunder or more destructive lighting, hail and torrential downpour, but she knew something was coming.

Her man was on the verge of losing his carefully cultivated cool, and she was afraid for him – and everyone around him.

Immediately after the plane touched down, they were herded into a chauffeured vehicle and ferried to the Jazz Fest venue.  As he always did, Jon wanted to make sure everything was properly set up and do a sound check, but that wasn’t the way this gig was structured to go. 

Multiple acts were using this same stage throughout the day, making the usual soundcheck impossible, but Jon was assured – repeatedly – that the equipment was working properly.  After asking for the third time and receiving the same answer, he had no choice but to take the technician’s word for it and hope the young guy was right. 

That left him at loose ends while he waited for Bon Jovi’s turn, and he filled the time by flexing his hands, cracking and rubbing his knuckles, rubbing his temple and restlessly tapping a thumb against his leg until Rachel was as agitated as he was.  She couldn't wait to get this thing over with so they could race back to the plane and home to the peace of the Navesink River.

She was not a fan of New Orleans. 

It was hot, sticky and unbearably humid.  The air was so oppressively heavy that it was hard for Rachel to breathe, and even minimal movement had her neck and forehead damp with perspiration.  Jon, though, didn’t seem to notice.  In spite of the sauna-like weather, he dressed for the stage like the quintessential rocker in leather, blue jeans and a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses that only he could make sexy. 

When showtime finally arrived, they walked hand in hand to the backstage area, which was abuzz with activity.  He was squeezing her fingers so tightly that they were numb from lack of circulation, but she didn’t say a word as the rest of the band took to the stage. 

She only watched on, wiggling her tingling fingers as Jon’s guitar was slung over his neck, and when he turned to her,  Rachel tenderly wiped the sweat from his forehead.  Tico counted off the song and the intro music bled into the thick air when Rachel cupped his cheek to assure her love, “You’ve got this, baby.  It’s just another day at the office, and I’ll be here waiting when you’re done.”

He offered nothing beyond the staccato lift of his chin in acknowledgement before bending to push a hard kiss against her lips.  With that, Jon walked around the curtain and took a very different stage than what he was used to.

Rachel blew out a breath and moved to the side stage.  She wasn’t conspicuous to the audience, but there was a clear line of vision between her and Jon and that’s precisely what she had in mind.  If he could find any moral support in her at all, she wanted him to have it. 

Blood on Blood was the show opener and while the guys seemed perfectly happy performing it, this was one of those songs that Rachel wasn’t crazy about.  Considering the circumstances, she also found it an odd choice for this particular set list, but it had gone well in rehearsal and Jon loved it. 

With that beaming smile as he belted out the lyrics, nobody but her ever would’ve detected the edge he took to the stage with him.  The fans would notice nothing but their rock star, in all his glory.

If it was possible to fall more in love with this man, Rachel had just done it.  Who wouldn’t fall in love with a man who possessed that kind of work ethic and dedication to his audience?  There was no one who took his job more seriously, even on those occasions where he was smiling and flirting with half the front row.

At the launch of the second song, she was relieved to see him begin to loosen up.  She was even more relieved to hear that his recent intimacy with pack after pack of cigarettes and a week’s worth of lost sleep wasn’t affecting his voice.  His vocals were rock solid.

That relief wavered a bit when Rachel noticed that there was some kind of issue going on with his guitar pedals.  She wasn’t privy as to they operated, so it was impossible to tell whether they were sticking or not holding, but Obie was ripping a crew member’s ass during a burst of frantic activity at the soundboard.  It seemed to get resolved in short order, and Jon’s soft smile in direction after the song, eased some of the tension from Rachel’s shoulders.

He was going to make it through this.  They all were.   

The mirrored sunglasses were tossed aside at the onset of “It’s My Life” as the crowd roared its approval, and Rachel's smile found her face for the first time in days.  Whereas “Blood on Blood” wasn’t one of her favorites, this one got her adrenaline pumping, and with her man claiming full ownership of that stage, she shared the same excitement as his throng of fans.  Fist raised high in the muggy air to beat time right along with Tico, she sang in unison with Jon, “It's my liiiiiiiife, it's now or never!"

She was still beaming when David hit the intro to “Runaway”. 

