105:Connections

“You’re lucky,” the counselor told him as her sneakers trudged the front steps of her parents’ house.  Similarly attired to him in a black jacket and jeans, her ponytail swished against the leather when she turned to speak over her shoulder.  “Since it was short notice, we aren’t dealing with the entire family.  It will just be my parents and brothers, Izzie and Vivi.  The loud ones.”

Smiling to himself, Jon truthfully didn’t give a damn how loud they were as long as they shared his outrage and indignation.  Chiara sure as hell didn’t seem to anymore.  Ever since talking to the boys, she’d become strangely subdued about the whole thing.  The same woman who was once pissed enough at Owen to use Jon as his voodoo doll stand-in now seemed to not care.

That could be due in part to her kids coming back home, but…  Right was right and wrong was wrong.  Owen was motherfucking wrong, and Jon would appreciate the reinforcement that he suspected her brothers would provide.

“Loud doesn’t bother me,” Jon assured her as they hit the top step of the stoop and he hooked sunglasses into the neck of his black t-shirt. “They’re going to be pissed at Owen, not you or me, and I’m completely on board with that.”

“You don’t know my family,” came her dire warning.  “They’ll be pissed at me, alright.  Then disappointed.  After they get that out of the way, then they’ll move onto Owen.”

He couldn’t stand the unhappiness that was dulling the chocolate of her irises to mud and, as she reached for the handle on the storm door, Jon grabbed her wrist.  “Hey.  I may not know your ‘family’, but I know your brothers and they love you.  Without a doubt.  I can’t imagine that your parents and best friend love you any less.  Stop worrying.”

Doe eyes blinked up at him and she slowly nodded.  “I’ll try, but if it gets too bad, you’re gonna have to do that Superman thing and rescue me.  Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, releasing her wrist and stood back, holding the outer glass door while she crossed the threshold into the house. 

Following behind her, Jon heard the distinctive sounds of a football game on the television as he ensured that both doors were securely closed.  The counselor was moving toward the living room where he could see that her father, Vince and Luke were all lined up on a comfortable beige sofa.  Upon joining her, he found that Dominick occupied one of two black and white armchairs whose fabric matched the curtains.  White, blue, and black cushions and blue were piled on both ends of the couch, wine glasses filled to various levels were scattered on the tables, and all four men were intent upon the game.

“Giants playing?” the counselor asked by way of greeting from the edge of the living room, while Jon stood behind her shoulder. 

“Nah, they’ve got the Monday night game this week.  We’re watching the Bills until the Patriots come on,” her father said, rising.  After giving his daughter a hug, he extended a hand to Jon, who moved around her to accept it.  “I know we met at Vivi’s party, but I have a different perception of how things are now, so I’ll introduce myself again.  Edward Del Vecchio.  Charlie’s dad.”

“Jon Bon Jovi, sir.”  The counselor’s dad was older than Jon by at least a couple of decades, but his grip was stronger than a lot of men he knew.  Owen, in particular. 

Whatever was happening on the screen held the interest of Chiara’s brothers enough to keep them in their seats.  They offered absent waves and greetings while barely glancing away from the screen. 

“Everybody else in the kitchen?” the counselor inquired, sneakered feet making tracks down the hall without bothering to wait for her father’s confirmation.  “I’ll be right back, Jon.”

That left him still standing in the doorway with her father, and Jon shrugged both shoulders up to push hands into his front pockets.  “Bills winning?”

Luke snorted from the sofa.  “Hell, no.  Do they ever?”

“Not a lot,” was his rueful admissions.  The Buffalo Bills weren’t generally known as Super Bowl contenders, but since they were a New York team, he tried to maintain his optimism. 

Reclaiming his seat on the left side of the couch, Edward pointed to the other drapery-matching armchair in the opposite corner of the room from Dom’s.  “Jon, sit.  I know Charlie said she has something to tell us and that’s why you’re here today, but I want to talk to you.”

Fifity-three years old.  That’s how old Jon was, and as he sat on the edge of the indicated chair, he was still a little nervous about being grilled by his girlfriend’s dad.  It wasn’t like he had anything to hide or be ashamed of – that hadn’t happened over twenty years ago – but there was still the remnants of a teenage boy inside him wondering if her father would deem him inadequate for Chiara. 

He hoped not.  Edward’s opinion would be valued, but if it came back as unfavorable, that wouldn’t be enough to send Jon packing.  The counselor’s opinion was the only one with that power, and even then, she would have to prove that she was damn serious about it.  An argument wasn’t enough to do the trick.

