139: Turkey Talk

He loved holidays like this, Jon thought while sipping wine in the office doorway and surveying the people scattered around his living room.  Having the whole family here was different than a backyard thing at Matt’s or birthday thing at Tony’s.  This was his domain filled with the people he loved most, and it sated his soul in a way few other things could.  

The counselor’s clan blended with his crew felt right, and he could easily imagine this same scene for Christmas and for holidays years down the road.  The only thing that didn’t sit right was the technicality that this was “her” family and “his” family.  She was undoubtedly part of his – just ask Lilah – and the Del Vecchios were coming to feel that way to him, too.

Luke he’d liked from the first moment they met, and the reserved Dominick was warming up.  He was over there shooting the shit with Jon’s dad about the pros and cons of different tomato varieties while Mr. Del Vecchio listened in and Tony offered the occasional opinion from the floor, where his kids and Nana were climbing him like a pile of rocks. 

Mrs. Del Vecchio and Jon’s mom were on the blue couch with Vivi, all looking happy enough discussing whatever women discussed and smiling at the little kids.  Vince and his family weren’t here yet, but even the bristly cop was starting to become likable. 

Stephanie and Sydney were around somewhere, while the rest of the females –Desiree, Lilah and the counselor – were doing kitchen stuff.  Last time Jon saw Matt, he and Luke were in the marble entryway with a pile of cushions, supervising Matt’s two kids and Romeo sliding down the bannister.  It was the perfect, smoothed curve for sliding – which Jon may or may not know from experience.  What he did  know is that it wasn’t a smart idea to take a ride on that thing while drunk. 

Chiara’s boys and his two oldest sons were bringing up the massive projection television from its storage place in the floor so that they could watch the traditional Thanksgiving football games.  Jesse was enthusing about it being the best part of the holiday and Jake was arguing with Noah about who was going to win today.  Caleb was the only one who didn’t look too excited about football.

That worked out well for Jon, who wanted to talk to the counselor’s younger child.

“Caleb.”  When his dark head spun toward the doorway, Jon used one hand to beckon the boy and slipped inside the office.  By the time he got to the piano, Caleb was there with him.   

“What’s up?”

The kid was suspicious.  All week, he’d been a little withdrawn and on edge, as though he was trying to avoid being hit by any more sudden and life-altering events.  Jon thought the kid was justified considering things had been coming at him fast and furious lately, and it was part of the reason for this talk.  Caleb could use a gradual introduction to the next change in his life.

“The turkey’s deep-frying outside and Jake and Romeo have lost interest.  Come check on it with me.”

Lanky shoulders lifted under a hooded sweatshirt in a shrug of indifference before he scratched at his blonde-tipped head.  “Okay.”

Leading the way out the office’s other door, they passed through the entryway just as Isabella came flying off the banister into Matt’s arms.  Jon chose to bypass the women in the kitchen, placing his empty wineglass on the dining room table when they cut through there on the way outside. 

“Apparently frying turkeys lose their cool factor after the initial sizzle,” he remarked casually.  “And my kids don’t want to watch a bird boil for a full forty-five minutes.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to be excited about it.”

The dry sarcasm sounded so much like Chiara that Jon grinned to himself.  In reality, the bird didn’t need to be watched, but it was quiet outside – and private.  The river breeze also made it cooler than he liked, but Jon crammed both hands into his pockets and overlooked the air’s slight bite.

“No excitement required.  I really just wanted to talk to you.”

That was all it took for the boy’s wary eyes to go hard.  Too many shitty conversations had begun that way in the last month, and he was clearly bracing himself for another when they arrived at the deep fryer. 

Jon pretended not to notice as he squatted to check the oil temperature.  The reading was right where it should be, and he glanced up at Caleb’s stony face before rising with only a faint crackle of one knee.  “Relax, buddy.  This probably means more to me than it does you, and I doubt it’s going to come as a surprise.”

“Okay.”  The assurance carried little, if any, weight.  Caleb’s features remained fiercely guarded, and he looked prepared to do battle with his wide stance even though both hands were pushed into the back pockets of his jeans.  “What is it?”

Levelly meeting the boy’s eyes, he revealed, “Someday, I'm going to want to marry your mother.”

The blank stare he got in return had Jon wondering if he should’ve prefaced that declaration with… something.  Maybe the thought process leading up to it?  As he’d said, it probably wasn’t much of a surprise, but still…  This kid hadn’t reached his former level of emotional stability yet. 

“Why are you telling me?”

“Because things are screwed up in your head right now,” Jon admitted frankly to the young man who stared sullenly out at the river.  “You’ve been force-fed a lot of shit that’s out of your control lately, and I don’t want this to be another one.”

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing.  ‘Here it is.  Deal with it’.”

“Not at all.”  Shaking his head emphatically, he corrected, “I’m telling you what I want, and if you hate the idea…  Well, I’m not going to change my mind, but I’ll sit on it until you don't hate it.  Give you a chance to acclimate, because your mother has already gotten enough of your anger.”

That prompted Caleb to pull hands from his pockets and bend to pick up a stick, snapping it in half as he cut a glare in Jon’s direction.  “Doesn’t matter if it hate it or not.  Mom said she was never getting married again.”

“She says it a lot,” Jon agreed easily.  “But I think having all of us together this week – you and your brother, me and my kids – was a step in the right direction.  Seeing what we could be like as a family has to ease her reservations.”

In truth, Jon was the one that saw what they could be like as a family, and it only fueled the desire to make it official.  The counselor’s son didn’t need to know about her fear of being controlled and manipulated. 

Ever since the night he’d stupidly tried to strong-arm her into selling her house, Jon had purposely stepped back and taken Chiara’s advice by appreciating what they had instead of what they didn’t.   That focus allowed him to enjoy the days and nights, but his subconscious wouldn’t let go of the fact that there was something else being denied him, no matter how insignificant it might seem to some people.

Marriage was theoretically nothing but a piece of paper, a promise to love one another and jewelry as a tangible reminder of fidelity.  He got that they were only missing the paper, but that paper was more important than the rest, because it was ultimate representation of the counselor’s trust in him – and her unreserved trust was what he craved. 

The knowledge that she would give him everything.

In a karmic twist of events, Sunday night brought the brilliant realization that getting everything was going to require giving everything.  The epiphany was so vivid and profound that it almost took Jon’s breath away – and that’s how he knew it was right. 

It would be great if he could avoid alienating her kids any more in the process, though.

“Didn’t you have a song about living in sin?  Why does marriage matter so much to you?”

Caleb should really consider trading his computer science major in for a legal degree.  Whereas his brother was laid back and accepting, this child was the counselor through and through. 

“I wrote that when I was a kid.”  The wind was picking up and a blast of air blew across his neck, sending a chill through him.  “I grew up and found out I’m old-fashioned in some ways, which includes valuing your mother enough to get ticked every time someone refers to her as the ‘first girlfriend after my divorce’ or ‘current love interest’.”

“But you do love her.”

Openly meeting the boy’s scrutiny, Jon turned the tables. “What do you think?”

“Yeah.  I guess.”  Dark eyes shifted to the river and back.  “When are you going to do it?”

When Caleb was on board with the idea, because Jon wouldn’t allow their engagement to be another clusterfucked dramatic episode in the family.  If and when Chiara agreed to marry, there would be nothing but happiness. 

“Not sure.  I was waiting to talk to you first.”

“Mm.  What did Noah say?” 

