62 - Walk Like a Man

“First of all,” Petey said quietly, “She’s not your wife anymore, Jon, and hasn't been for a while.”

The bottle hit the counter with a bang.  “How do I know this hasn’t been going on for years?” he demanded churlishly.  This had been gnawing at him for almost three days now.  Jon knew he was being over-the-top, but the whole thing had festered to the point that he had to get it out of his system.  Petey seemed to always be bearing the brunt of his worst moods lately, and he felt like a shit taking this out on her, but she was here and she was asking for it.

“Secondly,” she went on as though he hadn’t spoken.  “What makes you so sure something is going on between them?”

He snorted rudely, propping both fists on the bar and glaring at her.  “Because on Christmas Day I walked into the kitchen and found them trying to swallow each other’s faces.”

The delicate grimace that flitted across her face made him feel pathetic.  She was pitying him now.  He didn’t fucking need pity.

“Okay,” she sighed.  “Why don’t you take a minute and think about this logically, Jon?”

“Little Miss Logic,” he sneered meanly, feeling bad even as he said the words.  “Everything always has to follow rules of logic in order in your little OCD world.”

“Right now it sounds like you could use a little logic.  You’re bordering on hysterical.”

“I’m not fucking hysterical!  I’m pissed!  There’s a marked difference, in case you didn’t know!”  He couldn’t take the frustration anymore.  The combination of Dot/Tony and the conundrum of Petey was too much.  He hurled the empty highball glass across the room.  Sadly, he felt no better when it shattered against the far wall.

The last piece of glass had no more tinkled to the floor than she was behind the bar with him, pushing at his chest.  “Dammit, look at yourself!” she demanded, furious violet eyes staring up at him.  “You should be embarrassed!  The great Jon Bon Jovi who can make any deal work!”  Her mocking laughter rankled in his ears.  “Have you done anything besides feel sorry for yourself since you found out?  Did you stop to think about anything else?  Did you stop to think that maybe – maybe – something positive could come out of this?”

Jon’s back was against the wall and the little spitfire pushed at him with each accusatory question. 

“What did they say when you walked in on them?  Huh?”

His face contorted into an ugly scowl.  “I didn’t let them know I was there.”

“What?” 

He refused to back down from her condemnation.  “It was Christmas for Chrissake!  What was I supposed to do?  Blow up in front of the entire fucking family and ruin my kids’ Christmas with the news that Tony is now Uncle Daddy?”

Petey’s hand rubbed wearily across her forehead and she took a step back, her shoulders sagging just a bit.  “No, of course not.  But have you talked to either one of them since then?”

“No.”  He stepped around her and reached for the vodka bottle.

“Stop it.”  She slapped his hand away from the bottle.  “That isn’t helping the situation or your mood.  If you want to be numb, go run on the damn treadmill until you can’t move, but quit with the drinking.”

“The treadmill doesn’t numb my mind,” he muttered obstinately, but shoved aside the vodka without opening it.

God, he was breaking her heart – again, but in a totally different way.  She was going to regret this, but she couldn’t let him suffer through this alone.  Who knew how long he would stay here wallowing and throwing things if she did.

Quietly releasing a pent up breath and a bit of her irritation, she nudged at him until he angled around to face her.  Petey didn't saying anything at first, she just slid her arms around his waist, wrapping him up in what she hoped was a comforting hug.  He only hesitated a moment before he reciprocated and looped his arms around her back, with an easy squeeze.

“Listen to the OCD chick for a minute,” she implored softly, turning her face into his neck and gently stroking along the tense, knotted muscles of his back.  “The first thing I want you to do is to assume – just for a minute – that this is a recent development.”

“But-“

“No.”  Her ponytails shook against his bare chest.  “Assume.  Just for a minute.”

The air left his lungs and he nodded, arms tightening around her even more firmly.

“If neither one of them has betrayed you, then what’s the worst thing about this?  Are you worried that he won’t be good to her?  Or to your kids?”

“No,” he grumbled reluctantly.  “He’s good with the kids, he always has been.  And, as far as I know, his girlfriends have never had any complaints about him.”

“Okay, then what’s the problem?”  She tipped her head back so that she could see his face.  “Were you hoping to get back together with Dorothea?”

Jon closed his eyes.  Yes, he’d entertained the notion for a moment at Christmas.  He missed having someone to come home to when the tour was over.  He missed having someone to talk to.  He missed the whole concept of a family.

But realistically, even if it was what he wanted, Dottie wouldn’t go for it.  She’d given him opportunity after opportunity, only to grow more and more frustrated by his lack of commitment and effort.  They’d grown apart and grown into different places.

His marriage was irreparably over, and he could finally admit that.

“No.”

Her little glitter-tipped hands slid from his back to his stomach as she eased away, and he felt the loss at being forced to let her go.  It was the first time she’d ever hugged him, and Petey felt good in his arms.  She fit him. More than that, he thought with astonishment, she soothed him.

“Then call your brother.  Talk to him and see what he has to say, so that you can move past this… this self-destructive indulgence.”

Jon inhaled deeply and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw.  He was almost fifty fucking years old.  It was time to stop pouting and throwing temper tantrums.  Over this, anyway.

