*89:It Was Us

“I fucking love you, too.”

The words replayed in his head, making Jon's chest tight, and he pulled her into a firm embrace trying to relieve it.  The counselor’s admission wasn’t a complete surprise but hit him harder than he was prepared for, leaving nothing to do but silently bury his face in a curtain of fragrant hair and surrender any lingering anger to a much softer beast.

The minute he’d heard Tico’s Tinkerbell revelation, Jon’s temper went through the roof, and it had only gotten worse in the thirty minutes between the airport and his bedroom door.  Coming up those stairs tonight, he was primed and ready to unload his fury on her until every last remnant of frustration had been vented

That’s not exactly the way it happened, though. 

When he stepped through that doorway, it was like running into a brick wall.  Anger was derailed by desire for a moment when eyes fell upon his bed, and the dark-haired beauty lounging there exorcised Dorothea’s ghost more efficiently than a gaggle of Ghostbusters.  The seductive picture that she made had his breath catching and cock twitching before his subconscious smacked him around, reminding Jon that he was mad at her.  

Then the anger raged anew, enabling him to extract the pound of flesh he was entitled.  Now that it was his, tenderness tangled with raw, animalistic desire, and he carried both of them along for the ride, not caring which prevailed.

“God, you feel so good.  Smell so good.”  The whispers were hot against his neck, and her arms banded around his torso as though she had no plans to let go.  “I missed you.”

He fitted his mouth over hers, and an utterly feminine groan provided access to the taste he’d been dreaming about – sweet venom.  Sweeping his tongue through the soft grotto of her mouth, he greedily drank of the distinctive poison that he craved from that very first bite.

Chiara’s fingers began their familiar digging at his back, driving home just how much he had missed this – missed her and everything that came along with her.  It spiked his testosterone to excruciating levels.

“I love you,” she breathed into his mouth when he severed greedy lips to breathe.  “I didn’t mean to, but I do.”

Her lips were red and rosy from the kiss, her cheeks flushed and her eyes dilated.  In a word, she was fuckable.  He yearned to do just that, but Jon also required something more than words to make up for what he perceived as a lack of trust – in him and their partnership.

“Show me.” The benevolent demand was made as his hands tumbled through silken tresses to embrace the silhouette of her neck.  His touch was in gentle alignment with his words because he wasn’t seeking conflict.  He sought only confirmation.

Her eyes blinked sluggishly, and a glaze of lust evaporated in the presence of confusion.  “Show you?”

“Show me,” he repeated with fingertips nudging aside the thin straps of her gown to slide from her shoulder.  “Don’t fight me for control this time.  Give it to me now, while it’s a conscious choice.”

The counselor was used to being in charge.  She only relinquished control to him once her body’s desires overrode her brain, and Jon was well aware of it.  It was one of his favorite moments during sex – when she crossed over from Charlie to that woman with the dual personality, and then ultimately fell into warm and open Chiara.  He got hard even thinking about it.

His palms lightly skimmed her shoulders and down lightly toned arms.  The same terrain was covered in reverse while he waited for her to make a decision.  

“This is about trust, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”  Trust and love went hand-in-hand for him, and right now, he needed her to show him that trust so that he could fully give his.

Her nod was slight, but confident.  “Whatever it takes.”

That response alone was almost enough to cement his confidence in her, but she’d given him the green light.  Jon was going to take it and see where they went. 

“Good.”  He expressed his appreciation with a sensual lick along the seam of her lips, which immediately parted for him.  This time, he didn't take advantage of it but stepped away to say, “I’m going to take a quick shower.  Go wait for me in bed.”

When he would’ve left the closet, she latched onto his hand and opened her mouth once before closing it again.  The second time, she spoke quietly.  “Don’t do it for me.  I wasn’t kidding about how good I think you smell.”

She’d bitten back the order for him not to shower in order to revise and reword it into something that conveyed her wants without demanding.  It was minor, but still proof positive that she was letting him drive the bus tonight.  Odd how a little thing could carry so much meaning.

“Go get in bed,” he reiterated with another easy touch of lips.  “I need a minute.”

More than a minute, probably.  Now that he’d secured her agreement, Jon had to figure out what the hell he was going to do with it.

J J J J J

Charlie wasn’t exactly nervous as she waited in much the same position as when he first arrived, but she wasn’t relaxed.  Giving up her authority – or giving up the right to fight for authority with him – wasn’t something that came naturally to her.  He’d better grasp just how momentous this occasion was, and how indicative it was of her trust in him.  She wouldn't do it for just anyone, nor had she.  Ever.

“Counselor.”

His quiet summons came as he emerged through the bathroom doorway, and the only thing he wore was an erection.  Seeing no droplets of water or wet hair, she assumed he'd taken her wishes into consideration and skipped the shower.  Desire pooled at the thought of his scent enveloping her in a cloud of masculinity.

“Jesus.  How long before a naked you doesn’t take my breath away?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but his smile was rigidly controlled as he stood at the bedside.  “Probably the first time I miss or forget something important to you because I’m working.”

“Then don’t do it,” she suggested, rolling onto her stomach to crawl to the side of the bed she’d mentally designated as his. 

“Easier said than done.”  Blue irises were clouded with something indefinable as he combed lazy fingers through her hair.  “I want to fuck you.”

“Good to know that you’re not going to bludgeon me to death with that thing.”

This time, he wasn’t able to keep the twitch from blossoming into a smile.  “I also want you to say nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.  You’ll offer no guidance or direction whatsoever.   Just accept whatever happens."

Narrowing her eyes at him, Charlie lost some of the confidence in her decision to do this.  “So you want me to be a fuck doll?”

“You can choose to look at it that way,” he agreed with a shrug, withdrawing his touch to curl one around his cock for a firm stroke.  “But it’s actually you trusting me to get you off, which is almost inconsequential as far as trust goes.”

His hand motions held her mesmerized.  The way thick fingers carelessly flexed with the exact pressure needed to keep him stiff and ready...  It was noticeably rougher than a woman dared, but his intensity was still firmly leashed.  She’d never actually gotten turned on watching a man prime himself before, but with him…

“Nothing is inconsequential about my deliberate passiveness,” she murmured from her kneeling position at the edge of the mattress.  His thumb scraped over the tip to remove a bead of moisture, and Charlie was transfixed by the utter eroticism of the male display.

“You like watching me jack myself?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She could only spare a millisecond to glance up at his face before her attention again became riveted to what was going on at the juncture of his thick thighs.  “It’s so… primal.  Raw, unapologetic pleasure.”

“That’s what sex is, baby.”  The thumb of his left hand scraped over her bottom lip while his right continued to manipulate.  “Especially with you.  Now no more talk.  Suck me.”

Charlie felt the blood coursing through her, pooling between her own thighs to ebb and flow like a scorching tide of erotica that heated only her very core and the outermost layer of her skin.  Everything in between was lying in a state of limbo, waiting for its turn to be awakened as she slid from the bed to kneel before him.

When she attempted to replace his grip with her own, he grunted, “Nuh-uh.  Gimme.”

Laying her hand inside his wiggling fingers, Charlie meekly acquiesced so that he could place her touch against the stiffness and bulging veins that pulsed expectantly.  With his wide palm over the back of her hand, he curled their fingers and guided her touch, squeezing so that she would fist him harder. 

He was tutoring her like a virgin who had never done this before but, rather than being insulted, she found it unbelievably intimate and… hot. 

“That’s it.”  It was with a quiet groan that he took off the training wheels and left her to act on her own.  “Keep doing that while you suck the head.”

Swirling the tip of her tongue around the circumference to make it slick, Charlie then closed her lips around the swollen mushroom head that was already weeping again with eagerness.  She hollowed out her cheeks while sucking and pumping aggressively.