It was one of those songs that always stirred something in Rachel.  The music itself was part of it, but she loved the associated history, too and couldn’t help but give a mental "fuck you" to Richie because he hated playing the song that started their journey.  She gave him another when Jon got totally lost in the guitar solo, because it was the first time in nearly a week that tension didn’t cut harsh lines in his face.   

The show progressed as naturally as any other, and Rachel found herself forgetting that this wasn’t a normal show.  The guitar player filling in for Richie was holding his own and Jon had found his groove.  Even the air felt less stifling.

And then...  Jon stuttered while leading the crowd into the opening of “Bad Medicine”. 

Both hands came up to press into his ears, and his scowl of confusion quickly shifted into an ominous display of Stink Eye.  The monitors in his ears obviously weren’t doing what was expected, and he became immediately pissy, flipping a middle finger at the same sound tech who managed not to wither in under the heat of the infamous Stink Eye. 

To the casual observer, this was nothing more than a blip on the radar, but Jon’s easy demeanor was now shadowed with renewed dark clouds as he stalked the stage.  Rachel was on edge because he was on edge, and she wished fervently for a Xanax or some tequila to lower her rising blood pressure. 

He had to find himself again and get through this show without crumbling under the pressure. 

The silent pep talk she gave went unheard because the Stink Eye hovered just below the surface.  It stayed safely sheathed when looking out at the crowd, but he drew it like a switchblade to slice the off-stage technicians who weren’t living up to his standards today.  

Rachel was close enough to feel the sting, and air that had become almost breathable was once again oppressive and stagnant, heavy with the tension of the Bon Jovi crew on and around that stage.  Sweat streamed down Jon’s face, and feeling the dampness building in her underarms, she would’ve given half a year’s salary for a fan big enough to blow it all away.

"Lord, God, Jesus,” she whispered as somebody missed a chord in the guitar solo.  “Just let them get through this without embarrassing themselves."

Jon seemed to be struggling as they went into what Rachel referred to the “The Jukebox Striptease” in the middle of “Bad Medicine”, but nobody in the audience seemed to notice.  They were the lucky ones, because she couldn’t see anything but her man’s struggle, and she leaned forward as though her intense concentration was enough to put him to rights. 

Maybe that worked, because things seemed to even out a bit during "Pretty Woman".  She was just about to accuse herself of overreacting to her own anxiety when Tico missed his cue back into “Bad Medicine”. 

And that, as they say, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.   

"GOD DAMN!" Jon shouted at Tico under the cover of the music, so that only those on the business end of Bon Jovi could hear.  "DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!" 

With the heartbreaking realization that this week’s burden was causing her man of steel to rust away in the Louisiana humidity, Rachel was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.  Her heart raced and she pressed hard fingertips to her mouth, wondering what was next. 

The thought had no more crossed her mind when Jon kicked one of the amps with enough force to knock over the cup that sat atop it.  Tea splattered everywhere in a ten-foot radius in a display of his foul mood, and Rachel was torn between wanting to whisk him back to New Jersey and the desire to slap some sense back into him.  

In the end, all she could do was stand by and watch as the love of her life came undone in front of fifty thousand people.

90 ~ Without A Net

What some saw as an enviable existence in the perpetual California sun was just another day in the life of Rachel Braden.  This particular day, like most of those that surrounded it, was filled with not only sun, but a boatload of work and San Francisco Bay Area traffic that should’ve made it a pleasure to go home.

Instead, the empty house was merely a relief from those outside forces.  It hadn’t been home since the week she and Jon had managed together after the band’s Vancouver shows last month.

After that, he’d returned to the East Coast and his kids for the remainder of the tour break, with the promise of a mini-vacation to Old Montreal before the Ottawa and Montreal shows at the beginning of May.  A vacation that they’d been forced to scrap when Rachel’s CEO determined that would be the ideal time to schedule a mandatory meeting with all department heads.

Needless to say, Jon wasn’t happy that her work was once again interfering with plans to spend time together.  Rachel wasn't thrilled about it either, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying it.  Instead, she told him that it would get easier when he wasn’t touring.  They would have to be patient while they worked the kinks out of their schedules, but she assured him that it would all eventually come together.

It would’ve been more effective if she’d told him all that after telling him they’d also need to cancel this weekend’s getaway, too.  She’d originally promised to join him in New Orleans for his Jazzfest show and some alone time, but now she needed the time to prepare for the meeting that had cancelled the Montreal vacation.