“Will you stay until I’m finished?” he asked, feeling uncommonly needy.  

“Yes.”  She smiled indulgently up at him.  “I have to.  I owe it to Stephanie.”

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he nodded and went to grab his phone.  Normally he would make this type of call in the privacy of his office, but he didn’t feel the need this time.  She already knew what was going on and, maybe, her presence would help serve as a reminder to keep himself in check.

The phone screen indicated that he’d missed calls from both Tony and Dorothea in the last ten minutes.  Willing himself to be calm, he collapsed into Petey’s chair with a single tap to the button that would dial his brother.

“Where the hell have you been?” his brother greeted him irritably, in a loud, booming voice.  “I’ve been trying to reach you for three days now.”

“I’ve been busy.  What did you want?”  No, it wasn’t gracious, and he knew if he turned around Petey would be giving him her damned eyebrow, but he was talking.  That’s all he’d agreed to do.

“Listen,” Tony said before pausing.  “I- I don't really know how to say this, and it's probably gonna sound a little wacky, but there's something I wanna talk to you about.  Can you meet me out at Dorothea's house tonight?”

“There’s no point.   I already know what you want to talk about.”  Jon kept his voice moderated to a calm, detached level.  He almost sounded bored to his own ears.  “I saw you, Tony.  On Christmas Day I saw you and Dottie in the kitchen, wrapped around each other so tight that I couldn't tell where one of you ended and the other began.”

Frustrated swearing made its way through the phone line, and Tony scrambled to get his words out.  “Dammit, Jon, we were going to tell you right after Christmas.”

“Stop," Jon interrupted.  "What I want you to tell me is that you weren’t disloyal me while I was married.  That this all happened, like yesterday.  That’s what I want you to tell me.”

He felt a warmth on his bare shoulders are turned to find Petey positioned behind the chair.  Her hands were gently massaging the tense set of his shoulders, and she pressed a quick kiss against his neck.   He appreciated her unspoken support more than he would ever let her know.

“Jesus, no!” was the immediate and vehement response.  “Neither of us was disloyal to you.  I never even thought of her that way while you were married!”

He sagged into the leather cushions as some of the tension seeped out of him, both at Petey’s manipulation and Tony’s assurance. 

“Then when?”

So Tony told him the story of how it had all begun innocently enough somewhere around last Christmas,and Jon listened to the whole thing without interrupting or saying a word.  When it was over, he didn’t have any reason to believe his brother was bullshitting him.  Sincerity rang true in his voice, especially when singing Dottie’s praises. 

“Does anyone else know?”

“No,” Tony was quick to reassure him.  “We wanted you to be the first.  It was only right.”

Petey’s hands diligently worked their way up his neck and into his hair.  Her fingers felt so good.

“Yeah, well thanks for that anyway.”

“Are you pissed?”

Jon leaned into her touch, unable to resist the soothing movement on his scalp.  When was the last time he’d gotten a scalp massage without paying for it?

“I was, but I’m not anymore.”  It was hard to think under the movement of her hands.  Was that the intention all along?  To keep his temper in check by distracting him?  Distraction or not, he still had business to take care of.  “I need to ask you one question, Tony, and you better give me the God's honest truth."  He closed his eyes and asked the one question that really mattered to him now.  "Do you love her?”

There was some restless shuffling of papers, and Jon knew he’d made the situation awkward.  That was fine.  It needed to be awkward.  Tony needed to know that he couldn’t screw around with Dottie and waltz away on a whim.  She might be Jon's ex-wife, but she was a good woman.  One of the best.

“Yeah,” quietly reached his ears after a time.  “I do.  I’m sorry, Jonny.  I swear to God I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Don’t.” He ordered sharply.  “Don’t apologize.  You’re not the one who fucked up with her, I am.  She deserves someone to treat her right, and if you’re going to step up to the plate, then you fucking well better do it.  If you don’t treat her like a damn queen, I’ll kick your ass.”

“I plan on it, man.”

“Good.”  He huffed out a breath when Petey pushed him forward so that her fingers could creep further down his spine.  “Last thing.  We’ll tell the kids together.  All three of us.  They need to know it’s good all the way around if they’re going to accept it.”

Tony agreed with him wholeheartedly, and they made arrangements to have dinner at Dorothea’s on Friday night.  Jon was sure she would be calling him, too, but he could deal with it now.  The way it should have been dealt with in the first place.

He put the phone face down on his thigh and leaned back into the chair, with a sickening groan.  It was over.  Really over.  He didn't feel as sick as he thought he would.

Petey’s arms snaked around his neck from behind in an unexpected hug, and she whispered, “You did good.”

He hadn't realized how much her approval would mean.  Those three simple words did inexplicable things to him.  

Unlacing her hands and capturing them in his own, Jon guided her around the chair and sat up straight, looking into the purple eyes of his imp.   His hands slid around her waist and dipped into the back pockets of her cargo pants, almost desperately cupping her bottom.  “Petey?  I want you, Baby.”

Pushing her fingers once again through his hair, she glanced away uneasily, asking, “You want me, or you want someone to make you feel better?”

“You're the one I want to make me feel better.  I want you.”