Jon’s hands were once again tangled in her hair, where he so often had them, fisting it almost painfully as he watched her maneuver. 

“Feels good,” he breathed his approval while gently rolling his hips forward into her mouth and hand.  “So fucking good.  I missed you.”

Charlie’s womb convulsed with the raspy admission, and her thighs involuntarily clenched to put pressure on her palpitating clit.  This was nothing like the bondage and submission thing she’d been expecting.  It felt more like bonding than bondage – and she liked it a lot.

She had no idea how long it was that she knelt there, only that her lips were raw and puffy from licking and sucking every square inch of skin that made him a man.  Over and over she worshipped him with her mouth while dominant hands stayed fisted in her hair to dictate exactly how she did it.  Pace, depth and every swipe of her tongue were at his word, and continued to be so until the he was as hard as living, breathing marble.  He slipped deep inside her throat with a guttural groan and, when his balls drew tight under her touch, Charlie prepared to taste even more of him.

“Enough.”

The surprising command came before he did, but clutching hands still entrenched in her hair and greedy hips pushed his want through the sucking portal of her lips one last time before  sliding free.  Her eyes fell like a magnet to the freed head of his cock, slick with her saliva, and Charlie wanted it desperately.  

She wouldn't ask for it though.  This was for him.  He deserved this night of submissive repentance and, oddly, she ached to give it.  

Jon extended a hand to help her up and onto the bed, inching up the hem of her gown as he followed her in.  There were no panties to interfere with his search and plunder, but the stiffness she'd spent so long priming didn’t immediately seek haven between her legs.  Lazy fingertips instead trailed over her hips, thighs and stomach, erotic in their softness.  

“Watching my cock slide into your greedy little mouth is the best kind of porn,” he murmured against her jaw as wandering fingers finally slid into the slick center of Charlie’s body, and her hips reflexively lifted to meet them.  “It makes your lips all swollen and rosy, begging to be kissed, but your pussy…  I’ve been craving the taste of you.  All of you.  And since I can’t decide which end to start at…”

Her whimper of disappointment was plaintive when his fingers left her empty.  It faded into a sigh when those same fingers glided over her bottom lip and then the top to gloss them.

“So I’ll take both.”

His breath was nearly as hot as the tongue licking the carnal flavor from her lips, and the hedonism of it had her groaning with unexpected excitement.  It was the opening he needed to push inside her mouth and fuck her with his tongue, stroking long and deep while holding her head immobile.  He was in control and demanded that she take his feverish assault as her just punishment.  

Charlie wasn’t going anywhere.  If pouring his soul into her mouth while he worshipfully kneaded her breast and plucked its nipple through the silk was punishment...  She’d stay right here and be his submissive concubine from now until the end of time, and Jon seemed to know it.  

The intensity of his kisses continued while possessive hands branded her with his scorching fingertips.  The top of the gown slithered down to her waist, bringing both breasts out for his pleasure, and his touch alternated between caressing the soft globes and sharply tugging and tweaking their tips until she cried into his mouth with the exquisite agony.  

“Counselor.  I need to fuck you.” 

He slipped away to clamp her knees together and push them into her right shoulder.  Quivering thighs naturally pressed together as well as the swollen folds that ached with desire, and he sank into the resulting tight slit. 

She fought to stifle the inhuman sounds gurgling from her throat, because Charlie had no desire to hear her neediness.  Not when he was filling her ears with domineering promises.

“I’m going to pound you...” 

She sucked in a sharp breath when he did.  In this position, she was at his mercy and fully exposed, leaving him to ravage nerve endings that were already sizzling with electricity.  

“I’ll do it until your pussy lips are as tender as the ones on your mouth...”

He pushed forward again, the textures of his body and hers creating such a sweet friction that Charlie writhed with the sensation.

“After that…”

The silk gown that was more like a belt than a gown at this point was was bunched in one of his fists, and Jon fondled it as he retreated and speared her anew.  The sound of it was so raw and uncensored that she began to feel the trembling build deep inside. 

“I’m gonna do it some more…”

The noise he made was as earthy as the sound of their bodies parting and joining with primal force.  Over.  And over.

Slick.

Sweaty.

Smacking.

Sensuous.

Sinful.

“Until I come inside you so fucking hot that I scorch away the memory of anybody else.”

Submission.

Surrender.

Succumb.

It was too much.  She'd given him everything and all she wanted in return was him.  His passion.  His love.  

Charlie did a freefall from the top of the cliff that he shoved her from, and with only a few more bars of the bawdy soundtrack of their mating, he jumped behind her.. into her.  The heat he’d promised blistered muscles that were seized in the throes of their own release, but the fiery blast prompted them to relax for a split second – so that they could seize again with an intensity unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

She was scorched, seared and... sated.

Languid legs slid from his shoulder as a heavy-breathing Jon curled behind her without breaking the age-old physical connection between man and woman.  Charlie’s breath was as harsh as his own and her chest ached.  Her heart had never been this full for a man before and, when his sweaty arm settled over her waist, she relished the closeness. 

“You did good, Counselor.”

A lazy smile tickled the corners of her passion-abused mouth as Charlie's eyes drifted shut.  “I think that was you, not me.”

“It was us.”

She couldn't disagree.

88:Hit List

Never before had thirty minutes been so long. 

Despite her cocky text message, anticipation made Charlie uncharacteristically antsy and uncertain.  Jon had never even shown her around his house, and here she was waiting for him in nothing but a nightie whose spaghetti straps meant that she was only covered from breasts to mid-thigh, with side slits exposing a little more.  She fully expected him to like the lace-edged lingerie, since men usually went for that kind of thing, but there was still something about waiting for him in his bed that made her twitchy. 

That’s why she was wasting time by fidgeting around and trying to find the best position in which to greet him.  Sitting up in bed with her legs under the covers?  On top of the bedspread with her legs folded to the side so that the gown’s lace trim came almost to her knee?  With her knees bent up in front of her to give him a glimpse of what he’d be uncovering?

Smoothing the simple sheath of cool satin over her hip, she instead stretched out on her side and propped one hand beneath hair that had been brushed until it shone.   Just her ankles hung off the side of the mattress, and she crossed them while swiping a gentle finger beneath her left eye to remove any eyeliner smudges. 

She’d used a heavy hand on the cosmetics tonight, thinking that emphasizing her eyes and cheekbones might carry more of a seductive impact.  For every minute that ticked by, however, it began to feel more silly and overdone. 

Silk and seduction weren’t two words that correlated to the girlfriend Jon left behind almost a month ago.  When he walked in the room and found her trying to carry off both, the odds were fifty-fifty – he could either laugh or pin her to the mattress.  It all depended on how horny he was or how crude he was feeling.

What she did know was that, if he didn’t get here soon, she was going to make herself crazy with conjecture and speculation.  She was fortunate that the thought materialized almost at nearly the same time his footsteps did

Grateful that she was going to be put out of her misery, Charlie took a deep breath and looked toward the open doorway with a smile stealing over her face.  Little did she know it was going to be short-lived.

When he entered the room, his face was anything but smiling.  As he dropped his bag to the floor and shrugged out of his jacket, silently tossing it onto a chair, the thought came that she hadn’t seen him this angry since their first showdown in the Hamptons.

“What’s wrong?” 

Her gown slid up as she scooted off the bed and toward the man whose jaw was as rigid as his spine, and it was that inflexibility that halted her bare feet before she got past the end of the bed.  Biceps bulged under the sleeves of his black t-shirt when he folded his arms and attempted to shred her to ribbons with a look that held the edge of a machete.

“I’ve spent the last half-hour figuring out how to make this a civil conversation, but seeing you…”  He waved a hand up and down, signifying her appearance.  “Makes me too fucking mad to be civil.  What’s wrong is that you fucked Tico.” 