Her lack of foresight made him unhappy a second time and, honestly, unhappy was a gross understatement for his level of displeasure.

Never before had he completely ignored her efforts at communication, but today there was no response from New Jersey to any of her two calls or three text messages.  It was completely out of character and, frankly, troubled Rachel.  He was never this petty about their disagreements, and that’s what prompted her to try another call – via FaceTime.

This one he answered and, Rachel was almost sorry he did.  His cheeks and eyes were sunken, the lines in his face were deeper than she’d ever seen them and he looked…  Weary wasn’t a strong enough word.  Drained, exhausted, fatigued and completely shattered came far closer to describing his condition.

“Jon, what’s wrong?”

Multiple scenarios were building in her mind even as she willed herself to remain calm and neutral.  There was no point in working herself into a panic before she knew what was wrong.  That old adage about borrowing trouble and all that.

It turned out that it wouldn’t have matter what she came up with.  No amount of speculation could’ve prepared her for the bomb he dropped.

“Richie’s going into rehab.  The day before Jazzfest.”

She had always chosen to exercise extreme caution when it came to voicing her opinion on the band members and their relationship with one another.  The world did not need another Yoko Ono and she frankly didn’t want that target pinned to her back by Bon Jovi’s fan base. 

Rachel reasoned that these guys had managed just fine for the better part of three decades without her input.  If they’d made it this far, she was sure they would always find a way to work out their differences, but it was a struggle to look at Jon’s face and not lash out with the spiteful wish that Richie could keep his act together. 

"So you'll have to postpone the tour?  For how long?"  With any luck, her face hadn’t betrayed her dismay and Jon would accept the casual inquiry as just that.

"No.  Absolutely not.  I cannot postpone shows!" he blustered, and she could see him throwing a hand in the air.  "There are hundreds of people depending on me to provide their paycheck.  There are hundreds of thousands of ticketholders depending on me to deliver a show.  And if all that isn’t enough, there are a bunch of legally binding contracts with my name on ‘em, decreeing that as long as I can sing, the show goes on.”

She understood obligation as well – or better than – anyone else, but Rachel was having a hard time processing how a Bon Jovi concert could go on without their lead guitarist. 

“How does that work?  Can you or Bobby cover his parts?"

"Hell, no!  That's part of the problem!"  His voice vibrated with all the tension and anxiety visible in his face.  "There’s a guy coming from California in a few hours.  We’ve gotta try and make it work with him."

"Does he know the songs?"

"No, he doesn’t know the damn songs!”  His eyes told that the loud outburst was as unexpected to him as it was to her, and Jon sighed before dejectedly breathing, “I just pray to God he's a quick learner."

That’s when Rachel understood the severity of the situation.  Jon wasn’t just having a bad day at the office.  Bon Jovi had just been diagnosed with an illness that could prove terminal if he didn’t find the right treatment.

Everything was on the line – and on his shoulders.

In five days, he would be taking the stage with a guitar player that wasn’t Richie.  A guy who was probably fine in his own right, but he didn’t know the songs and all the familiar cues and – worse than that – he couldn’t be Jon’s safety net the way Richie had.

The two of them had developed such a rapport over the years that they instinctively played off one another no matter what Jon felt like doing that night.  He told her more than once how much the crowd loved it when he’d sling an arm around his consigliere or work up some kind of shenanigans to mark the show as unique.  Some of them had their cameras primed for just that moment, and now…

Now it was all on Jon.  He didn’t have a straight man.  He couldn’t be the straight man.  He was the man shouldering full responsibility for… everything.

While he continued to relay details about the man in California who was riding in to save the day, Rachel only half-listened.  She was absorbed in trying to comprehend how Jon was going to do it.  How would he weather this immense pressure by himself?

Even if everything went off without a hitch, there would be ugly speculation from both media and so-called fans alike.  Jon wasn’t the same without Richie.  The white knight from California could never be Richie.  She couldn’t begin to imagine what all they would come up with, but she knew enough to recognize how vicious people could be when hiding behind both media and social media.

For every negative comment, there would be two positive ones, but Jon wouldn’t absorb those.  He would take the criticism and feed from it, determined to make them eat their words, even if he killed himself in the process.

Where was he going to find his peace?  Who was going to be a rock for the man who held everyone else up?

Suddenly, that job seemed a whole lot more important than the one that had her sitting on the opposite side of the country from her man.