Jesus Christ, this poor kid was hanging tight to his defensive façade.  He refused to reveal even a hint of emotion, simply throwing out question after question and Jon was discovering just how much patience he could exercise when the situation really mattered.

“I haven’t told him.  I will, but I don’t expect him or my kids to object.”

“But you thought I would.”

“Not necessarily,” Jon contradicted quietly.  “I just know you’ve got more on your mind than they do.  Stuff that might skew your perception.  You don’t need another reason to be mad at your mom, so I was trying to avoid giving you one.”

Scuffing the sole of his shoe against the concrete, Caleb crammed both hands in the hoodie’s pocket and cast his eyes downward.  “I’m not mad anymore.”

Thank God.  She had been coping without breaking a sweat, except behind closed doors where she laid in Jon’s arms and wondered how long it would go on.  Maybe that psychologist each of the boys went to this week had done some good.  Neither one wanted to talk about it at the end of the appointments that were forced upon them, which made their mother worry that she was screwing something else up.

Really, it didn’t make a damn what prompted it, only that the boy followed through with the promise made the other night.  They were washing dinner dishes when Jon jokingly offered to buy Caleb a pony if he’d stop breaking his mother’s heart.  Smirking at the plate he was rinsing, he vowed to try.

“Wait.  Does this mean I actually owe you a pony?”

It was offered to his shoelaces instead of a plate, but the same smirk appeared now.  “Not unless it’s a Ford Mustang.”

“When I get your blessing on this marriage thing, I’ll let you take my Viper out for a spin,” was the laughing compromise.  “Anything beyond that has to go through your mom.”

“In that case, I’m screwed.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jon said with a shrug, thinking that Christmas was coming up and that the boys were sitting on a good-sized trust fund.  It wouldn’t hurt to suggest that cars would be a good investment.  “Tell me you’ll think about it and let’s get out of this fucking cold.”

“I don’t need to think about it.”  The quiet words were almost lost in the gurgle of peanut oil as the ruddy cheeked kid finally lifted his eyes from the ground.  “My mom’s happier than she’s been in my whole life, and you’re not an asshole.  It won’t suck having you for a stepdad.”

Not exactly a rousing endorsement of character but knowing that Chiara’s son could see her happiness overshadowed the slight of Jon’s second backhanded compliment today.  There was nothing like family to keep a guy humble.

“It’s not exactly a Grammy, but I’ll take it.  Want to go running with me in the morning?”

Caleb didn’t get a chance to answer before the kitchen door swung inward to reveal a distressed counselor, and the breeze kicked up her hair to add to the effect.  “There you are!  I’ve been looking everywhere!”

“Sorry.  We were just checking on the turkey.  What’s wrong?”

“Millie didn’t come,” she told him with troubled eyes.  “Vince said he couldn’t find her.”

Fuck.  Jon was afraid of this.

138:The Good Life

“Happy Thanksgivin’.” 

Charlie looked up from the salad vegetables that she was washing to smile at the woman sliding a flat box of pies onto the counter by the windows.  The sun shone high in the New Jersey sky, bouncing across the smattering of freckles on Lilah’s face as she removed the foil covered pans from their carrier.  

It was good to see her after almost two weeks.  They’d talked a couple of times since the end of the Disney trip, but hadn’t seen one another after Nana was returned safely home.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she returned as Jon’s sister-in-law slipped up beside her for a one-armed hug before moving to set the box on its end by the back door. 

“Jon let us in, and I’m just gonna say right now that he looks happier ‘n dog in dirt.  I swear to goodness, it makes me wanna pinch his cheeks when he smiles that big.  You’re so good for him.”  Propping both fists on her hips, she tipped a sassy chin in Charlie’s direction.  “Now how are you doin’?”

Wrinkling her nose with amusement at the vocabulary that was just as colorful as the orange leggings and short swing dress Lilah wore under her bright yellow cardigan, she went with the Kentucky flow.  “Dog in dirt pretty much covers it.  How about you?  Oh.  My God.  Is that a turkey on your dress?”

“Well, duh.”  Both arms were held to the side so that Charlie could clearly distinguish those bright colors as tail feathers, big white eyes and a beak.  “It’s Thanksgivin’.  When else am I gonna wear it?”

“Uh… Never?”

Lilah’s loud belly laugh echoed off the domed brick ceiling overhead and filled the kitchen with its richness.  “Girl, you fit right in with those Bongiovi men.   Soon enough you’ll do what they do and pretend not to see my foolishness.  Tony drew the line at my turkey hat though.  Said that seein’ my head stuck up a bird’s ass wasn’t festive for anybody.  I had to concede the point and leave the hat at home.”

Laughing so hard that tears were rolling down her face, Charlie turned off the faucet and used her wrist to wipe them away while catching her breath.  “Oh, sweet Mary, Mother of God!  You are undeniably the craziest person I know.”

“That’s only ‘cause Owen’s dead,” came the droll drawl, along with the shrug of one shoulder.  “Speakin’ of which, did you dispose of his remains yet?  How are the boys?  Still quarrelin’?”

That was enough to chase off the laughter, and Charlie shook the colander to remove excess water from the lettuce, carrots and radishes. 

Things between the boys were much, and that was frankly due to Owen’s life insurance money.  It had gone a long way in smoothing that situation over.   She’d quite honestly forgotten there was a policy on him until the insurance company contacted her to ask about wiring the funds, but it was providing a million reasons for her sons to get along. 

With a million dollars in a separate account that she was designating for their sole use – as long as they got along – both now had the option of going back to Stanford or anywhere else next semester.  Who knew what the final outcome would be, but so far, it looked like they were still planning to stay close to home.

“We’re making progress.  Noah isn’t tormenting Caleb and, I suspect because of Jon, Caleb doesn’t seem to hate me quite as much.  Over the weekend, he chose his father’s final resting spot along with the headstone, and I went with him to the cemetery yesterday.  Obviously, the headstone hasn’t been placed this soon, so he’ll follow up on it over Christmas break.  Noah doesn’t even want to know where it is.”

“Mm.”  Naturally tinted lips drooped at the corners.  “It’s tacky to speak ill of the dead, but he’s still a dickweed.  I hope Caleb finds his peace, though.  Are they here?”

“Not yet.”  The colander came to rest in the bottom of the sink, and Charlie plucked out a couple of radishes to run over the slicer.  “They and Jesse stayed in Brooklyn and went to the parade with some of my family, but I got a text that they were picking up Sydney an hour ago.  I’m expecting them any time now.”

“The younger boys are, though?”

She swatted at the French-manicured fingers snitching radish slices, but Lilah just smiled as she chewed.  “Yes.  Jake, Romeo and Stephanie spent the night with us.  Where are your two, since we’re doing roll call?”

“Daddy’s helpin’ ‘em find Nana.”

Knowing that the little dog was snoozing peacefully the specially purchased “Jersey condo” in the master bedroom, Charlie scooped up another handful of radishes. 

She thought Jon was starting to spoil the dog, but he swore it was so they didn’t have to “haul the goddamn kennel” every time they wanted to spend the night in New Jersey.  He still hadn’t offered an excuse for the plush turkey squeaky toy, tennis ball or assortment of flavored rawhide bones that were waiting in a basket next to the “goddamn kennel”. 

“Counselor.”  They must’ve unwittingly summoned the man of the house, because he padded into the kitchen looking perplexed.  Sidling up next to her at the sink, he inquired, “Where’s the frisbee I got for Nana?”