Charlie leaned her silk-covered rump against the bed’s footboard with a wince.  The hurled accusation took his machete-sharp look and divided it into a handful of razor-sharp daggers that pierced her chest like gunfire. 

Ancient history was now late-breaking news, and she had only herself to blame.  She should have had the common courtesy to disclose this part of her past once they moved past the sex-only phase of their relationship.  That would’ve given her the chance to control the spin of how it was presented so that he wouldn’t be this infuriated by however he’d found out.

At this point, there wasn’t much she could do other than say, “It was a long time ago.”  

“I don’t give a goddamn how long ago it was!  He’s one of my best friends, and you should have told me!” 

He was livid.  Nothing was going to appease him until he got it out of his system, which obviously involved screaming it to the rafters.  That was fine.  Charlie could expedite this process by screaming right back, because in the end, she knew this didn’t change anything.  Jon was just venting, and he was entitled, just as he’d been entitled to tear into her over his divorce.

With a bed behind her instead of a guest house, she could only hope this ended as well – or better.

“I didn’t even know you at the time, Jon!”

He took two long strides to point an accusatory finger in her face.  “But you knew you fucked him back on Martha’s Vineyard, when you wouldn’t tell me your musician hit list!”

Smacking his finger down, Charlie was forced to ignore the sizzle of electricity that zinged through her at the touch.   She still got more turned on by fighting with him than foreplay with anybody else.  “You were nothing more than a fling then!  I didn’t owe you shit!”

“What about now?  Huh?” he demanded, taking another step to get down in her face for his next menacing question.  “Am I still just a motherfucking fling?”

“You know you’re not!” 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?!”

Planting both hands in his chest and shoving, she went on the offensive.  Charlie was the one getting in his face now, and it was hard for her to look past the harsh lines carved there by both anger and fatigue.  He should be in his bed, plastered so tightly against her that light would have trouble finding its way between them, not arguing about inconsequential factoids from 1993.

“You can’t seriously be this mad over something that happened more than twenty years ago!  That’s right up there with me being pissed over you sticking your dick in Diane Lane or any of the other three hundred women who slithered through your bed in 1988!”

Jon’s mouth flattened and his eyes narrowed as he retreated, fists clenching in the air between them.  The gesture made Charlie think that he was trying to keep from choking her.

“I’m fucking-well mad because you didn’t tell me, just like you haven’t told me any other fucking thing!  Owen told me you were married.  Your brothers told me about 9/11.  Tony told me you had a fight with Owen on 9/11.  Luke told me about you seeing a psychiatrist.  And now, Tico indirectly told me you fucked him!”

This again.  Charlie couldn’t understand why he was so adamant that she didn’t tell him anything.  He was the only one who knew about the Bar Exam and Caleb – things that had been kept hidden from her family for years and years.  Things that were more sensitive than who she’d bedded before going to law school. 

Did that not count for anything with him?  It sure as hell did with her, and besides…

“Don’t act like you’ve been so open and forthcoming, Bongiovi!  You tell me how to get you off and what to do with my life, but beyond that, what have you said?  I have no freaking idea what’s inside of you!  Hopes, fears, dreams.  None of that!  So until you start doing your part in this sharing game, don’t expect me to apologize for shit!”

The floor space between their feet was eaten up in a flash when he advanced, putting his face within inches of hers for the next phase of this tirade.

"You wanna know what's inside me?" he roared.  "You!  You're inside me, because I fucking love you!  And the way these secrets of yours keep popping up left and right, my fear is that one of these days I'll get hit with something that's gonna rip out my goddamn heart!"

Charlie’s breath hitched as he spun on his heel to snatch his leather bag from the floor.  With knuckles white from his fierce grip on its straps, he strode into the walk-in closet and slung it into something.

All of that was just background noise to what was playing in the forefront of her auditory memory. 

He loved her.

Love. 

The warmth that single word carried only reinforced her belief that this whole thing wasn’t a deal-breaker.  They would work through it, and they would do it now. 

With that intention firmly carved in her mind, Charlie stalked into the closet after him, saying, “Hey!  You don’t get to say something like that and walk away from me.”

“And yet I did,” he retorted sarcastically, withdrawing a fist full of clothes from his duffel and throwing them at the hamper. 

“Goddammit, Jon!”  She hooked her hand into his bent elbow and yanked with the intention of spinning him so that they were face to face.  All she ended up doing was throwing him a bit off balance, but his body still angled toward her.  “What do you want me to do?  I’m sorry somebody else beat me to it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t intend to tell you those things!”

“That’s easy to say now.  How the hell do I know you would’ve ever done it?”

As he looked away from her at the row of shirts hanging from the top rung of the closet, fatigue, anger, resentment and even a little bit of hurt were evident in his profile and they tore at Charlie.  She loved him.  She didn’t want to see him like this.  She didn’t want to be responsible for him being like this, and that meant doing whatever was necessary to fix it.

Including telling him something else that he would be the only person privy to.

Sliding close, she lifted a hand to his cheek, using a gentle pressure to coax him into finding her eyes. 

“Martin Rotsey.  Andy McKinney.  Jerry Marotta,” she recited quietly, registering the initial confusion and subsequent understanding as it dawned on him what was happening.  “Dave Pegg.  Eric Bazilian.  Eric Brittingham – twice.  Some guy named Kevin from an opening act whose name I don’t remember.   And Tico.  That’s it.  My complete professional musician ‘hit list’, as you put it.  Plus Owen, if you count him.”

“I don’t.”

She smiled at his surliness, and the hand that guided his face now stroked the whiskers that had spiked. “There are things I want to tell you, Jon.  Things I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you, and I will, but none of them have the power to rip out your heart.  I promise.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Charlie was relieved to see that it was out of his system now.   The anger was gone, leaving behind a softer, if wary, Jon whose petulance tugged at her heart.

“Because I’ve never lied to you.”  She placed a hand on each of his shoulders for balance, stretching to touch her lips to his and whispering against them, “And because I fucking love you, too.”

87:Arrival

*Author's note:  I took poetic license and disregarded the final show in Tel Aviv.  It wasn't intentional, but by the time I realized it, I was six chapters invested in the mistake and committed to what I'd already written.  ~blush

Jon peered out the plane window, absently noting that lights of the New Jersey coastline appeared as diamonds set into the black canvas of night.  They were virtually indistinguishable from one another, but as the aircraft continued its descent into Monmouth County, they became more individualized and distinctive. 

It wouldn’t be long now.

Three weeks and three days ago, they’d embarked on this adventure with all the enthusiasm that men their age could muster.  Tonight, after immediately boarding the plane post-show in Abu Dhabi and flying around the world with only one brief stop to refuel, each man aboard was reminded why this life was a two-edged sword. 

There was nothing that compared to being on a stage in front of thousands, but there were hours, days, weeks and months of preparation that went into a single two-hour show.  After a time, it began to take its toll on the people who made it happen, and that time was growing shorter with each new bout of touring.

They were all ready to get home to their families and not look at one another for a while.

Speaking for himself, Jon wouldn’t see his kids until tomorrow when he picked up Jake and Romeo for a trip to South Carolina, where they would watch Jesse’s Notre Dame football team take on Clemson.  His date with Stephanie for a daddy/daughter brunch wasn’t until Sunday. 

That left tonight open for Chiara, whom he was getting more anxious to see with each mile that brought the plane closer to Monmouth Jet Center.  He and Dorothea had been married a long time, meaning that it had been a lot of years since he was this excited to come home to a woman. 

His newly realized love for Chiara was weighing heavy on Jon's mind, too.  It would be nice to take her out to a romantic dinner or something equally appropriate before telling her that.  Their relationship thus far had been so tumultuous that she deserved something a little more traditional.

