125 - Every Beat of My Heart

“Literally, yes.  I am right in front of you.  Figuratively, it’s a moot point, because it’s not an option.”

Richie growled in the back of his throat.  Denny was looking at him, but her eyes were shifty and she was dancing around the subject with more speed and finesse than one of those Riverdancers.  It was making him irritable and impatient.  His grip on her chin firmed.

“Denny.  I wanna know the damn truth.”

With a single toss of her head, she was, free with her spine pressed against the back of the glider.  “This would be a good time to quote Jack Nicholson and tell you that ‘you can’t handle the truth’, but the fact is I can’t handle the truth.”

His knees were getting stiff and he wanted to pay more attention to what she was saying than his creaking body parts.  Richie swung himself onto the seat next to her, close enough to bump their thighs together if he chose, but he kept his distance – barely.

There were things swirling in her eyes, along with a fair dose of confusion that he wanted to know more about.  He waited mutely, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stand the silence for long.

He was right.

Denny turned to face him, purpose lining her pretty features.  “I love working for you.  It’s fun, it’s interesting, and I’m doing what I enjoy.  On top of that, you’re a sweet, considerate soul and you never treat me like ‘just’ an employee.  You’ve shared yourself, unfiltered, almost since day one, and I feel like we’ve become close friends.”

“You’re one of my dearest friends,” he confirmed quietly, unable to let it go unanswered, wanting her to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t just one of his countless acquaintances.

Her head barely moved with a nod of acknowledgement.  “I always tell you the truth, don’t I?  Even when it’s a hard truth.”

“Darlin’,” he chided with a strained smile, “Stop beatin’ around the bush and answer the damn question.  Yes, you always tell me the truth.”

Her hands came up to grip her elbows, for either warmth or comfort, he couldn't tell which, but she never looked away.  “I’ve gotten a little more invested than friendship.”

A slow, easy grin spread over his face like warm honey.  “Answer the question, Denny.  Are you waiting for me to reach out and take you?”

“Stop asking me that,” she whispered.  “I never should have said it.”

The shadows grew longer with the sun making a graceful exit from the sky.  Her face was partially hidden in the dusk, but he still saw the conflict in her eyes.  She wanted it, but she was afraid.  Hell, knowing for sure that he hadn’t misinterpreted anything made him a little afraid, too. 

Denny had been his rock and salvation.  His right – and left – hand.  They shared a lot of common interests, and she was immersed in nearly every facet of his life, but…  He’d never thought of her that way before yesterday.  Had he, like she said, been missing what was right in front of his face?

“No.”  Richie finally gave in to his natural inclination to touch her, dragging an open palm down her arm from shoulder to elbow and holding there.  His fingers curled around hers, willing their heat to seep into her cool skin.  “I’m glad you did, even if it has been driving me crazy ever since, wondering what you meant.”

“I’m sorry.  Your… late night phone calls to certain people make me crazy.  It’s the only excuse I’ve got for cutting loose like that.”

“What?”  The callus on his thumb scraped along her index finger and he angled himself closer.  “You want me call you when I’m lonely late at night?”

“Yes.  Not as your whore, though.”  There was no venom in her statement, just plainly-stated fact.

That didn’t make it any less painful.  Richie winced.   “Ouch, woman.  You’re harsh.”

“Not harsh.  Honest.  You use her as a prostitute and the price is way too high.”

What could he say to that?  Even as he’d been dialing, he knew those calls had been a bad idea.  They never did anything but compound the loneliness.  Getting off wasn’t enough reward for dealing with the rest of it.

“If you’re being honest, I’d like to do the same.”  Releasing her elbow, he stretched his arm along the back of the glider.  It was a seemingly impersonal pose, yet he almost encircled her with his arm.  “The idea… surprised me.  You’re always so professional, that I didn’t have any hint that there might be more.  Since yesterday, though, I can't seem to stop thinking about it - and you.”

“Stop,” she instructed.  “If this goes any further, it’s going to destroy our professional relationship and make things awkward.”

“Darlin’, right now I don’t give a fuck about awkward.”  The tips of his fingers skimmed through her loose hair and he inclined his head.  “Right now I don’t give a fuck about anything but kissing you.”

Richie stole ever-so-slowly closer, until there was no more than a sliver of air between their faces.  Denny’s lips were barely parted, silently begging his kiss, but he wouldn’t give it without her implicit permission.

“Den?”

I don’t know where this is going, but please let me take it there.

"One kiss won’t screw everything up will it?" she asked, almost timidly. "I hate myself for being weak, but I want that one kiss."

Richie had heard all he needed to.

“It won’t.  I promise,” he vowed, tilting his head and sliding a hand into her silky blonde hair.  Richie’s lips glanced gently over hers and he went back for a second pass, savoring their softness.   Her gentle sigh invited him to slide his tongue inside for a more thorough taste and he gratefully accepted that invitation, drinking deeply of her dark, spicy flavor.  His hand slithered free of her hair when she wound her arms around his neck and sank into his chest.

His promise had been heartfelt, and he meant it with every fiber of his being, but after kissing her…?

Richie was afraid he’d just told the biggest lie of his life.

☠ ☢ ☠

“I’m done,” Jon said around a huge yawn.  “I might not be able to go to sleep, but my bed is calling.”  He extended a hand to Petey.  “You coming?”

“Uh.  No?”  Petey hadn’t told him about Gavin instructions on not being a ‘ho.  Not that she was strictly following orders from her friend, but it kind of made sense.  Their wedding night would be nothing but another night in bed, with rings.  “I thought I’d sleep in the guest room until the wedding.”

