Ch 9 ~ And The Horse You Rode In On

A stunned Jon had been able to do nothing beyond stare after her pajama-striped back when Rachel blew out of the family room.  While she still looked like the same Rachel, there was something very different about her than when she left New Jersey.  For that matter, there was something different about her than when she first arrived in New Jersey.

The Rachel that Jon met the very first time on the road was guarded.  After finding out her story, he’d found it completely understandable that she kept some protective walls around her.  But this Rachel...  Well, San Quentin had nothing on her.  She was locked tightly behind a concrete barricade covered in barbed wire that was stained with the blood of those who had dared try and enter. 

There had been brief moments where he’d seen a fleeting glimpse of the woman he’d loved, but for the most part...  He’d just been discussing love with a familiar stranger.

But that glimpse was all I needed to know you’re still in there, baby.  I’m gonna cut away that fuckin’ barbed wire and beat that wall down into a pile of rubble.

Because, the same Rachel or different, just being with her brought home the fact that he wanted her back in his life.  No matter what. 

With that in mind, he grabbed his bag from the hall and moseyed up the stairs with a half-cocked smile.  He just had to figure out what was his biggest and best sledgehammer to take care of the job. 

Might as well take a shower and shave in the meantime.

He had just slid the zipper closed on his jeans when the doorbell chimed.  It rang a second time as he was pushing through the neck hole on his black Henley shirt.  Poking his head into the hall, he saw that the door to the master bedroom was still closed. 

Rachel must still be in the shower.  Perfect. 

With no immediate plans to vacate her house, Jon directed his bare feet to pad down the staircase toward the front door.  He would be happy to let Rachel’s unwelcome – unwelcome from his perspective, anyway – guest know that she wasn’t going to be available for visitors today.   It was his plan to fully occupy her time.

Greeting smile in place, he swung open the door only to have his smile turn brittle.

Son. Of. A. Bitch. Mercedes Man.

It was James...  Monroe, Madison...?  Michaels, that was it.  James Michaels.

Rachel’s boss, first love and first lover was, in Jon’s opinion, a girlfriend luring sonofabitch. 

The generally sleazy – again, in Jon’s opinion – banking exec had made an unfavorable impression when he came sniffing around Rachel’s skirt tails when she first moved to Jersey.  James had instantly annoyed Jon with his pompous attitude and the shiny black car that had earned him the nickname “Mercedes Man” long before Rachel told him the man’s real name. 

It didn’t matter that he knew nothing about the guy beyond his profession.  James was lower than pond scum for enticing Rachel into accepting the Hawaii job.  If James had stayed out of it, Rachel would still be in New Jersey, as far as Jon was concerned.

You wouldn’t even know her if the guy hadn’t arranged for her to live next door to you in Jersey.

Also irrelevant.  Jon flat out couldn’t stand the guy.  His flirty manner with Rachel had been completely unacceptable and even had led to one of the couples’ ugly arguments.  If he was sniffing around again....

“Jon. Bon. Jovi.”  The pompous, nasally intonation of his name interrupted Jon’s silent threats.  “At least this explains Rachel’s ‘mental health’ day.”   

The classy lines of the dark-haired man’s expensively cut suit didn’t do a thing to offset the sarcastic greeting.  It didn’t lend any class to his entrance either, and he stepped through the open door, bumping shoulders with Jon as he brushed past and headed straight for the kitchen as if he owed the place. 

Despite the snub, Jon kept his cool and quietly closed the door before joining James.  Leaning one hip against the cabinet, he crossed his arms in a way that he knew made his biceps appear bigger and regarded the other man through deceptively casual eyes.

“James, right?  What brings you by?”

A paper bag that Jon hadn’t noticed in James’s hand before came to rest upon the countertop with a soft crinkle.  The smug bastard shot Jon with a look of superiority as he unfolded the top of it.

“I came to see the lady of the manor, of course.”

I hate this fucker.  “Lady of the manor”, you pompous prick?

Jon ran his hands through his still-wet hair with a satisfied smile.  “She’s still in the shower… anything I can help you with?” 

Was it little of him to intentionally give the impression that he’d been in the shower with her?  Probably, but he couldn’t help himself.  Rachel was still his, dammit!

But, damn the luck, from the disbelieving twitch of his Satanically dark eyebrow, Mercedes Man wasn’t buying it.

“No, thanks, Sport.”  The bastard’s smug grin grated on Jon’s nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.  “I’ll wait and talk to her myself.”

“Sport”?  Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?  You did NOT just call me “Sport”...

“Rach and I are kinda... in the middle of something, here, Jimbo.  I’m sure you understand.”  He conjured up his own smug grin.  The fucker could make whatever he wanted of it.  “But I’ll let her know you came by.  She’ll probably give you a call when she finally gets dressed.”

He didn’t make much of it, evidently, because the cocksucker snorted as he fished out two styrofoam containers from the bag he’d brought with him.  After settling the cups on the second shelf of the refrigerator, he let the door close and propped himself against it and looked arrogantly down his nose.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I know you’re not here by Rachel’s invitation.”