The problem was that he truly did suck with the whole romantic thing.  If it happened spontaneously, fine.  Planning and choreographing thoughtful gestures and romantic scenes weren't his thing, though.  Reality was that he'd probably end up professing his love during a randy bout of much anticipated monogamous sex, when she was pinned to the wall and yelling at him to go faster or harder. 

Team Monogamy was going to ensure he wasn't out on the road for more than a month at a time, because this blue balls thing was a frigging joke.  It hadn't gotten so bad that he resorted to whacking himself off, but he'd been dreaming and fantasizing about her - often, especially during the last few days.  He’d actually dreamed about her at some point over the Atlantic, waking with half a hard-on and the vague memory of her lips.  It was so vivid that he’d almost sworn he could taste her.

I will soon.

As the plane touched down with a gentle bump and braking of the wheels to bring the Bon Jovi contingency back onto American soil, Jon picked up his phone and several of the other guys did the same.  Tony was no doubt texting Lilah confirmation of their safe arrival, and Matt was likely doing the same with Desiree.  Dave and John Shanks were both flicking through, probably checking messages, while Tico was bent forward in the seat stretching his fingertips toward his toes to work out the kinks. 

[10:27 PM]JON: Just landed.  Be there in 30.  Be naked.

All six men aboard were glad to be here, if for no other reason than to put an end to the long flight, and each made their own sounds of fatigue and relief as seatbelts were unbuckled.  With messages sent and read, phones disappeared into pockets while gear was gathered together and everybody checked for stray items around the seats. 

Most of them were in the home stretch.  Multiple cars waited outside to take nearly everyone in a different direction for the final leg of the journey that would reunite them with their loved ones.  Tico was the only one who still had miles to go before he slept, as the Robert Frost poem went.

[10:28 PM]CHIARA: Welcoming committee in your bed waiting with open legs.  I mean arms.  Damn auto correct.  ;)

Chuckling quietly, Jon thought that he didn’t have all that many miles to go, but it was looking to a good long while before he slept. 

Thank God.

"It’s been real, boys,” Shanks announced, shrugging on a lightweight jacket in deference to the temperature change.  Early October nights in Jersey weren’t cold, but they were significantly cooler than the Middle East.  “I’ll catch you all on the flip side.  JB, call me this week.  We’ll tie up the loose ends on that song.”

Throwing up a hand of acknowledgement, Jon offered a vague farewell and stood to stretch arms out in front of him as he thought about her text.  Arms, legs… it didn’t matter.  He’d take anything as long as she was naked and rubbing up against him like a horny cat. 

Tonight's in-flight dream was a Technicolor boom-chicka-wow-wowww version of the waking fantasies he’d had for days, and right now, he was on the verge of aching.  Aching to sink himself deep and feel her legs lock around his waist to keep him there.  To have her scream and writhe against him as she came.

Jet lag be damned.  He’d probably get a hard-on as soon as he saw her. 

Thirty minutes and counting.

“No offense, but I don’t want to see your ugly face until next Sunday,” Tony rumbled as he moved past Jon.  It was unusual having him on the private plane, since he typically flew with the crew, but he was as anxious to get to Lilah as Jon was to Chiara and this was the most direct route to make that happen.

Covering a wide yawn with the back of his hand, Jon searched his mind for the significance of the date but came up empty.  “What’s next Sunday?”

“We’re celebrating your good lookin’ brother’s birthday, dumbass.  Pizza and beer at the house.”

Champagne and caviar were definitely not the direction in which Tony’s palate leaned, but Jon wouldn’t complain.  Sometimes the simple things in life were the best. 

“Remind me when my ass isn’t shaped like an airplane seat.”

“No need, man,” the middle Bongiovi called over his shoulder as he exited the plane.  “It’s your girlfriend’s birthday, too.  She’ll remind you.”

Oh, yes.  Somewhere between Singapore and China Lilah sent him a text alert about the counselor’s birthday.  Knowing that the date alone wasn’t going to stick with him after one mention, she’d subtly linked it to Tony’s birthday so that Jon wouldn’t forget.

It was a gesture that was appreciated, he hadn’t yet acted on the information because the perfect gift still eluded him.  Jewelry was always an option, but she didn’t seem to wear much.  A trip was worth considering, although not until he’d recovered from this one. 

Jon shook his head tiredly as he bent to hook the handle of his duffel. He was too tired to wrack his brain for some kind of suitable gift for the woman who was claiming a more and more significant stake in his life.  Next week would be soon enough.

Sleep first.  Chiara first.

Matt followed not far behind Tony, offering a quiet grunt and slap on the back by way of departure as Jon stuffed the newspaper into his bag.  He was hiking it onto his shoulder when Dave paused next to him, doing the same. 

“Girlfriend waiting for you, dude?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good.  Going home to an empty house sucks.”  He issued a single nod of his head and lightly thumped Jon’s arm before resuming his shuffle toward the exit.  “Tell Charlie I said hi.”

“Yep.”

“Call me a nosy fuck…” The gravelly voice came from behind Jon, prompting him to turn and face the plane’s other remaining passenger.  “But you said your girlfriend’s name was Chiara.  Who’s Charlie?”

Jon kicked up a half-smile for the man who’d spent the last thirty years looking at his ass from behind a drum set.  “Same person.  Everybody but me calls her Charlie.”

Tico’s eyes crinkled with thoughtful amusement as he bent to remove a cigar case from the outside pocket of his carry-on. 

Unlike the rest of them, who were only double-digit miles from home, the drummer had one more flight before officially arriving home.  His plane to Florida was probably waiting, but he would manage to get a quick stogie fix before boarding it.

“I’ve only known woman named Charlie,” he mused removing his cigar before putting the case back in its designated spot.  “And it was a long time ago.  She was probably easy on the eyes, since most of ‘em were, but what I really remember is her tattoo.  There weren’t that many girls with them in the early nineties, so it kinda stuck with me.”

Jon knew exactly what his friend meant.  Back in the day, tattoos were very edgy and used primarily as an outward sign of inner rebellion.  It was only the wildest and most unruly women who got inked. 

Nowadays, tattoos were far more mainstream and socially acceptable and, because of that, there was a whole new image branded on its behalf.  What he called a “tat”, the kids of today called “body art”.    In his experience with his kids’ friends and the population in general, it seemed to Jon that every teenage girl had a flower, heart or unicorn etched somewhere on her body.

To each their own, as far as he was concerned.  You could call a guitar a drum if so inclined, but it didn’t change what they looked like or their purpose.

He followed his old buddy down the stairs to the tarmac, laughing as he went.  If this chick's tattoo stuck with Tico, it must be good.  “So what was it?  Skull on her bicep?  Black Widow tramp stamp?  Grim Reaper on her crotch?” 

“Nah.  She wasn’t like that.”  Tico stopped at the foot of the stairs, lighting his cigar.  Taking his first puff and releasing the smoke to drift away on the New Jersey night, he then turned to Jon.  The runway lights were just bright enough reveal a reminiscing smile when he said, “It was Tinkerbell of all goddamn things.  Right at the top of her thigh, so you couldn’t see it until she took her pants off.”

86:Waiting

October 2

Red Bank

It was finished. 

Charlie had tweaked, fine-tuned and touched up Jon’s mural to the best of her artistic ability.  Anything more was just going to clutter it and thereby ruin what she’d already done, so it was time to step away and let the piece stand on its own.  The only thing left to do was wait and hope that Jon would be pleased with the final result.

The hardest part of that wait was finding something to occupy her for the rest of the evening.    It was only a little after five and Jon wouldn’t be here until late – sometime between ten and midnight was his best guess as of this morning, although he’d promised to give her a better estimate when he had one.