Rolling her eyes even as she appreciated the palm he settled at her back while waiting for an answer, Charlie asked dryly.  “The one that’s too big for her to carry?  I put it in my top dresser drawer.”

“She can’t play with it there,” he observed logically, bussing a kiss over her cheek and speaking to Lilah on his way out of the room.  “Nice dress, Kentucky.  Happy Thanksgiving and hide the suckerpoodles for me, would ya?”

Lilah’s smile was wide and dazzling, and sunlit eyes danced with mirth.  “Happy Turkey Day, honey.  It’s already done.”

With an acknowledging wave of his hand, Jon disappeared out the door and around the corner. 

“What the hell is a suckerpoodle?”

Giggling as she watched Charlie continue to massacre vegetables into paper-thin slices, she explained.  “Snickerdoodles.  It was the only reason he’d tolerate me at family gatherin’s in the beginnin’.  He loved my cookies, but bein’ the belligerent ass he is, Jon pretends not to remember what they’re called.  Got stuck on ‘suckerpoodles’ for some damn reason.”

Cookies.  Christ on a crutch.  She was going to have to learn to bake, too?  Or…  Lilah was a stay-at-home mom.  Maybe Charlie could just contract a weekly supply, because she’d be doing well to get an edible meal on the table.  Screw baking.

“We’ll need to talk about that more later,” she declared, pulling a huge salad bowl close to tear leaf lettuce into it at the same time Luke wandered in with a bottle of wine in hand. 

“Gobble, gobble.”  Using two bottles of wine to emulate turkey wings, he “flew” into the kitchen with a wink at Lilah before plunking a red and a rosè on the counter beside the salald-in-progress.  “How are you two beautiful ladies doing on this heartfelt holiday?”

The two beautiful ladies exchanged a glance and adopted identical smirks.

“Somebody got laid last night,” Charlie drawled, secretly delighted that Luke and Lucy were still getting along well.  He was a good guy more often than an ass and deserved better than what his ex-wife had done.  .  “Give the wine to Jon.  That’s his responsibility, along with showing his boys how to deep fry a turkey in the yard.  I’ve got a caterer on standby just in case something goes wrong.”

Her brother wasn’t daunted by her skepticism, though.  Brown eyes went wide with interest and he hooked fingers around the necks of both wine bottles.  “Deep fry?  Which way is the side yard?”

Pointing to the door and laughing, she qualified her answer by saying, “He went upstairs a few minutes ago but is probably in the family room now.  Tell him the turkey is smoking, would you?”

Lilah’s head whipped around to peer through the French door, but there was nothing to see because Charlie had fabricated the smoking turkey to get Jon back in the kitchen.  She was actually more smitten with him now than in the beginning and knowing that he could be summoned at a moment’s notice anytime she wanted to see him hadn’t gotten old yet. 

Unlike Lilah, Luke hadn’t sought proof but hauled ass to find the head of the house. 

“Have I told you how much I’m gonna enjoy havin’ you in this family?”

Grinning at Lilah’s quietly chuckled question, Charlie covered the salad with plastic wrap and began tidying up the area.  She’d never know what prompted the overt honesty in her reply.  “No, but it can’t be as much as I’m going to enjoy being here – even if my boyfriend complimented your dress and has no idea what I’m wearing.”

The complaint was a light one that carried no weight.  When it mattered to her that he noticed clothes, he did, and today’s jeans and a soft chocolate sweater weren’t meant to wow.  It was just funny he’d noticed the turkey dress and sounded sincere in his approval of it. 

“That’s only because of you,” came Lilah’s derisive snort.  “He’s playin’ nice because you make him happy.  I see you’re still stuck on that boyfriend thing, though, huh?”

What was with everyone’s fixation about her marital status?

“You prefer I use the term ‘lover’?”

That tongue-in-cheek question earned her another snort and shake of the head.  “I pray for you all the time, askin’ the Lord to get you past this.   Don’t tell him I said this, but even though Jon’s a contrary ass on occasion, he’s one of the best men I know.  He won’t do you dirty.”

“Talk about your fuckin’ back-handed compliments.”  They both jumped at the statement that coincided with Jon’s sudden presence in the room as he strode toward the door with a sideways glance at them.  “Remind me not to let you near the PR people, Kentucky.  And my turkey isn’t smoking.   Was that supposed to be funny?”

“I won’t be goin’ anywhere near PR folks.  Lyin’ sacks of crap, the lot of them.”

As Jon flipped his sister-in-law a middle finger, Charlie hung the kitchen towel on its rack and skirted the island to join him by the door.  She slid both arms around his waist, looking up into suspicious eyes and smiling demurely. 

Lilah was right about him being a good man – and a contrary ass, but he needed that side to him.  His kindness, generosity, good looks, talent, ambition and love for family would piss everybody off if he didn’t temper it with some imperfections. 

If he was perfect, she would… Well, she’d hate him.

Charlie loved the man he was, even when they were screaming at one another.  It was simply another outlet for his passion for life and everything in it.  How could she hate that, especially when it was directed at her?

“Your turkey isn’t smoking,” she admitted with a kiss to his chin.  “I just needed to tell you something.”

The suspicion didn’t wane from brilliant blue irises.  If anything, it multiplied under the cynically arched eyebrow that put creases in his forehead.  “What?”

“That I’m thankful for you.  Today and every day.”

“Awwww!”  Charlie caught a glimpse of Lilah clasping both hands to her heart.  “I swear to goodness, you two are so much in love it makes my heart hurt.”

“This is not a fuckin’ romance novel.”  Jon’s denial was growled without averting his gaze from Charlie’s.  “It’s real life.  It just happens to be a good goddamn life.”

Ladies and gentlemen, there’s the Thanksgiving version of Jon Bon Jovi’s artistic soul, tied with a crude motherfucker bow.

137: Thankful

November 26

Thanksgiving morning was still young, with milky light just beginning to trickle through the windows in Jon’s New Jersey bedroom.  It was dim enough to let Charlie knew she could sleep a while longer, but bright enough to hurt eyes that squinted at the bedside clock. 

It was already six-thirty, when it seemed like just minutes ago that she went to sleep beside Jon.

 Rolling over in the big four-poster bed, she found that he was still asleep, sprawled on his back with one arm flung up to expose an underarm while his legs were bent into a figure-four under the blankets.  Silver hair stood straight out on one side and he breathed through lips that were barely parted, probably because of the stuffy nose he usually had when waking.  It didn’t seem to distress him, though, since his whiskered features were perfectly relaxed.  

He was comfortable in his own bed, and even with the ravages of sleep making him just a man instead of Jon Bon Jovi, he was still beautiful.

He was also hers. 

Easing slowly toward him, the warmth stirring in Charlie’s lower belly held a cool swirl of regret over rebuffing his advances last night.  He sought her out after the kids were in bed, finding her in the corner of the living room that she was using for a makeshift studio for the holiday weekend.  Seducing hands snuck under her sweatshirt, fondling as he asked her to come to bed because he was horny.

So close to finishing the governor’s portrait, Charlie put him off for “just a couple minutes”.  That couple of minutes had turned into a couple of hours, and when she finally set aside the brushes it was two in the morning.  By that time, he was bundled under the covers and snoring softly, so she snuck in beside him and whispered an unheard, “Sweet dreams, baby.”

Despite her limited amount of sleep, she was alert and aching for the physical intimacy that went with the emotional connection that was growing stronger.   