“Oh yeah?”  Dickweed didn’t know anything other than how to goad Jon into a pissing contest.   Jon tipped his chin up in challenge, confident in his pissing abilities.  “What makes you say that?” 

“I happen to know for a fact that she wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

Jon’s jaw clicked shut so forcefully that he was certain that one of his molars cracked. 

You lying sack of flaming dog crap.  I call bullshit on that!

Jon’s disbelief was paramount to reigning in his temper and smiling casually at the intrusive turd who was lounging against Rachel’s refrigerator like he owned it. 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself is cool with me, Jimbo, but I am here, so… Why don’t you let yourself out and I’ll be sure and tell Rach you stopped by.”

“It’s James, not Jimbo.” 

James Michaels didn’t blink, flinch or even twitch.  He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Jon, and that unnerved Jon a slight bit.  It wasn’t the other man’s physically superior size – James was probably a solid six inches taller than Jon.  Rather, it was his confidence about Rachel that rattled Jon’s cage.

“Sure, man, whatever.”

His “adversary” stepped near and leaned in, threateningly close. 

“Like I said, Jon... I don’t know what you’re doing here, and I really don't care as long as you don’t plan on sticking around.  You can’t make her happy, so man up and let her move on.”

Who did this fucknut think he was weighing in on Jon and Rachel’s relationship?  Jon clenched his fist to keep it from busting this guy in the chops.

“None of your business... James.”

“It became my business when she crashed and burned at my feet.”  James’ finger jabbed into Jon’s chest as he ground out the accusation through gritted teeth.  “It became my business when I sat in a hospital room with her for days on end while she tried to snap out of the despair YOU threw her into.”

Thanks to jackal-esque reporters, Jon Bon Jovi had mastered the appearance of outward calm early on in his career.  Not that he always opted to use the skill, but at times like these, it came in handy, because he was blown away, but he wasn’t giving James an inch of rope to hang him with. 

Jon didn’t like the vibe of this conversation to begin with, and he sure as hell didn’t like the other man being privy to information that Jon knew nothing about. 

And thinking that you’re responsible. 

“Any problems that Rachel and I have will be worked out between us.  Privately.”

“Over my damn dead body!” 

Jon lifted one shoulder carelessly.  “Your call, man.”

James took a breath and lowered his voice before continuing.  “Walk away, Jon.  For once in your spoiled, rockstar life, do the right thing.  I can give Rachel everything that she needs to be happy again.  For her sake, just walk away and let me take care of her.”

This guy had a screw loose if he thought Jon was going to take that kind of shit lying down.  No, Jon wasn’t a saint and he’d never claimed it, but he damned sure wasn’t the evil sonofabitch being painted here.  In fact...

“From what I’ve been told, the way you treated her was brutal.”  Jon’s voice was just as cold as James’s.  “In fact, as I understand it, she left you and married another guy.  I hardly think that puts you in a position to pass judgment on me or my relationship with her.”

“Your relationship with her?”  The cold, humorless laugh rattled Jon’s last nerve.  “Sport, why don’t you just trust me when I tell you that you don’t have a relationship with her.  Not anymore, anyway.”

Get out of my fucking way and I will, asswipe.

“As for me and my past mistakes?  I was a kid back then,” James continued.  “I took her for granted because I was young and dumb.  What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations.”

“Fortunately I don’t need any.   You’re a grown man and you threw her away because you don’t want the same things she does.  Period.  That’s why you’ll never make her happy.  Even if she did love you once, you won’t be her last love, because when all is said and done, she’ll be MY wife and the mother of MY children.  Go back to your groupies and leave her alone.”

Jon’s mouth was open to lambast the presumptuous asshole, telling him what he could do with his pointless speculation when Rachel rounded the corner.   Drawing herself up short, she was obviously surprised to find the two men in her kitchen, but a genuine smile lit her eyes – a smile Jon had yet to be privileged enough to receive during his visit. 

“James!  Hi!  What brings you by?”

And James the Jabberwocky Jackoff placed himself between Jon and Rachel, fixing his expression into that of a man besotted and gesturing toward the refrigerator.  “Wendy said you called in sick.  I brought you some wonton soup from Tao.”

“Aww… that’s sweet!”  She perched her hand on his shoulder and lifted her lips for a quick brush against his cheek.  “Thanks.  I’m not actually sick;  I just had some things going on here.”  Rachel’s eyes darted to Jon and back to James, “More of a mental health day, really.”

“Glad to hear it!  So we’re still on for Miami tonight?”

 “Absolutely.  I’m almost finished with my packing,” Rachel replied instantly, without batting an eye.

What. The. Fuck?  MIAMI?  With JAMES???

“Great.  I thought we’d have an early dinner at Steakhouse 55 before we head to the airport.  I know it’s your favorite and it’ll be much better than airport food.  I’ll pick you up about four, okay?”

Jon thought he could actually see neon “Fuck You” signs flashing in James’s eyes as he kissed Rachel on the top of the head.  The sharp parting clap to Jon’s shoulder on his way out the door simply lit up the second part of that neon sign - “AND the horse you rode in on”.