After a thirteen-hour flight he was going to be exhausted, but it didn't matter to Charlie if he did nothing  besides crawl in bed with her and snore.  The smell of him on the sheets had faded long ago, and she longed to burrow into the crook of his neck so that she could inhale him.  She wanted to feel the heat of his skin and of his breath – and if his skin and breath touched something intimate, that would be great, too.  Either way, she was prepared with a champagne silk nightie that had been purchased earlier in the week. 

As small and insignificant as buying a nightgown was, Charlie had felt a little risqué in doing it.  She tried to tell herself it was because their relationship had always been so filled with chemistry that outward appearances didn’t matter.  Whatever clothing they wore was soon on the floor, anyway.

The reality was that almost twenty years had elapsed since the last time she’d intentionally tried to look sexy for a man.  Even then, it wasn’t for a man she was in love with, because Charlie had never been in love before now. 

Prior to Owen, she’d dated casually without ever having a steady boyfriend.  School, her art and the occasional hook-up were satisfying and left her free to do whatever she wanted.

When Owen came on the scene, he was likable enough, but Charlie was only interested in using him to fill a void.   She hadn’t gotten past the stage of stunted affection before discovering that Noah was on the way.  Pregnant and Catholic added up to an obligation that didn’t require love as part the equation, so affection was as far as she’d ever made it before or after walking down the aisle.  

Nobody would ever believe that a woman who was nine days shy of her forty-fifth birthday was experiencing her first love.  She scarcely believed it herself, and while Jon’s return was something Charlie was looking forward to with great anticipation, it also scared the hell out of her. 

They hadn’t been together since she’d come to terms with her feelings, and she didn’t know what would happen when perceptive blue eyes touched on her.  Would he know?  Would things be different?  Was she going to blurt it out without thinking?  How long could she keep it to herself?  More important than all that, what would his reaction be?

It was all an untold mystery at this point, which was why the nightgown was doubling as an insurance policy.  Charlie had it in her head that everything else would fall effortlessly into place after that first orgasm.  That's the way their relationship had been from the beginning.  Right?  It shouldn't change just because her feelings were a little deeper.

“I’m going to drive myself crazy before he gets home.  I’ve got to get out of here for a while.” 

At the sound of Charlie’s voice, Nana’s head popped up from her doggie bed beneath the glass window between the studio and the control room.  It had become “her” spot during the hours spent here.

“What?  You want to get out of here for a while, too?  Huh?” she asked her sweet dog, bending to scratch behind her furry ears.  “Where shall we go?”

Nana yipped at the same time Charlie’s phone chimed from her pocket.  Not having any idea of what that dog-speak translated to, she checked her phone to see what it said.

[5:12 PM]LILAH: I bet you’re even more excited than I am.  The last few hours are always the hardest.

Charlie just figured out what to do with her evening.  “Wanna go visit Lucas and M.J., Nana?  I bet they’d love to see you.”

J J J J J

“You are a complete and total lifesaver,” Lilah sighed happily as the scent of Mongolian beef, chicken chow mein and rice rose from the Chinese takeout cartons.  “If I had to eat one more grilled cheese or chicken nugget I was going to lose my damn mind.”

Laughing, Charlie dished out some chow mein and added steamed rice.  Lilah had been just as happy at the idea of dinner together as she was, so Charlie had loaded up Nana, stopped by the Chinese place and arrived at Lilah’s house by six to find Lucas and M.J. destroying their playroom.  Once they caught sight of Nana, though, the two were happy to chase her up and down the halls of Tony and Lilah’s home until their mother parked them in front of a Disney movie with the dog between them. 

“You could fix yourself something different, you know,” she suggested to the woman who was practically purring with delight over her fried rice.  “By the sounds of it, you haven’t had anything decent to eat since Tony left.”

Lilah rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and swallowed, wiping her mouth with a napkin.  “I’m makin’ food sex noises, aren’t I?  Sorry.  I try and be real conscious about that, but sometimes it just gets away from me.  Tony sometimes says he wishes I made the same sounds for him as I do cheesecake.”

Charlie had trouble believing that Lilah didn’t make whatever noises her husband wanted to hear.  She was obviously besotted with him, and it looked like she’d fixed her hair and put makeup on tonight.  The attention to personal detail was hit or miss for the mother of two toddlers, and it made Charlie think she wasn’t the only one making an extra effort for the Bon Jovi homecoming. 

“I’ll refrain from discussing sex noises, if you don’t mind.”

“Girl…”  The sweet Kentuckian pointed her fork at Charlie.  “I have heard too much speculation over the years about Jon’s sexual prowess.  If it’s true, I don’t wanna know, so that’s fine with me.”

“Is what you’ve heard positive or negative?” 

“What I’ve heard can’t be anything but urban legend,” she snorted, stabbing at a piece of beef.  “Nobody can complete the feats some of these women have credited him with.  He’d have to be a super-human god, and I prefer my very grounded Jersey boy husband.”

Grounded. 

Charlie manipulated her chopsticks to capture a piece of water chestnut and pop it in her mouth, thinking about Tuesday’s phone call and Jon’s reference to that very thing.  It had been hovering in the back of her mind ever since, along with a little bit of curiosity.

“Can I ask you a question that isn’t any more of my business than your sex life is?”

Chewing with thoughtfully narrowed eyes, shoulder length hair the color of milk chocolate slid forward into her hostess’s face with her nod.  “Sure.  As long as I get to ask one in return.”

It was impossible to predict what the eccentric Lilah would ask, but she had come to mean a lot to Charlie.  Without her, love might still be just another four-letter word and 9/11 would continue to be a mentally crippling day.  Charlie was finding a life that she was excited to move forward with, so that entitled her friend to ask whatever she wanted. 

“Deal.”  Charlie raked her chopsticks through the remaining rice on her plate to avoid the astute gaze was waiting for her to look up.  “I’m curious about the dynamic of Jon and Dorothea’s relationship.”

“Not sure what you mean.”

She shrugged.  “People usually assume roles within a relationship.  Dominant, passive, caretaker, needy.  That sort of thing.”

“Mm.”  After a swallow of iced tea, Lilah put her glass down and said thoughtfully, “Well.  From the few years I knew them as a couple, Dot was the responsible one.  She took care of home and kids and… everything really.  All Jon had to do was show up when she told him to.  Other than that, he worked in one way or another.  Recording, studio, touring.”

“So she was his anchor.”  The role which he’d told Charlie he wanted her to fill.  Or needed “somebody in his life” to fill.

“I don’t know that I’d use that particular word.  I’d say she was more of a lighthouse, doing her own thing and shining a light so he could find his way home again when it was time.  Anchors are attached to what they’re holding secure.  They connect ships to the ground wherever they go.”  She laughed and forked some chicken.  “Or something like that.”

It was an interesting differentiation, to which Charlie shouldn’t be attaching undue meaning to.  Jon’s definition was the one at play, and she had no idea if he’d made that distinction or not.  Lighthouse, anchor, or barnacle may all mean the same thing in his male vocabulary. 

“Not that she didn’t rein him in when he needed it,” Lilah added after a moment.  “I heard her tactfully tell him he was an idiot more than once.  I get the impression he can get so focused on whatever he’s lookin’ at that sometimes he forgets to look beyond it at the bigger picture.”

When Charlie realized she was mentally measuring herself against Dorothea, regret set in.  She should never have asked the question.  Dorothea was an awesome person whom Charlie respected and admired, but there was no comparison between them.  Dorothea was the calm and Charlie was the storm.  They had two completely different personalities that would have them relating to a man in completely different ways.   

“Okay, thanks,” she accepted Lilah’s answer at face value and dismissed it.  “In my line of work, I don’t see the husband and wife dynamic until it’s something ugly and irreparable.  My experience with successful relationships is limited to my parents and two of my brothers.  Italians just yell until things get better or they get tired of yelling, so I was wondering if the same held true here.”