They’d just come through the best eight consecutive days of their relationship.  Not one time since the night he ordered her to sell the brownstone had they argued, and she found him to be more focused on appreciating the relationship they had rather than the one they didn’t.

That was a very big deal.  It alone was worth celebrating, but that wasn’t all she appreciated about the past week.  Everything was good.

Daylight hours were spent independently, for the most part.  The notable exception was Monday lunch with Millie, who finally agreed to let Vince bring her out to Jersey for Thanksgiving dinner.  Charlie was delighted to know that their friend would be celebrating the holiday in a warm house among friendly faces, and Jon was hoping that she’d stay for the entire weekend.  They’d have to see how the independent woman responded to that later. 

No matter that their days sent them scattering in different directions, their nights always ended in bed together, and at least half their evenings involved dinner with anywhere from two to six of their kids. 

In fact, on one of those evenings Jon ate her rubbery, over-garlicky shrimp scampi and defended it to the kids while doing so.  It was only after that he told her how lousy it was – when she caught him sneaking a slice of the pizza that Noah made after declaring “that crap” inedible.

If that wasn’t love, there was no such thing. 

Charlie had even good-naturedly suffered through the embarrassment of her oldest son giving her a cooking lesson last week.  What could she say?  The kid knew his pizza. 

Although Caleb didn’t get directly involved, he hung around to watch and she took that as another baby step in the right direction.  He was still slowly working through his anger and grief, and Charlie had no option but to give him time, space and love while carrying on with their normal lives.

She caught Jon talking to him while they were both cleaning up the shrimp scampi dishes, although he wouldn’t tell her what the conversation was about.  The only thing her boyfriend would say was that Caleb was “getting there” and everything would be fine – and she accepted that without further questioning. 

Talk about a big deal.  She didn’t accept anything from anyone without question, and that included Jon up until this week.  Not to say that she was going to follow behind him like a puppy, but she trusted him more than anyone else.  Owen may have had her hand in marriage, but Jon had the rest of her in real life.  That meant so much more.

Seeking out the physical closeness that was an extension of the emotional bond forging between them, Charlie ducked her head under the covers and scooted down the mattress while easing toward Jon’s side of the bed.  There was no need to worry about him not being accessible since he slept without clothes, and she paused just short of touching his naked form.  Taking a deep breath, she savored the subtle musk that was unique to him. 

She always heard that memories were most closely associated with the sense of smell, and she was living proof.  Oddly enough, it didn’t hold true for the cologne he sometimes wore, but catching a whiff of Jon or one of his leather jackets conjured up a scrapbook full of memories for Charlie.  All of those memories were good ones, and some were good enough to be very bad – wicked and carnal in a way that made her squirm. 

There were times when it took nothing more than an innocent hug to arouse her.  Those muscular arms around her, creating a heat that carried his scent was enough to make her do weird things – like licking the crook of his neck.  Initially, it was to see if he tasted as good as he smelled, but then Charlie wasn’t happy until she’d tasted all of him.  That was fine with Jon as long she let him do his own share of licking, usually until she screamed. 

She was embarrassed to admit that scene had played out more than once, and being trapped in the sheets with that lusty fragrance was arousing her.  With her mouth practically watering, she let her nose drag delicately over the smoothness of his hip for a closer sniff while working her way to the sleepy part of him that she wanted to waken. 

Jon was having the best frigging dream. 

The counselor was squatting in front of him, looking just like she had the night she was going to surprise him with dinner from Juliana’s.  Hair was messily pinned, and she wore that short ‘fuck me’ dress, which was riding up over the round part of her ass as she squatted on the strappy high heels that made him as horny as a the new issue of Hustler.

He could feel her breath against his groin, and Jon’s dick stirred in anticipation of being touched by the fingertips that were sneaking through the hair on his thigh.  Impatience made his legs restless, and he shifted from one foot to the other.

“Easy, baby.”

The words were a summer breeze against the burgeoning hardness that he wanted to bang her tonsils with, but she was being evasive.  Dressed like that, with her sexy ass hanging out, she should be deep-throating him like a pro.  When he reached down to fist hands into her hair and came up empty, Jon frowned without opening his eyes. 

What the hell?

It took a few seconds, Jon did manage to comprehend he was lying on his back instead of standing – and that the little kitten licks around the base of his cock were no dream.  Lifting a sleepy head from the pillow, he squinted in the dim light and took a survey of his surroundings. 

New Jersey.  Home. 

If he was home, then…

Movement beneath the blankets caught his attention, and he saw that there was a woman-sized lump.   When his hard-on slipped into a hot, wet orifice, he finally understood what his dick knew all along – the counselor was giving him morning head. 

“Fuuuck,” he breathed, falling back into the pillow.  There was the gentle knead of her hand on his thigh as her other one performed a more intimate kneading.  Between the erotic dream, her massage of his balls and the steamy mouth slip-sliding up and down his shaft… he feared blowing his load before he really got to enjoy it. 

A morning blow was one of life’s delicacies.  Rarer than a bottle of Dom or any fucking caviar in existence, he’d eat pork and beans the rest of his life if it meant waking up to this every day.  He had no idea what he’d done to deserve it, but one did not look a gift blow in the mouth – he fucked it in the mouth.

Grabbing one corner of the covers Jon flicked them back to reveal a pink-cheeked woman whose rich cloud of hair formed a dark halo around her face.   

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she purred, her pink tongue flicking over his slit before she bent forward to take him deep again. 

“No fucking kidding.”  His voice was morning-hoarse from lack of use and thick with sleep.  The only thick thing that concerned him at the moment was the cock she was swallowing and the creamy chaser that was sure to follow.

He rolled his hips to help out with that, devilish fingers destroying her halo and getting tangled for the effort.  It had him pulling her hair harder than intended, and with one dark brow arching, she traded her mouth for her loose fist to warn, “Easy there, caveman, unless you’d rather jack yourself off.”

The muscles in his lower abdomen contracted with desire. 

Fuck, he loved when she talked dirty. 

“Suck it,” was his growled demand, easing the offending hand from her hair to smooth over it. 

The thought of coming in her mouth took him five steps closer to making it a reality.  The wickedness in her eyes as she sheathed him with the perfect pink ‘O’ of her lips was another two steps, and he briefly considered stopping this so that he finish this by banging her into the mattress. 

They slept together every night during the past week but only had sex once.  It’s why he sought her last night.  This house was bigger than the brownstone, and they wouldn’t have to worry about noise. 

Rather than a satisfying orgasm, Jon had gotten his first taste of what it felt like to take a back seat to someone else’s work.  The understanding of what his loved ones dealt with on a regular basis had been humbling, but if the counselor was going to make it up to him like this every time, he had no complaints.  Not a fucking one.

When she popped the swollen head out of her mouth to place a soft kiss on the end, he wished he had a camera.  Morning sex had just moved up on his favorite list of things to do, and when she took his slick cock and slipped it between her titties… It hit the top of the list.

“Sorry about last night,” the sexy vixen apologized breathily.  “I didn’t mean to be so long.”

“Mm.”  Hips lifted of their own accord, trying to find the friction and pace that would grant his release.  “Make me come and it’s forgotten.”

Her smile was beautiful, and when Chiara inhaled him in one swift movement, Jon resorted to using his mental camera to capture the sensual scene.

Mahogany hair splayed over his thighs, tickling him as puffy pink lips bobbed up and down his length.  High cheekbones were the precise shade of arousal.   Soft eyes overflowed with love while lust rode roughshod over him.

