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.
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 ~
...After All.”
~ T h e E n d ~