“Not a lot of yellin’ on Dot’s part that I ever saw.  Always in control, but she could be cold and cuttin’.”

Completely done with this topic and vowing never to bring it up again, especially to Jon, she waved her chopsticks at Lilah.  “What’s your question?”

“Well…”  With one forearm already on the table, she put her fork down and folded the other on top of it.  “If this opportunity hadn’t come up, I wouldn’t ask at all.  I’ve managed to keep my mouth shut for almost a month because I had Tony ask Jon if he knew and he does, so that’s really all that mattered.”

“That’s a hell of a lot of information, but I don’t hear a question in there,” Charlie chuckled and pushed her plate away. 

“I have a compulsive need to justify myself with a lot of explanation before I pull the trigger on somethin’ that might make somebody mad.  Annoyin' as all get-out, but I can’t seem to stop myself.”

Doubting that Lilah had a question with the power to make her angry, Charlie smiled at the other woman’s self-deprecating uncertainty.  It wasn’t something she was used to seeing out of Jon’s spunky sister-in-law, and provided the first glimpse of the woman Lilah had claimed to be before Tony. 

“Ask already.”

“Alright.  Who’s Owen?”

Charlie couldn’t say she was surprised by anything other than the fact the question hadn’t come within seconds after that phone call at the spa.  At the time, she might’ve played it off with a vague statement that said something yet nothing, but there had been a shift in her universe since then. 

Having made significant inroads into her grief over Joey’s death that culminated in the previous Sunday’s revelation to her family, her therapy had progressed.  This week’s sessions revolved around the talk she needed to have with her sons.  While the therapist didn’t really know anything about Owen, she’d helped Charlie to consider different ways to present the news and provided other possible reactions the boys might have besides the one Charlie was dreading.  They’d also discussed how she might want to respond to those reactions and, while she wasn’t ready to do it today, Charlie knew it wouldn’t be much longer before she was mentally prepared to take on the task and steal Owen’s power over her.

Divorce was working its way from dream to reality.  It was time to stop lying to Jon’s family – and Charlie’s friend – by omission.

The truth will set you free.

“He’s my husband.”

Blue-green eyes went wide at the three simple words before returning to normal as Lilah nodded.  “That explains the problems, I reckon.”

“I reckon it does,” Charlie agreed with a smile.  “One of these days you’ll get around to telling me about your scars and, when you do…  Maybe I’ll be ready to tell you all about those problems.”

Producing a smile that was no less stunning for its sympathetic tilt, Lilah nodded and declared firmly, “I’d like that very much.”

Charlie thought she might, too.

85:Anchor

September 29

Abu Dhabi

[7:11 PM]LUKE: Our family owes you a huge debt of gratitude.  Can’t believe you got Charlie to see a shrink but grateful.  My brothers and I want to buy you a drink when you have time.  Everybody’s stoked you two are together btw

The sun was just beginning to set over the water in Abu Dhabi, and it was an exquisitely beautiful sight.  Lyric-worthy, really, and Jon probably would’ve appreciated it had he not been forced here two days earlier than expected.  The stage he was supposed to be on tonight in Taiwan was being sieged by a typhoon and required the cancellation of the show.  That left him sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs. 

Sitting on his ass and twiddling his thumbs irritated the shit out of him, which is probably why Luke’s text message hit his hot buttons.  God knew everything else had been hitting his hot buttons in the last forty-eight hours and, as a result, both of his brothers and the entire band had sworn him off until he calmed the fuck down.

That left him alone on the balcony with room service, picking apart Luke’s comments like a vulture dissecting a zebra carcass.  There were two major red flags flying high – the "shrink" flag and the "together" flag.  The counselor was seeing a shrink and had told her family they were together. 

If the text had come from her, it would actually improve his mood because both items were major stepping-stones toward amputating Owen.   His first reaction was a desire to hear more about each, but because Luke was the messenger, it ended up rankling with Jon.  Her family was once again delivering news that she should be providing.  Why in the hell wouldn’t she just talk to him?

Don’t take it out on Luke. 

He had no plans to.  Jon would simply say what he wanted, and then tack on a smiley face at the end.  His kids had repeatedly assured him that was the way of the text messaging world.  They regretted providing that insight when he started questioning their smiley face comments, but it was too late to take it back.

[7:13 PM]JON: Drink or put me through another round of big brother bullshit?  :)

[7:16 PM]LUKE: Ha!  Drink.  And give Dom & Vince a chance to get to know you.

They’d both seemed like nice enough guys at Juliana’s that night, so maybe hanging out with his girlfriend’s three brothers wouldn’t prove to be as ominous as it felt.  He could always even the odds a little.

[7:17 PM]JON: Sure.  I’ll bring Matt & Tony.  Make it a party.

[7:18 PM]LUKE: Cool.  Give me a shout when you get back.

Jon dropped the phone on the café-style table and peered out over the horizon at the ball of blazing light  half-submerged in the Persian Gulf.

He was ready to go home.  Delays like this made him feel like he was wasting time, and wasting time was way the fuck down on his list of fun things to do when he craved fighting and fucking with a beautiful brunette until there was nothing left unsaid between them.

Tapping his bare toes on the concrete balcony floor while restlessly fingering the hem of his shorts, Jon contemplated calling her now and dumping his displeasure in her lap.  Was that fair, or he was he unnecessarily wound up because of the idle time? 

He pushed his half-eaten dinner aside in favor of another drink while he deliberated.  The wine was delicately glugging from the bottle when his phone rang, and he foolishly hoped for something – anything – that didn’t irk the hell out of him.

When Jon lifted it to read the face, the chances of that happening dropped to zero, because the choice of calling Chiara had just been taken from him.

“Hey.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chiara railed at him without preamble, and his already frayed temper spiked.  If she wanted to jump down his throat over something, she’d damn-well better be ready to get bitten on the way down.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“What?  Are you trying to hide from your shortcomings?” she fearlessly goaded him for whatever mysterious reason.  “It’s a simple freaking typhoon, Bongiovi.  Why can’t you just hold it off until your show is over?  Is it really that hard?”

“I don’t control the motherfucking weather!”

With a fierce frown, he kicked out one heel to rest on the floor while the ball of his other foot bounced agitatedly beneath him.  He briefly wondered if she was having a psychotic reaction to something the shrink had prescribed.

“Good to know you realize that.  Now stop being all pissed off over it,” she returned, now much calmer and sounding more like his girlfriend instead of a crazy woman.  “And if you can’t, call and yell at me until you get it out of your system.  It doesn’t annoy me as much as it does your brothers.”

“That’s why you called?  So I’d take my bad mood out on you?”  The wine here was obviously stronger than what Jon was used to because that made so little sense, he had to be drunk.

“Sounds kind of sick and twisted when you say it that way.  I was really thinking more along the lines of making you feel better, but whatever.”

When in the hell had anybody come seeking him out when he was steeped in a foul mood?  They all usually just steered clear until he’d gotten over it by running himself into exhaustion on a treadmill or drinking himself to sleep.  For her to step into the figurative lion’s den in an effort to pull the thorn from his paw…

There really was a fine line between love and hate, and Jon was teetering precariously on it.  Not that he actually hated her, but he was definitely not happy with her.  The love thing, though…

Ignoring the warmth in the center of his chest, he pushed to his feet and went to lean one hand on the balcony’s stone railing.  There was the ghost of a breeze trying to stir in the warm evening air and Jon turned his face into it, squinting as he sighed in frustration. 

“Who called you?”

“Nobody asked me to try and cheer you up, if that’s what you mean.  I talked to Lilah last night.  She mentioned the change of plans and the fact that none of the guys were happy about it – especially you.  So here I am.  Gimme what’cha got.”