She was the Mona Lisa erotica, and this vision would be the one he recalled on those lonely nights spent in hotel rooms.  Maybe it would make him miss her, but maybe he would just be reminded of what waited for him at home.

Whose home?

Orgasm was too close to pay attention to that nagging fucking voice, and Jon belligerently ignored it. 

"That's it, baby.  Almost there….”

136:The Couch

Jon vigilantly kept his features schooled into a neutral expression as his words sank in with the counselor, because they were visibly sinking.  Like a brick.  The terror in her eyes was a living testimony that filled him with a sense of déjà vu.  It was only a few days ago that he’d last seen it. 

When he proposed. 

Unlike then, though, this wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction on his part.  He’d spent a couple days thinking about the unlikely series of events that had him sleeping alone on the other side of the city and wondering why the two very expensive pieces of jewelry she wore weren’t filling that empty space inside him.  The only conclusion he could come to was that they weren’t enough, so he was taking another step. 

Not only figuratively but literally - to approach the terrified woman who stared at him as though he was some kind of monster.

“Take a deep breath, Chiara.  I’m not asking you to move tonight or even tomorrow.”

The reassurance that was supposed to soothe away the terror worked like a dream.  Now her eyes were spitting fire and the way she balanced on the balls of wide-planted feet may indicate that Jon was about to lose an eye to one of those very sexy high heels.  With her kickboxing training, it was within the realm of possibility, so he continued to cautiously approach until he was within arm’s reach – and too close to get kicked.

“But you are asking me to walk away from a home that I love – that I spent months restoring – so that I can move into an apartment that’s too small for us and all our kids.  Tell me what that’s supposed to prove.  My stupidity?”

“Most of those kids don’t really live with us, but that’s fine.  We’ll buy a bigger place,” Jon compromised smoothly, refusing to acknowledge the rhetorical questions that followed.  They were pits of quicksand waiting to suck him into an argument when all he wanted to do was move in with his girlfriend. 

The counselor’s Italian upbringing shone in the way her hands danced animatedly in the air as she spoke.  “That doesn’t tell me what ‘proof’ this is supposed to provide.  Is it supposed to ensure that I never shut you out again?  Because a million men sleep on the couch in any given year because of communication issues with their wives and girlfriends.  It happens to everybody!   You’re being ridiculous just because you slept in a very comfortable bed across town instead of the couch downstairs.”

Biting the inside of his jaw, he made himself consider what she was saying but he couldn’t buy it. 

“You’re leaving yourself an out whenever you want to run away,” he corrected with confident arms folded over his chest.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”  Her hands – both curved and ready to choke – came within inches of his neck to shudder in frustration before being tossed helplessly in the air.  “Why are you so focused on my leaving instead of the shit that I’m doing to stay?  Don’t you see this dress and high heels?  I was coming to seduce you because I don’t want to leave.  I quit my job, my kitchen is a battle scene from Attack of the Killer Tomatoes – and look at my ears for crying out loud!”

So she was coming to fuck him.  So what?  He’d already told her it was going to take more than a hard-on to fix this.  The job thing was to her benefit not his and, as for the mess in the kitchen, Jon saw it on his way through but had no idea how it related to this discussion.  If he couldn’t make that connection, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to fit ears into the picture.

His eyes flicked up to her earlobes in search of a clue, but there was nothing.  They were bare of anything beyond two sets of piercing holes that revealed she wasn’t wearing earrings.  What was that supposed to mean to him?  He was just a fucking man!

“I’m supposed to know the significance of you not wearing earrings?  Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, dumbass,” she huffed, throwing her eyes dramatically before flinging both hands in the same direction.  “You’re supposed to know the significance of the only jewelry I’m wearing – your proof of ownership.  The monogamy bracelet that I let you – wanted – you to cuff me with and the ring that sends the universal ‘hands off’ message, according to you.”

Glancing at the white diamonds haloing her right wrist and the canary ones sparkling on her left ring finger, Jon nodded briefly.  He could concede one very small point in her favor now that the gesture was explained.

“What does that have to do with the kitchen?”

There was a deep sigh as she directed her eyes to the Disney mural behind him and folded her arms to mirror his pose.  “I’m learning to cook.”

Okayyy…?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Brown eyes snapped away from the starry London night, crackling with impatience as they radiated the belief that he really was a dumbass.  “I’m forty-five years old.  Do you think I suddenly got a burning desire to be Rachel Ray?  That would be an emphatic ‘hell no’, in case I actually need to provide an answer.  I’d be perfectly happy with salads and mooching off my brother’s restaurant, but with me not working twelve-hour days anymore… I thought I should maybe be able to make us a nice dinner once in a while.  That you might appreciate it.”

The world is cracked

The sky is torn

So much less

Means so much more

Most days he couldn’t remember the lyrics to anything but his greatest hits without a prompter, but that teaching moment popped out of nowhere with full accompaniment.  He could hear the melancholy guitar chord and the quietly driving beat of the keys as plainly as if he was wearing an ear monitor.  More importantly, he heard the true meaning of the words.

Chiara owned a piece of real estate that she loved, and he’d come up with the symbolism that equated it to an escape hatch.  While he was trying to nail it shut to keep her from escaping, she was busy weaving a spider web of commitment.  There was no grand gesture, but there was an ever-growing network of small ones that were intertwined with a complexity that he’d only just noticed.

When it was deliberately pointed out to him. 

If you give her the time and trust, she might weave a safety net strong enough to support us both. 

True to form, though, he couldn’t simply admit to being wrong.  He had to blame it on lack of information instead of his lack of perception.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you by cooking Christmas dinner for our families,” the counselor spat out bitterly.  “Today was my first lesson, and it clearly didn’t go well, but I made the decision to do this before our Disney trip so I was following through.  Does making plans that far in advance sound like I expect to be going anywhere, Jon?  Honestly?”

His arms slowly unfolded so that Jon could notch his hands on his hips with a frown.  It sometimes took a wrecking ball to get through his thick head but he did eventually get the point.  Chiara was moving forward in their relationship even if the steps she was taking weren’t traditional or the ones he would choose.   She was trying, and he had to accept – and appreciate – that. 

They’d come a long way in a short time and they’d likely go a lot further if he’d open his eyes to see the natural progression instead of trying to force it.

“I’m not going across town again.  Next time I’ll sleep on the fucking couch.”

Her eyes fell shut on a chuckle, and loose tendrils swayed with her head as she muttered under her breath, “And once again, we reach the limits of your patience with anything that involves an emotion other than anger.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”  The counselor swung around to snatch up her little pocketbook from the bed.  “I’m not selling my house.  Figure out a way to deal with that while I go pick up dinner.”

God, when was anything with this woman ever going to be easy?  He fucked up and she wanted his goddamn beating heart on a silver platter.  Well, he wasn’t just going to hand it over, but Jon had to give up something unless he really planned to sleep on that fucking couch.

When she would’ve stalked by him, Jon hooked her by the elbow and spoke quietly into her ear.  “I’m sorry.  I was wrong.  Thank you.  That cover everything you wanted to hear?”

Swiveling her head, she lifted resigned eyes to say, “Yes, Jon.  Those platitudes resolve every disagreement in the world.  I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Goddammit!”  He held tight when she tried to jerk away from him.  “I was wrong!  I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to the little stuff, but now that I realize… I understand and appreciate it, so thank you.”

It wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, and it sure as well wasn’t Keats, Dickinson or any of those other romantic poets.  Hell, it wasn’t even Poe.  He knew it without the tight pucker of disapproval on her mouth, but to his surprise she only had one objection. 