“Jon, baby...  Get me a plane.  I want to come home."

                                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hour was late – or early, depending whether one had been to sleep.   Rachel had not, making four in the morning late, and she fully expected to find their New Jersey home dark when the driver pulled through the gate.  She wasn’t disappointed.  All was dark and quiet on the property.

Next door, however, was another story.

Lights were blazing from the studio windows at High Point, and she groaned with dismay.  Knowing him, he was still formulating damage control, but how could he possibly still be up and functional?   He’d looked like he was about to drop seven hours ago.

Thanking the driver, she slid out of the car and unlocked the home’s front door, deciding that if he was still up and in the studio, that’s where she was going to be, too.  After she dropped her small travel bag on the foyer table, she made her way across the road separating the houses and up the stairs to the musical sanctuary where so much Bon Jovi history was made.

The cool night air was thankfully making her more alert than she should be at this hour, and as she reached the upper half of the staircase, it mingled with the smell of tobacco.  A quick survey revealed that there was smoking curling out of the open window, and that did not bode well.  Jon had supposedly quit smoking, but that wasn’t necessarily written in stone.  She’d known him to indulge in a cigarette once in a great while, either when he was feeling particularly good or particularly bad.

Rachel couldn’t imagine that this was a celebratory smoke.  

Easing open the squeaky door that led directly into the control room, she caught sight of Jon through the glass.  With his hair completely disheveled and looking a decade older than usual, he was slouched down in a padded folding chair.  With his knees spread wide and listening to something one of the half-dozen other men in the room was saying, he was drawing on the nub of a cigarette when his eyes found her.

In the instant he realized she was there, Rachel saw it.  It wasn’t a lot, and maybe nobody else would have even noticed, but she did because he couldn’t keep it from her.

For the span of a heartbeat, the strong, confident, in-control man that everybody knew… showed a crack in his façade.  It was miniscule, but through it she caught sight of a naked vulnerability she’d never known him to have.

Her heart cracked in exactly the same way as he blew out the smoke and rose from the chair murmuring, "Gimme a minute, boys."

Plodding steadily toward the control room, the footsteps didn’t stop until he was close enough to hook her neck in the crook of his arm and pull her close.  The other arm wound around her back, crushing their bodies together as he exhaled into the curve of her neck.  When he inhaled again, his body relaxed and Rachel took the weight.

She couldn’t help hold him up on that stage, but she could hold him up here – and would for as long as he would let her.

“It’s nearly four in the morning, Jonny.  You need to get some rest,” Rachel quietly coaxed.

“In a minute.”  Arms that had gone lax cinched tight again, and he lifted his head to press a kiss against the crown of her head.  “I need this more than sleep."

89~To Grandmother's House We Go

 

Jon had found there to be very little that compared with the feeling when he was wrapped around Rachel like a piece of Saran Wrap, but a hot shower after a long show was a pretty close second.  The thought of combining the two after a spectacularly shitty night had him hustling his sweaty ass out of Raleigh’s RBC Center and into the cold February night.  The front row fans likely hadn’t even made it to the exit with their souvenir folding chairs before his car arrived at the private airstrip.   

“Sonofabitch,” he swore, shivering and cramming his hands further into his coat pockets and settling into the private jet that would have him landing at Teterboro within the hour.  Seven weeks and four thousand miles put him a long way from tropical Hawaii, and Jon hoped like hell not to catch pneumonia before he managed to get to a seductively sprawled Rachel. 

What he should’ve hoped for was to find Rachel seductively sprawled, period.  Rather than finding his hot blonde beauty sporting some Victoria’s Secret creation that kept no secrets whatsoever, he found their Navesink River Road house as dark and cold as the bitter February night.  

“Well, shit.”  His halfhearted grumble was carried away by the whistling wind as he pushed into the foyer.  “She’s not here.”

Rachel had sent him a text that she was leaving California about the same time he started his show in North Carolina, which meant she couldn’t be too far behind him.  With a sigh, he tamped down his disappointment, bumped up the thermostat and climbed the back staircase to the master bedroom. 

If he’d been in the old house, he would’ve stopped by the kitchen for a chilled bottle of wine to pass the time, but his girlfriend/lover/significant other was a genius.  Jon was confident that her decision to install a full bar and wine cooler in their massive closet certified her as a genius and, really, his opinion was the only one that mattered. 