She was offering herself as a verbal punching bag so that he’d cheer the fuck up. 

Jon scratched an impatient hand over his head, reminding himself that she kept things from him.

“Not the best time make that offer, because I’m pissed at you right now.”

“Okayyy…”  He could hear the undertone that indicated she was bracing herself.  “I can take that, too.  Dish it.  What have I done?”

God, he wanted to be mad, but it wasn’t nearly as satisfying to yell at someone who was willing to take it.  This was the problem he’d had behind the guest house that night.  She’d been so willing to accept his verbal abuse that it only frustrated him more.  That’s why he’d ended up pinning her to the wall, and since she wasn’t within pinning distance now…

The need to fight seeped out of him. 

“I got a text from Luke earlier.”

“Oh, Jesus.  What trouble has he stirred up now?”

Releasing his grip on the balcony, he twisted to lean his backside against it and blindly look at the mess on the table.  His right hand held the phone and he cradled his left in the crook of his right elbow, crossing his ankles and shaking his head. 

“Don’t blame him for this, Counselor.  He thanked me because you’re seeing a shrink and said your family was happy about us being together.  Very nice, but those are things that I should have heard from you, not your brother.  Along with a list of shit as long as my arm.”

“My family just found out two days ago, and this is the first time I’ve talked to you since.”

“And the shrink?”

“A couple weeks, but I’ve only talked to you a few times since you’ve been gone and not for long then.  I’m not wasting limited time on that stuff when I’d rather hear how horny you are.”

Standing to reach for his wine, Jon took a gulp before responding, “This is what it’s like, Chiara.  Five minutes here, ten minutes there.  You’ve got to learn to prioritize and make the most of it, and that includes keeping me in the loop on what’s important.  I can get anybody to blow sunshine up my ass.  What I really need is for somebody to ground me to life outside the fucking spotlight.”

“You’re gonna give to give me a second.”  Her voice was tight with the response, and he could hear the tremor of anger.  “I have to find a spin on that where I’m not being spoken to like a child.  Preferably one where you understand that I’m indoctrinated to doing shit entirely on my own.”

The remainder of his cabernet slid down his throat, and it was a Herculean effort for him not to throw the empty glass from the third floor balcony.  Grinding his teeth, he exercised undue caution in placing the glass on the table while taking a calming breath.

“And I’m trying to find a spin on the whole damn thing that doesn’t leave me in the dark about situations that directly impact our relationship.  Don’t get your fucking feelings hurt because I’m trying to educate you on life with a goddamn rock star.  My work life is a frigging circus that sucks me in and skews my perception of what’s important.  I need somebody in my life to anchor me, which I think is why you called in the first fucking place.  Own it and understand how much I appreciate it.”

Silence.  He was met with total silence as he paced the six-foot span of concrete that made up the balcony.  The longer the silence extended, the more tense he got. 

Screaming he knew how to deal with, but the counselor wasn’t the quiet, passive-aggressive type.  This, he didn’t know how to deal with and wasn’t sure he wanted to.  He didn’t have the patience for that shit.

“I settled the parrot case this week.”  She was pleasant when finally deigning to speak.  It was almost like starting the whole call over again, and he still wasn’t ruling out a psychotic drug reaction. 

“Yeah?” The uncertain question was all he could come up with until he figured out what was going on.

“Yes, thank God.”  As though the last ten minutes had never happened, she carried on with, “My mother has invited you to our family dinner on the last Sunday of October.  She wants to make you meatballs, which is her version of a Grammy, so you should feel honored yet still rave about them.”

This was getting more nuts by the minute.  Had he stepped into the Twilight Zone?  Where was Rod Serling warning him about that other dimension?  

“Chiara, what the hell are you doing?”

“You asked for an anchor,” was her placid response.  “I can’t think of anything further outside the spotlight than my family dinner.”

For the first time in two days, the muscles in Jon’s shoulders relaxed.  His neck was once again flexible instead of rigid, his fists weren’t clenched and even the tension in his lower back eased.  The lousy mood that had been ever-present in those same two days was getting crowded out by a swell of peace, normalcy and… love for a woman who forcibly shelved her independence and inclination to argue in order to placate him, and who was willing to be what he needed.

It was more priceless to him than all the oil in the Middle East.

“I like meatballs.”

84:Therapy

September 27

Brooklyn

It was typical chaos at the Del Vecchio dinner table on the last Sunday of September. 

Vince and Dom were loudly debating the admissibility of evidence while Vivi, Anna, Izzie and Charlie’s mother were already discussing the upcoming holidays.  Aaron, Luke, Joseph and Charlie’s father were boisterously reliving Thursday’s Giants game while simultaneously saying how Thursday games ruined Sunday afternoons.  That left Izzie and Aaron’s girls at the little table over in the corner singing some kind of song and ignoring all the adults.

Charlie simply sat back and let the warm blanket of noise wash over her while she enjoyed both her wine and the familiarity of her family.  That’s where two weeks and four appointments with her new therapist had gotten her.

Their presence didn’t provoke (huge) waves of guilt over Joey’s death, and she could now look at her nephew without experiencing an intense emotional reaction.  Yes, he physically resembled Joey, but not as strongly as she’d believed six weeks ago.  His smile was identical to Izzie’s, the cow lick in the front of his hair was just like Luke’s and his chin looked just like Izzie’s Dad.

He wasn't Joey reincarnated and back to haunt her.

“Charlie.”  Vivi’s beckon drew her gaze from Joseph.  “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for asking Jon to sing.  He’s such a sweetheart.”

Smiling fondly, she nodded and agreed, “He’s a good guy.”

“Did you see where he’s been doing some shows in exotic places lately?  I wonder how long he’s going to be out on the road?”

He would be home about eleven on Friday night and, in his handful of calls to her, had asked her to be waiting for him in Jersey.  Apparently, a month was a long time to have women throwing themselves at you without any kind of satisfaction because he was “horny as hell” and planned to nail her to “every fucking wall in the house”.  With all the beds, she didn’t see the attraction of the walls but was on board with anything that put him between her legs.  The vibrator he’d gifted her with was serviceable but it didn’t hold a candle to him. 

“Not much longer,” was what she told Vivi while shifting uncomfortably in her chair.  “He told me he’d be gone for a month altogether.”

“He told you this?”  Her sister-in-law’s chin dipped as her eyebrows arched high with interest.  “How often do you talk to him?”

“Once in a while,” she downplayed.  Luke, sitting next to her, jabbed a finger in her thigh and Charlie kicked his foot in return.  Big brother had a better idea of how often she'd been getting calls from the other side of the world since he’d been following up on the divorce status almost every week.  “I’m doing a mural at his house, and this trip provided a good window of time to work on it.”

“Oh, yeah.”  Luke’s dark hair slid into his eyes when he nodded.  “I remember seeing the sketches.  How is it turning out?”

It was…  There wasn’t an appropriate adjective that came immediately to mind, but Charlie loved this piece more than any she’d done. 

Once the focal points had been put in place and painted, she had begun sneaking personal touches in between to try and make it one cohesive piece of art rather than merely a hodgepodge of images.  He could spend hours searching out all the details that blended his life with the history and foundation of New Jersey.  There was one tiny spot, smaller than the palm of her hand, that she would be holding her breath until he found. 

“It’s almost done.  I’m taking the day off Friday to do the final touches and show it to him.  We'll see how he feels about it.”

“Cool.”

“Cool, indeed,” Vince approved from her other side, his hand coming from the back of Charlie’s chair to squeeze her shoulder.  “Our little sister doing art for a celebrity’s home.  Crazy.”

“Is he paying you?” Dom asked, and Vivi immediately turned a dirty look on him. 

“Of course he’s paying her.  The man’s a saint!  He isn’t going to ask her to spend a month on something and not compensate her.  Don’t be insulting.”