“You forgot love.”

Little did she know that it was only love that allowed him to admit he was wrong.  Without love, he wouldn’t give a shit about the little stuff, much less appreciate it.  In yet another random lyrical lesson, “nothing would be nothing without love”.

“No, I didn’t.  There’s no forgetting the way I feel about you – I just wish you’d fucking remember it.”

“It’s hard to remember you love me when you don’t trust me.”

The soft explanation hit him low in the gut, and his head dropped back as he wondered why relationships had to be so frigging complicated.  He loved her and wanted to be with her.  That was pretty much the beginning, middle and end of it all.  Why the fuck did women have to overthink everything?

He lifted his head to zero in on her eyes. 

“Because I want to know you’re coming home to me, I don’t trust you?  Because I want to sleep in the same bed as you, I don’t trust you?  Because I want to reach out and pull you close in the middle of the night, I don’t trust you?  Now you’re the one focusing on the wrong thing.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded after a moment of thought.  “But let me make one thing clear.  As long as this bracelet is on my wrist, I’m coming home to you.  Okay?”

As a guy from Jersey who lived and died by his word, her word meant everything to him.  It wasn’t their names side by side on a deed or a marriage license, but today, it was just as good.  Who knew?  It might even be enough to dissuade thoughts of those more traditional steps.  Jon would have to wait and see.

He leveraged his grip on her arm, using it to haul Chiara close and taking her lips in a kiss that might communicate his feelings in a way she could appreciate.  Slow, sweet and sultry, the melding of their mouths wasn’t meant to convey desire but the emotion she’d twice accused him of avoiding.  He loved her, and someday Jon might give her the flowery words that went with that, but for now he used his lips to tell her everything without saying a word.

There was only one thing that couldn’t be relayed through his kiss, and it was something that he quietly promised afterward.    

“I won’t ask you to sell the house again.”

135: And Just Like That...

November 17

“Fuck!”  Charlie unceremoniously dropped the pot in the sink, pasta sauce and all.  The splatter decorating everything within a three-foot radius would be a hassle to clean up later, but the jangle of metal on metal was the most satisfying thing she’d experienced in days.

“Damn, Charlie.  How hard is it to remember to stir from the bottom?”

Slitting perturbed eyes at Dominick over her left shoulders, she flipped the faucet on and flooded the stench of singed tomato until there was nothing left in the bottom of the pot but a thick crust that may never come out.  A hundred-dollar pot that her brother said she “needed” because it heated evenly and would reduce the chance of burning.

So much for that.

“Bite me, Dom.  I hate this, I’m bad at it and it’s one more thing to make me crazy this week.  We just had to start with Ma’s pasta sauce, didn’t we? So you could make fun of me for screwing it up.”

Folding brawny arms over his aproned chest, he regarded her with disgust.  “We started with it because I figured you couldn’t screw up that bad twice in a lifetime.  For Christ’s sake, you’re Italian!  Why can’t you keep from frying the sauce?”

“Do not yell at me!  I don’t need one more angry man in my life right now, okay?”

There were already three men filling that role. 

The climate in the house hadn’t changed much by the time the boys left for Stanford on Sunday.  Although grudgingly speaking to her, Caleb was still ticked at Charlie, and Noah was continually berating him for it.  They had two more days before their commercial flight back to the East Coast and if they had the same attitudes during their entire Fall break, she was going to lose her mind.

Their imminent return was the source of Jon’s irritation with her.  After asking him to stay in his own apartment Saturday night and being a cranky and withdrawn bitch when he came back on Sunday night, he’d decided to give her some breathing room to “figure shit out” since she wasn’t talking to him about it.  The only exception to that was last night, when he called to offer a flight home for the boys. 

It was a lovely gesture, but Charlie had just gotten off the phone with the funeral home that had Owen’s body, and they were pressuring her to decide on his final arrangements.  With his parents gone and no siblings or any family to speak of...  That left her in charge and with the boys at each other’s throats, she didn't know what to do.

Rather than telling him that, Charlie let her frustration bleed over into the refusal of Jon’s offer.  Every time she thought of snapping that getting her sons home was one thing she could actually manage to do by herself, it made her cringe. 

When she recalled his cold agreement and declaration that he’d talk to her when she wasn’t possessed by a “motherfucking demon”, cringing didn’t cover it.  Shuddering nausea was closer.

So, naturally, what did she do?  Rather than going to his place to explain and apologize for her behavior, she called Dom and asked him to come by for her first cooking lesson today.  Jon may not know it was happening or that it was for him, but suffering through Kitchen Hell was her self-imposed penance. 

“Maybe stop pissing people off, then,” her brother suggested in all his infinite wisdom, which pissed Charlie off. 

He knew what was going on with the boys, how heavily it was weighing on her and that it was the reason she wasn’t on the best terms with Jon, but it didn’t matter.  In the eyes of him and her entire family, she was the argumentative one who couldn’t stand to be wrong.  That automatically made her to blame.

“Sometimes it’s not my fault, you know!”

Unruffled by the fire-breathing dragon routine he’d seen a million times, Dom shrugged and reached behind him to untie the apron.  “Sometimes it’s not.  I agree there’s not much you could do about the boys, but as for Jon?  It’s totally your fault.  The man has gone above and beyond for you.”

The dish cloth flew from her hand into the bottom of the sink with a wet splat that didn’t begin to vent her frustration, so she turned on her brother instead.  “Don’t you think I know that?” 

“Then swallow your damn pride and do your own above and beyond for once!” 

Was there anyone who didn’t think Jon was getting the short end of the stick in this relationship?  She wasn’t that horrible of a person, for God’s sake.  Why did they all consider her some freaking curse that he was bearing? 

“He’s the reason I’m trying to learn to cook, for God’s sake!  You think I’m doing this for myself?  I’d be just as happy on takeout and microwave food for the rest of my life.”

She dumped the water out of the pot and decided to throw the stupid thing away.  Charlie simply wasn’t a Harriet Nelson or a June Cleaver.  It pained her to acknowledge that Roseanne Conner and Peggy Bundy were more her speed.

“Good.  But learn when you’re not so pissed off about doing it,” Dom suggested when turning away from the apron hook.  Crossing the kitchen, he waited for her to turn from the trash can, and then took her face in both his hands to press a kiss to her forehead.  “It’ll be dinnertime soon.  Why don’t you take him something from the restaurant along with a nice bottle of wine?”

It was true to Del Vecchio form – they gave one another hell and expected food to fix it all.  Or maybe that was just the perception of Italians in general?  Whichever it was, Charlie didn’t believe that food was the panacea for all the world’s problems.  It would be nice, but no.

“A little pasta makes it all better?”

He ignored the sarcasm to chuck her under the chin and theorize, “He’s Italian, so it sure as hell can’t hurt.”

She agreed with the laughing shake of her head.  “I guess.”

“Okay, if you’re not buying that, then think of this.”  Somber eyes that had never borne anything but the truth met hers.  “You’re happy with him, so make him happy and admit you’re wrong.  After thirty years of marriage, I can safely tell you that it only hurts for a minute – and the makeup sex is worth it.”

The truth was, it was harder feeling estranged from Jon than it would be to apologize.  He was acclimating her to the feeling of being partners instead of an individual who had to do everything alone.  The only reason she kept trying was that…  Well, it was just the idea that she depended on him when she had so little to give in return. 