With a lazy smirk of arrogance, he briefly surveyed the contents of the wine cooler before bypassing his customary pinot in favor of the warm, oak tones of Rachel’s preferred brand of red.  It was a good night for warm, and he downed a healthy swallow before the wine had even had time to breathe.

Hot would be even better.

A flick of his wrist had the flames dancing happily in the gas fireplace and casting a warm hue into the otherwise dark room.  It was just enough to justify leaving the lights off, and he carried that justification into the adjoining bath by choosing only to burn the small light above the shower.  A twist of the ornate knob had the water flowing and, as his shirt flew in the general direction of the hamper, the shower filled with steam.  By the time his pants flew in a lopsided arc, the glass had already fogged and was inviting Jon into its humid warmth. 

After the door clicked shut, the only remaining sound was that of water battering futilely against marble.  Each droplet that pulsed against his naked flesh was rebuffed with a muted ‘splat’ and left to silently trek toward the drain.  The sound – or lack thereof – went a long way toward unwinding Jon’s taut muscles.    While he loved nothing better than the roar of an appreciative audience, after the show, the last thing he wanted was noise. 

Then you should be glad her sexy little ass isn’t here.

He loved Rachel.  He truly, truly did, but the girl couldn’t walk into a room without turning on the TV, stereo or some other kind of racket.  For some reason that totally escaped him, she always had to have some kind of background noise going and it annoyed the shit out of him after a show.  It was probably the only thing she did that really got on his nerves.

He chuckled softly as he dropped his head back and let the water massage his scalp, imagining that it was her fingers scraping through his hair instead of the shower.

Annoying or not, he knew he’d gladly put up with her and her idiosyncrasies for the rest of his life, if she would let him.

Yep.  He was legitimately pussy whipped.

                                                              *********************

Rachel was grateful when the hired car finally drew up in front of the house, but it didn’t stop a frown from tugging at her mouth.  The inviting glow of the family room lights shone from the back of the house and, while it was a warm and welcoming sight, it also meant that Jon had beat her home. 

She hated that.

One of her favorite things in the world was being home to greet him when he came off the road, preferably naked and with a glass of wine.  Mother Nature and James had joined forces to make that impossible this time around, with last minute work problems combining with an unusually heavy fog in the Bay Area.  She was a full two hours later getting off the ground than she’d anticipated. 

Shaking off the circumstances she couldn’t change, Rachel unlocked the front door and flipped on the foyer light. 

“Right there will be fine.”  She directed the driver to stack her boxes on the dark wood floor just beyond the front door.  After two trips, he had the equipment she’d bought for her future New Jersey office inside the house and was bidding her a good evening. 

The door locked behind him, she darkened the foyer again and made her way toward the well-lit family room.  It only took a couple of steps through the kitchen doorway before she could see that the adjoining room, where she had expected to find Jon, was empty. 

That frown tugged at her mouth once again.

“Jonny?” she called out.  “Where are you, babe?” 

It was unlikely that he was already asleep, but he – and maybe a big bottle of wine? – could be naked and waiting in that massive bed of theirs.  Grinning, Rachel dropped her purse on the kitchen island and tossed her coat over a bar stool.  It didn’t matter that she’d never shown any psychic tendencies before this very moment.  The potential payoff was worth the risk of following her instincts up the back staircase.   

Sweeping into the bedroom, she found it empty except for the crackling fireplace that prompted shadows to dance on the wall in a most alluring way.  The dance they did was so seductive to her Jon-deprived body and mind that, despite Jon’s absence in the room, she couldn’t help but imagining him – them – tangled in the sheets together. 

The scene was so real, that Rachel could even envision the slick sheen of their skin as they rolled from one edge of the massive bed to the other. 

”You need to get laid,” she muttered, fanning herself as she stepped away from the erotic pictorial she’d created and continued her search for the man who could and would fix that problem. 

A single step into the master bath had Rachel going from hot to steamy.

The real life vision that captured her rapt attention was the silhouette of Jon through the steam fogged shower doors.  It was so unbearably captivating that she couldn’t even speak.  There was something so deeply intimate and personal about the unclothed form of the man she loved.  Knowing that just beyond those millimeters of glass, he waited naked and willingly vulnerable to everything she had to offer.  He would deny her no part of him.    

Almost without conscious thought, Rachel kicked off her work heels and let her slacks and panties fall to the floor. 