Obviously.

“My sons tell me you love Charlie,” Edward remarked while turning down the volume on the television and shushing those same sons’ complaints.  “And that they think you’ll be good for her.”

“Sorry, dude.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he responded to Luke’s apology comfortably and flicked a smile in that direction before addressing the Del Vecchio patriarch.  “That’s right, sir, and I’m glad to hear I pass inspection with her brothers.  I know they want what’s best for her.”

“We all do,” was his flat proclamation.  “She’s put up with that damn Canuck way too long – probably because I told her to do the right thing and not embarrass the family, when the truth is… If it weren’t for Noah and Caleb, her mother and I would have mourned this marriage from the start.  Do you have kids?”

It sounded like Edward was already harboring some guilt over the counselor’s life and marriage, and it made Jon sympathetic.  When the real reasons were revealed today, he had a feeling this man was going to beat himself up for a long time to come.

“I have a daughter and three sons.”

“Good.  Then you understand the regret that comes when your children follow your selfish advice.  I’ve seen my daughter unhappy long enough.  You cause any further unhappiness and I’ll ensure that you pay for it.  I may be retired, but I still have NYPD connections that I won’t hesitate to use.  We clear on that?”

“Christ, Dad,” Luke chimed in with disgust.  “Don’t you think you should’ve done the heavy-handed father thing the first time around?  Charlie knows what she’s doing, so lay off.”

A slow, easy smile crept over Jon’s face.  The revelation that Edward was NYPD, too – and that he didn’t seem to mind pulling some strings to ensure justice – far outweighed his overbearing father speech. 

“Crystal clear, sir.  I just wonder if you might consider using those connections to ensure that Owen pays for what he’s done.”

He had everyone’s attention now.  Luke and Edward trained hawk-like gazes on him, while Vince and Dominick both sat up a little straighter in their seats.  All of them were poised with anticipation.

“You wanna give us a little more than that?” Vince demanded, unsurprisingly.  Chiara’s middle brother was as uptight as ever, but seeing as it was warranted this time around, Jon chose not to let it get under his skin.

“I’d like to, but I can’t.  Not yet.  Chiara has to talk to you all first.”

“Charlie!”  Dominick’s voice filled the house with the power of a sonic boom as he shifted his prosthetic leg to scoot to the edge of his seat.  “Get your ass in here!”

In less than a minute, the counselor was entering the room, having exchanged her leather jacket for an apron and followed closely by Izzie.  “What in the hell are you bellowing about?”

“Whatever you’ve got to say to the family, say it now.”

Her lips pursed into a pucker of disapproval at the decree, and simmering cocoa eyes shot daggers at Jon.  She clearly thought something he said prompted the command performance and she wasn’t happy about being rushed into it.  He hated that she now felt rushed, but he wasn't sorry to get this out of the way.  

Completely unbothered by her pique, he propped both forearms on his knees and philosophized, “Might as well get it over with, Counselor.”

“I was hoping to get a couple of glasses of wine in me – and them – first.”

It wasn't a case of being rushed that had her piqued.  The restless way she reached for her cross pendant and ran it back and forth over its fine chain revealed that she was unnerved, and he recalled her prophesy from the porch.   She truly believed it was her that the family would be angry with before Owen took center stage.

“Chiara.”  Commanding the attention of her unsettled eyes, he spoke into them as though no one else was in the room.  “The hard part is already over.  Everybody here loves you, but if gets to be too much, all you have to do is say the word.  I will not let anybody else hurt you – even your family.”

“Hey, what the hell –“

“Stifle it, Vince.”  Izzie’s command was immediate and left no room for argument.  “He knows what she needs.  Let him give it to her.”

Jon heard the counselor’s best friend, but his focus remained on the woman he fell further in love with every time she stuck out her chin and defied adversity. 

Like now.

“Izzie, would you get Ma and Vivi, please?”  Still holding his eyes captive, the counselor squared her shoulders and crossed the room to him.  “It’s time to confess my sins.”

After the briefest of kisses, she assumed a seat on the footstool in front of his chair and Jon slid a comforting hand up to knead shoulders that were as rigid as her spine, murmuring, “One more time, baby.  That’s all.”

The silken ponytail shifted over the back of her blouse as the counselor gave a silent nod.  Her tension was palpable under his touch and it made him nuts that he couldn’t simply take it away.  His job here today was to stand back and let her do this the way she saw fit – and be ready to step in if she needed him to.