He really needed a contract with better terms.

Lifting her eyebrows with a start, Charlie remembered their roller coaster conversation about his recording contract.  It was time to pick up the pieces of her perceived failure and try again to be an equal partner.  She still didn’t think she’d be of much help, and even if she was, it was just a drop in the bucket, but it was something to offer if she got in the door.

If the food and wine didn’t work, wearing the short burgundy dress in the back of her closet – the one whose side-slit made it almost indecent – with slinky black stiletto heels would almost guarantee her entrance.  Add in a heavy dose of makeup and a sexy up-do that begged be torn apart…

 “Thanks, big brother.  You’ve convinced me.”  Bussing his kiss with a cheek, she requested, “Have something ready at the restaurant for me to pick up in about an hour?  And let yourself out.  Love you!”

An hour later, she slicked a final coat of lipstick over her bottom lip and gave herself the once-over, deciding this was as good as it got.  The spaghetti-strap dress clung in all the right places, the heels lifted those places for better access and any more eye makeup would make her look like a hooker.  Pinned up hair made left her unadorned neck feeling naked, but it was just going to have to stay that way because Jon’s jewelry was all she would wear tonight.

The skinny heel twisted easily on the tile when she pivoted to leave the bathroom, and Charlie unscrewed the first pearl stud while walking into the bedroom.  It was carefully put away in the little glass jewelry box on the dresser, followed by the other pearl and both diamonds before the heart-shaped lid sealed them all inside. 

Now to find the black wrap to go over the dress... 

That was easier said than done. 

It wasn’t until she’d flipped through every hanger three times that Charlie remembered she’d last seen it downstairs in the hall closet.  Turning on the ball of her foot, she picked up her little handbag from the bed and moved toward the doorway only to draw up short.

There, lounging in that doorway and looking so sinfully good that she could cry, was Jon.  Dark jeans, black leather and a white t-shirt lent him a James Dean aura, and her heart seized when he cocked an eyebrow to muse, “Guess I should’ve called first.”

“Might’ve been a good idea.”  Her chin lifted to meet his silent inquistion.  “I was on my way out.”

“I see that.  Where ya goin’?” 

The casualness of the question was offset by the tell-tale muscle ticking in his jaw.  Recognizing that he was both irritated and grinding his back teeth, Charlie smiled to herself, feeling normal for the first time since they’d come home from Florida.  

“Dinner.”

“With who?”

Blue irises transformed to a flinty gray that she hadn’t seen in a long time as they skated down her bare arms, and Charlie was smitten with the realization that he was looking to make sure her bracelet and ring were in place.  The instant he located them, satisfaction flickered in his features and love stole her desire to quarrel. 

Instead, she softly murmured, “You.”

“Funny, I don’t remember having plans.”

He didn’t budge, but brawny shoulders relaxed just a bit at her answer and flinty gray softened to heather blue, unwittingly inviting Charlie to step close.  Sneaking a hand under the leather, she found the hard warmth of his chest and skimmed a palm upward until she could curl fingers into the hair at his nape. 

“I was going to surprise you with dinner and wine – and ask you to forgive me.”

"That dress goes a long way toward forgiveness.”

The words weren’t as warm as the skin at his neck, but this was going better than expected, and she tipped up an impish grin when muscular arms unfolded to allow her closer.

“I hoped it would at least get me in the door.”

 Stubbornness prevented him from wrapping those arms around her, and they hung idly at his side.  “Let’s assume you got in the door.  What comes next?”

“We eat…  We drink...”  She let her fingertips trickle along his jaw before coming to trace the bottom edge of his lip.  “We make merry.”

“Try again.”

The sight of that plump lip and the knowledge of what it could do had her mentally enamored, and it was a moment before she registered what he said.  When it did, her eyes darted up to find his guarded and unreadable, and their gazes remained locked for a long, silent moment.

“I’m still mad at you.”  It was him who broke that silence.  “And it’s the kind of mad that doesn’t fuck away, so you’re gonna have to do more than give me a hard-on before this is over.”

Dom says it only hurts for a minute.

Backing away was no effort since he’d never touched her, and Charlie did so with a tilted chin to concede, “Okay.  I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

The arms went crossed over his chest again as Jon sighed.  “Why do I have a feeling that what you’re apologizing for and what I’m ticked about are two different things?”

There was no point in continuing to clutch her handbag, so she moved toward the bed and tossed it in the center while pondering his question but was unable to come up with an answer.  “There’s only one thing I’ve done that warrants an apology, and it’s shutting you out so I didn’t have to admit I’m starting to depend on you.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Whirling on him with bewilderment, Charlie asked, “And what’s another way?”

“You were testing me.  Pushing me to my house while you stayed in yours to see if I’d allow it, or if I was going to ‘hold you hostage’.”

With eyes flying open to the size of frisbees, she shook her head in immediate denial.  “No.  That’s not true.”

It had never crossed her mind.  Not once had she considered herself trapped or wanted/needed to escape.  The only thing going through her mind was taking care of it all so that he didn’t have to.  Because she accepted too much from him already.  That was all. 

Is it?  Or is your inner bitch playing mind games with you?

“It’s not true,” she repeated emphatically to both herself and the main who remained unmoving in the doorway.  The impassive expression made it hard to tell whether he believed her, and he didn’t bother clarifying with actual words.  Jon simply stood there, scrutinizing her in what felt like an attempt to make Charlie squirm.

She was on the verge of demanding that he say something when he tossed his chin along with an insistent, “Prove it.”

“And how in the hell am I supposed to do that?”

With frustration putting Charlie on the edge of a full-blow bitch fit, Jon was the ultimate picture of composure.  It might be the only time she’d ever experienced it during one of their “discussions”, but there was no sign of tension or irritation in his rugged features.  He was almost expressionless when tipping his tousled silver head to one side and evenly decreeing, “Sell your house and move in with me.”

And just like that, the world turned upside down.

134:Tempers Flare

November 14

Jon rolled from one side to his other in the darkness, pulling the blankets up high and reaching out to put an arm over Chiara.  When he encountered nothing but cool sheets and emptiness on her side of the bed, he then pushed onto an elbow to look toward the bathroom door.  The edges of it were just as dark as the rest of the room, giving no indication that she might be in there.

“Fuck.”

The barely breathed epithet registered as nothing more than another intake of air in the silence of – he glanced at glowing numbers on the nightstand – four in the morning.  It was quieter than the air he blew out his nose while throwing back the cozy blankets to go in search of her.

Things had not gone well with the boys.

Both were weary yet wired when arriving at midnight, and Jon’s presence registered as unspoken surprise in both sets of brown eyes until he started dishing out the pizza that their Uncle Dominick left.  At that point, the world could’ve blown up around them and those kids wouldn’t have known the difference because they were so busy inhaling garlic, tomato and pepperoni. 

It was when they slowed down enough to actually breathe that the two adults sat with them at the kitchen island, and Chiara gently broke the news of their father’s death. 

Noah couldn’t have cared less and had several choice words for dearly departed dad, which the counselor scolded him for.  She reminded him about the ball practices and sick days that Owen had always been there for, but Noah fired back with a blast asking about the manipulation days because there were just as many of them.  He hated his father for being a “selfish son of a bitch” and a “poser”, to which Chiara could do nothing but admit that the kid was entitled to his hurt feelings and opinion.

Proud of the way she was handling the situation, Jon kept his mouth shut while she did her mothering thing with Noah.  Calm, rational, understanding and sympathetic to everything the boy said, she also didn’t hesitate to bring up the good things Owen contributed to the boy’s life, and that earned her a gold medal for class in Jon’s book.