The movement must have caught Jon’s eye through the shower door because he opened it just as she was unfastening the final two buttons on her blouse.  His wide grin made her eyes mist with emotion and, when he extended an arm to playfully flick open the front clasp of her bra, she was sure he’d never looked more beautiful.  As it dropped to the ground unnoticed and he gently guided her into the shower, pulling her against his chest, Rachel knew she was more in love with him than at any moment before in her life. 

His fingers glided down to the indentation of her waist, then lifted to curve tightly over her ribcage as his head dipped.  Rachel permitted – no begged – him to take her mouth, inviting his tongue with a seductive swipe of her own while tunneling her fingers through his wet hair. 

So often, she and Jon were prone to have hard and fast sex, and then have hard and fast sex again.  It was nearly always an aerobic workout disguised as intimacy.   This was nothing like that.  The pace was slow, the warm spray was as gentle as their caresses and their passion was a slow, steady burn instead of the typical inferno.  The only sounds to penetrate the tranquility of their watery cocoon were softly flowing water and Rachel’s faint mewls. 

She couldn’t help it.  His touch…  It was so reverential, with his grasp soft, like a whisper. 

“Let’s take this to the bed, baby,” he crooned into the curve of her neck.

Reluctant to sever what felt to her like a physical connection of their souls, Rachel was slow to tear herself away from his touch.  So reluctant in fact, that she continued to make love to his mouth while back stepping from the stall.  She was extending an arm to reach for a towel at the same time he slid one leg between hers and cupped her bottom.  When he lifted, it was instinct alone that had Rachel twining her legs around his waist.  She never doubted his strength as he walked them to the bed, where he threw her towel to the floor.

“Don’t need that.  I wanna feel your body wet, just like it is now.”

The fireplace had warmed the room, but when Jon dropped one knee to the bed to gently place her on the duvet and pressed his body into hers…  It was enough to make Rachel shiver.  Her nipples hardened into diamond pebbles and the remainder of her skin was peppered with an array of goosebumps. 

This man is the most potent specimen of pure sexuality ever to walk the earth – and he’s mine.

Limbs intertwined and without a sliver of light between his body and hers, they devoured one another with the lustful kisses reserved for lovers who have spent too much time apart.  His hands roved over her naked form, seeming determined to reclaim every inch of her as his own.  With muffled sounds of pleasure emitting from first one, then the other, they back and forth on the big matress, with Rachel ultimately landing in the dominant position.

The firelight cast shadows on his beautifully chiseled features, making them almost harsh in their intensity.  It was only the cherishing touch of his hands floating along her curves and the love in his eyes that belied that notion. 

With that same love shining from her own eyes, Rachel ever-so-slowly impaled herself on him, reconnecting the puzzle pieces that kept getting separated by their lives.  Her hand pressed flat against his chest and she was glad he hadn’t waxed it lately.  The coarseness tickled the sensitive skin of her palms and it added another element of erotic sensation in addition to the age old intimate coupling of man and woman.  Tender tissue was loved by steel velvet, time after time, for either a moment or an eternity until she took a huge breath and was swept away.  That long, single release was so relentlessly sweet that it continued after he flipped her to her back and gradually picked up the pace that would take him to the same place with a throaty cry. 

Even as she basked in the afterglow of one of the most pleasurable orgasms of her life, Jon continued to rock his hips.  It was as though he wasn’t any more anxious for it be over than she was and he softly kissed her shoulders, neck and finally… her lips.  The moment was so blissfully surreal that Rachel was sure Celine Dion should be singing their soundtrack in the background, replete with angelic harps and strings.    

At least until Jon opened his mouth.

“Jesus fucking Christ, baby,” he finally spoke, flopping onto his back.   "If you were a hooker, you’d be the thousand dollar a night variety.”

When faced with the choice of crying over her ruined fairytale or laughing at the sexiest Jersey boy to ever grace a stage, Rachel laughed.  Her Jon hadn’t magically morphed into an uber-sensitive and romantic man, he was still the guy she fought hard with and loved even harder. 

Even though he was as uncouth as hell sometimes.

“It’s that kinda smooth talking that gets you all the girls, isn’t it Prince Charming?”

“Fuck that.” The snort that followed was classic Jon.  “Prince Charming is a pussy.  I’d rather be the wolf, ‘cause he gets to eat the girl.”