“Not so sure about the sainthood thing, but he wants to pay me, yes.”  That didn’t mean Charlie was going to allow it, but the issue hadn’t come up again so it remained another unsettled item between them.

“Of course he’s a saint!” Vivi staunchly declared.  “He does so much good for people and gives so freely of his time.”

“I found him to be very pleasant – and easy on the eyes,” Juliana Del Vecchio declared to her husband and children.  “The fact that he can sing like that, too, just makes me wonder what kind of deal he’s worked out with the devil.  Not many people have it that good.”

Knowing that she shouldn’t get into this but Charlie was unable to stop herself from defending him. “Jon isn’t sitting around and letting the accolades and money roll in of their own volition, Ma.  Musicians don’t reach his level of success without hard work and dedication.”

“You should know.” 

That earned Luke another kick.

“Don’t kick your brother.”  Charlie’s head snapped around at her father’s stern voice.  “He’s only saying what everyone else at this table thinks.”

The brother in question poked her in the thigh again before taking up his wine glass with a triumphant, “Ha!”

Edward Del Vecchio was a New York City cop, just like his two oldest sons, for almost forty years. During that time, he’d earned a reputation as a hard but fair man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.  While his thoughts on his children’s personal lives was kept to himself most of the time, he didn’t hesitate to voice them when he deemed it appropiate.

Evidently, he deemed today appropriate. 

“I’ve held my tongue all the years I care to,” he began, meeting Charlie’s gaze while the rest of the family looked on.  “Why are you still married to that man?  He doesn’t support you, he doesn’t seem to love you, and he doesn’t even try and fit into this family.  I’ll be civil enough not to ask the last time you shared a bed with him, but I think God and The Church could be convinced that a divorce is justified, Charlie.”

“Daddy…”  She didn’t know what to say.  The way he’d chosen to approach this, in the midst of the entire family, made her feel attacked and cornered.  Hell, Charlie hadn’t even known that he’d been paying that much attention.  What did her family say about her when she wasn’t around? 

For that matter, what would they say about her once they knew what she’d done?

“Tell them, Charls.”  A moment ago, he’d been the typical obnoxious brother, but now Luke’s voice was gentle as he coaxed her into revealing the news that would sweep away the cloud of concern hanging over the room. 

Her problem was that they were going to get all excited when hearing that Charlie planned to divorce Owen.  Immediately after, they’d expect the details and demand to know when the red letter day was – and she didn’t know all that.  What she did know, she wasn’t yet ready to share. 

“Charlie.  Please.”  Izzie’s voice was just as quietly plaintive when begging Charlie to put an end to it all. 

Vince leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms.  “I’m feelin’ a little out of the loop here.  How ‘bout you, Dom?”

“Definitely.”

The weight of all their gazes – pleading, encouraging, hopeful, demanding and just flat-out curious – combined to make a load that was almost as unbearable as the weight of the world on Atlas’s shoulders. 

Tell them this and Jon doesn’t have to be a secret anymore.  He isn’t the one who’s wrong in all this.  Stop making it look as though he is.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and remembered what the therapist had said about listening to her head as much as she did her heart.  She wasn’t going to die from the crushing fear in her chest.

"Charlie?" Vince prompted with a nudge of his knee.  

“Alright, already!”  Another deep breath and she opened her eyes, preparing to gloss over this and move onto what she’d really been scheduled to tell them today.  “But this cannot leave this table, and I mean that!  If you can’t promise to keep it to yourselves, then I’m not telling you.”

Izzie quietly ordered Joseph to take the girls out back and entertain them as the adults all absorbed exactly how fierecely Charlie meant what she was saying.

“Family respects family,” her father took his role as patriarch to speak for the group.  “If it’s that important to you, we’ll honor your wishes.”

“It is,” she emphasized.  “It means the word to me, Daddy."

"So be it," he decreed.  "What is it?"

Now that the time had arrive and she'd opened her big mouth, she wasn't sure about this.  They were loud, opinionated Italians.  Could they really keep this a secret?  Even from a single person who was currently on the other side of the continent?

She hoped so.

"Owen can’t find out yet, which is the reason for all the secrecy, but I'm going to file for divorce.”

Dominick’s snort disrupted the ensuing silence that fell over the dining room.  “It’s about fucking time.”

With his hand kneading the nape of her neck, Luke murmured, “Good girl.”

“Why can’t he find out?  What happens if he does?”

Turning to the naturally inquisitive – and suspicious – brother, Charlie said, “That’s all I’m telling you right now, Vince.   None of you have to worry about how stupid I’m being anymore, but I… have issues to deal with before I can file.  Jon has been helping me and I’m also seeing a therapist now.”

“Jon?  Jon Bon Jovi?”

“Yes, Dom.  You all might as well know he’s going to be stepping into my life in a big way.  We’re seeing each other and have been for a while.”

“Forget Jon,” Luke intruded over top of Vivi’s hyperventilation, since that was old news to him.  “What’s this about a therapist?  Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”  Charlie twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, forcing it to do pirouettes on her mother’s favorite tablecloth.  “And, as part of that, I have something else to tell you all.”

Glancing across the table at her best friend, Charlie got the nod of encouragement that she needed to continue.

“I’m not responsible for Joey’s death.”

It was only the second time she’d said it out loud, and it still had the power to steal her breath. 

“Of course you’re not!” her mother scolded with features contorted into pained confusion.  “Why would you think that?”

“Charlie’s always thought that, Ma.”

Eyes watering, she looked to her oldest brother and pressed her lips together with a nod.  “Dom’s right, Ma.  My head’s been screwed up for years over it, and I’m just now starting to get straightened out.   That was a homework assignment of sorts.  Saying it out loud to everyone who I thought was holding me accountable.”

“Charlie, honey, that’s just…  Just…  Silly.”

God, she hadn’t wanted to make her mother cry.  Charlie had cried enough for all of them, and she was ready to smile again.

“What’s done is done, and I’m learning to change the way I think.  After I get this under control, I’m going to tackle the reasons I’ve stayed married so long.  That’s when I’ll file for divorce – when I’m capable of facing the situation.  In the meantime, I don’t want Owen to know it’s even under consideration.  It would make it... impossible."

“What the fuck do you mean ‘capable of facing’ it?”

“Vincent, watch your mouth at the table!”  The admonishment came with the thump of an open palm against the table that had the silverware jumping.

“Sorry, Dad, but doesn’t it surprise you, too?  There’s nothing that intimidates Charlie, so I want to know what’s got her scared.”

His hand lay on the table and Charlie curled hers around it, clasping tight.  “I can’t talk about it yet, Vince.  I will soon, but not yet.”

“If I find out that he’s hurt you, I swear to God, I’ll-“

“Stop,” she ordered softly.  “I love and appreciate how much you love me, but that doesn’t help anything.  It just makes me feel worse, so don’t.  Okay?”

That wasn’t how he wanted to play it, and Charlie could feel him biting back words.  Whether he would ultimately spit them out remained to be seen, but Izzie’s question from across the table took away his opportunity.

“What I’m curious about,” she mused.  “Is whether Jon knows about all this.”

Charlie had missed him over the last three weeks but never more than in that moment.  She’d give anything to have his hand at her neck instead of Luke’s.  His hand clasped in hers instead of Vince’s. 

Jon was the one who knew it all – and still wanted to come home to her. 

“He knows everything.”

Her best friend’s smile was wide as she nodded with approval.  “I’m proud of you, Charlie.  And happy.”

“You bring that young man to dinner next month,” her mother ordered with a sniffle.  “If he’s the reason you’re finally moving on with your life, I want to meet him again under the right circumstances.  I’m making him meatballs.”

And that was the greatest compliment anyone could get in the Del Vecchio house.