It also came back to bite her in the ass with Caleb.

The younger child sat as quietly as Jon, his face nothing but a blank slate that masked all emotion.  Attentive eyes and ears were absorbed everything transpiring between his brother and mother. 

When she gently prodded to ask what he thought, his features remained impassive when coldly relaying that he hated her.  If it wasn’t for her, then his dad wouldn’t have gone to jail and been in a position to be killed by criminals. 

That, in turn, prompted Noah’s name-calling of his younger brother, which Chiara put an immediate stop to.  The removal of “dumb shit” and “clueless asshat” from his vocabulary didn’t slow the criticism in the least; it simply kept it from being quite so colorful. 

He’d personally seen Owen’s treatment of their mom, even though he hadn’t known the severity of it at the time, and reminded Caleb of that.  It was also loudly proclaimed “they’d gotten the same treatment without realizing it” and for his brother to “grow the fuck up”.

The two of them had eventually resorted to shoving one another, and that was the point in which Jon felt obligated to step in. 

He was grateful for the workouts that made it possible to insert himself between two angry young men, backing Noah against the wall and quietly advising that there were no wrong emotions in this.  Each of them was entitled to their feelings, regardless of what they were, and would receive the respect of everyone in the room tonight.   They’d talk about it again tomorrow when things weren’t so raw.

After shooting another venomous glare, the boy nodded to indicate understanding, but that reasoning didn’t do a damn thing to calm his brother.  Caleb shouted long and loud that it didn’t matter if his mother was wearing a ring or not because Jon’s only business in their family was in her pants – and they probably didn’t even wait until Owen was cold before getting married.

Taking his own advice and respecting Caleb’s emotions was a tough pill for Jon to swallow, but he had no choice unless he wanted to make himself a hypocrite.   The only thing he could do was bite out that the boy had better enjoy the one-time pass because Jon never wanted to hear him disrespect his mother like that again.

Obviously unwilling to leave that hanging in the air, Chiara followed up with the fact that no matter how deeply in love she was, there was and would be no marriage.  Once was enough to completely sour her on the institution.  

With both sons falling into sullen silence, she sighed and hugged first one and then the other, reiterating just how much she loved them.  Noah returned the fierce embrace while Caleb only tolerated it, and the counselor suggested they all call it a night.

Except she obviously hadn’t called it a night.   

With jeans buttoned enough to be appropriate if he ran into one of the boys, Jon went in search of his girlfriend.

He’d known when she lay tense and unspeaking beside him in bed that she was upset, but none of the reassurances he gave seemed to help.  She remained stoically withdrawn into herself without letting him in, and Jon had finally fallen asleep in the silence. 

That’s when she slipped out to… where?

The office outside her bedroom was dark and empty, but light filtered up the staircase and Jon followed his instincts downstairs.  There, he found that the source was a single lamp in the living room, where the counselor was sitting with both feet tucked under her as she scratched on the sketchpad in her lap.  On the table was an empty wineglass and a nearly-empty bottle to go with it.

“Hey,” he greeted softly when coming to stand beside the chair and stroke a hand over her tousled head.  “Think you’ll be able to sleep at all tonight?”

Tired eyes lifted to his, and he noted that they were bloodshot from either tears or fatigue as she dredged up an equally tired smile.  “I don’t know.”

“Whatcha drawing?”

Silently turning the sketchpad in his direction, she revealed the scene that conveyed what was going on in her mind as clearly as any verbal explanation ever could. 

Tinkerbell was one of the two most prominent figures on the page, and in her hand was a bloody dagger.  Captain Hook was the other main character, and he was on his knees before her with agony in his eyes and both hands clasped over a bleeding chest.  Off to the side was the younger of the Darling boys, clutching the trademark teddy bear while tears streaked down his face and his older brother choked Hook from behind. 

The whole thing was staged in front of an elaborate representation of Cinderella’s castle, where Peter Pan peered down from a turret.  Jon almost missed the crocodile peeking from the moat with an open ring box on his head.

“Doesn’t take a psychologist to figure that one out,” he observed while continuing to smooth a hand over her hair.  She wasn’t suffering Caleb’s anger well.

Shoulders hunched under one of his black t-shirts when she looked at it and shrugged.  “You probably figured it out before seeing the sketch.”

Letting his hand drop, Jon eased around the chair to sit on the coffee table in front of it and scooted to the very edge.  He reached out to remove the paper and pencil from her bare legs and set them aside to twist back around and fold both of her hands inside his.  “You didn’t do this, Tinkerbell.  Hook was the bad guy here.”

“I know that,” she sighed.  “Logically, I know it.  When your baby points an accusing finger at you, though…  It’s hard to explain logic to your heart.”

He could understand that, having been on the undesirable end of that accusing finger more than once.  At least two of his own children blamed Jon for divorcing their mother.  They’d gotten past it eventually, but there had been an initial need to assign blame. 

“Noah doesn’t feel that way.”

When weary eyes lifted to the ceiling, he saw the dark smudges under them.  “No.  Noah is filled with unhealthy hatred for his father, which will never get resolved now that Owen’s dead.  I need to call Izzie tomorrow and see if she can recommend someone for them to talk to.”

“That’s not a bad idea, but I think they should talk to you again first – when they’re calm.”

Her mute nod was the only response he received before she became mindlessly engrossed in rubbing her finger over his knuckles.  The repetitive action coupled with the focus she gave to his hands told him that something else was going on in her mind.

“Talk to me,” he beseeched.  “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

The thumb went still for a split second before resuming its back and forth pattern, and her mouth drew into a frown. 

“I appreciated you being here, and I don’t think I thanked you.”

Jesus Christ.  Here they went with “you’re not obligated” crap again.  “Chiara-“

“No, I mean it.”  Her irritated eyes were earnest when finding his.  “Your silent support while I did what I thought best.  Your help when it was warranted.  It felt good having you beside me.”

The thought sounded complete, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something still hanging there, unsaid. 

“We’re a team.”  It felt like the eight thousandth time he’d repeated it, but there was nothing more appropriate to say.  “You wanna tell me what else you’re thinking?”

She flicked her attention to the far wall – the one where her brothers’ pictures were.  “As good as it felt, I think maybe you shouldn’t be here this weekend.  It’s going to make a touchier situation even more so if they’re walking on eggshells around you, too.”

That was bullshit, and Jon just barely kept from saying so.  The only thing that held him back was an understanding of just how drained she was, both physically and emotionally. 

“I think you’re too tired to be doing anything besides sleeping.  Come to bed, and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not patronizing,” he huffed, almost as tired as she was.  “I’m being reasonable.  Everything is larger than life in your mind right now, like some damn nightmare.  Get a couple hours’ sleep and it’ll put things in perspective.  If you wake up and still want me to make myself scarce…  I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it?” 

“Yeah.”  He returned the smirk that was tipped up at him, relieved that amusement was outweighing anger.  “Pretty generous of me, don’t you think?”

That was the best she was going to get until he had some more sleep.  Those boys had gotten physical tonight, and while he didn’t think they’d harm their mother, sometimes a man’s voice was heard more clearly than a woman’s.  He’d like to stick close until they were operating something closer to normal. 

“You’re such an ass sometimes.”

Leaning forward he touched laughing lips in a quick kiss.  “No denying it.  Now let’s go to bed while it’s still dark.”