Frowning, he rubbed a distracted hand over his chest.  “Well, un-think it.  I want you in my bed.”

Petey sucked in her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth.  “No.”

“No?”  He spread his feet wide, one hand resting on his hip while the other still rubbed at his chest.  “Just like that, no?  I expect my wife to sleep with me.  You get that, right?”

She stood, tucking hair behind both of her ears, tamping down her temper.  “I do, and I fully agree, but I’m not your wife yet.  Our first night in bed as husband and wife should be different from the night before, and the night before that.”

Deep lines etched themselves in his cheeks and forehead.  Petey thought he was nearing his peak of petulance, until his face fell ashen and she noticed how much force he was using to push against his sternum.

Her defensiveness turned to protectiveness in the blink of an eye.  “Jon?  What’s wrong, baby?”

“You’re being unnecessarily obstinate, that’s what’s wrong.  There’s a crazy piece of fuck out there intent on inflicting pain on one or both of us.  I’m stressed as all hell, and asking for nothing more than to be able to reach out in the middle of the night and know you’re safe.”

He grimaced, bending at the waist and clutching his chest, quietly swearing, “Christ.”

“Jon?  Are you having chest pain?”  If he wasn’t, she certainly was.  He was pale underneath the gray pallor of his skin and he was breathing shallowly.  Petey grabbed his shoulders and guided him back onto the couch.  “Sit down.  I’m calling an ambulance.”

“You’re not calling an ambulance,” he petulantly decreed from behind closed lids.

“Oh yeah?”  She bent to scoop up the phone, arching her brow belligerently.  “Watch me.”  Petey tapped out 9-1-1 with quivering fingers.  It was probably just aftereffects from the electric shock, but there was the outside chance that he was having a heart attack.

“But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come”

His eyes were wide open now and he latched onto her wrist, preventing her from bringing the device to her ear.  “Put the phone down.  The pain is almost gone.”

“Look at my face,” she ordered, completely devoid of anything but grit and determination.  “See how much I care.  You should have gotten medical attention yesterday, but I let you bully me out of it.”  She plucked the phone away with her free hand and brought it to her ear.

“Chiding that tongue that ever sweet

Was used in giving gentle doom,”

“Hang up the phone, Petey.  I’m not going to the fucking hospital.  If you’re that freaked out, I’ll call my guy.  He’ll come over if he thinks it’s necessary.”

The disembodied voice came over the line, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” 

“One second please.”  She spoke to him, away from the receiver.  “You’re not lying to me?  The pain is really gone?”

His color was better, but he wasn’t looking at her.  He was gazing absently around the room, still pawing at his chest.  “Yeah.  It’s gone, honest to God.”

“You’ll call your physician now?”

“If you’ll hang up the damn phone and grab mine, yes.”  Typically crystal clear blue eyes gazed agitatedly upon her artificially green ones.  “Hang up the phone.”

Unsure whether to believe him or not, she hesitated before giving him the benefit of the doubt.  “I’m sorry,” she returned her attention to the 9-1-1 operator.  “It turns out there’s no emergency.  I apologize.”  Her phone was exchanged for his and she pressed it into his hand.  “What is it with you and hospitals?”

“Hospitals are for sick people.  I don’t like ‘em.”  With efficient motions that were much more Jon-like, he accessed his contact list and searched out the correct number before tapping it.  He waited impatiently for the recipient of his call to answer, all but glaring at Petey while he did.  “If I ain’t bleedin’ out, don’t ever call an ambulance for me.  We will fight over that, I promise you.”

“Shut up, you stubborn ass.  If you’re hurt, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you un-hurt.”  Rough fingers shoved into his hair, and Petey tilted his head back to fiercely glower at him.  “I don’t care if we fight or not, got it?”

“If you weren’t such a pain in the- “  He broke off as his physician picked up the call.  “Neil?  Jon Bon Jovi.  I hate to bother you so late in the evening, but…”

Petey settled in next to Jon on the couch, hand draped over his thigh as though she could tell if he was hurting by mere touch.  Really, it was just a comforting technique for herself.  If he felt solid, warm and alive, then he was.

The details of Jon’s encounter with high-voltage electricity were briefly outlined for the good doctor and Petey waited on edge as Jon listened to the reply. 

“Okay.  Yeah.  No, I’ve got somebody to stay with me.  Sure.  You’ll have your office give me a call in the morning then?  Thanks, Neil.  I appreciate it.”  He barely got the call disconnected before Petey was pouncing.

“Well?  What did he say?  Is he going to see you?”

“Relax, Baby,” he groaned, reclining into the sofa.  “He said it was likely that the chest pains were residual from the shock.  Taking my overall physical health and symptoms into consideration, he said I didn’t need to do anything tonight, but he wants to see me tomorrow.”  When she would get up in his face with an ‘I told you so’, he held up a hand for silence.  “As a precaution.  He said if anything else weird happens tonight, to call him back.” 

Jon turned his head toward Petey, the shadow of a grin twitching at his lips.  “He did recommend that somebody stay with me though – just in case.  Guess you’ll be in bed with me after all.”

She couldn’t even work up a good head of steam to be mad at his high-handed tone.  Petey scooted close to him, draping an arm over his waist and snuggling into his side.  “To sleep, but that’s it.  No sex.”

Unbelievably, he didn’t gloat, offering only a soft grunt of obligatory discontent.  He let his head fall to the side, cheek rubbing against the top of her head.  “You worry too damn much, but I love you anyway.”

Anger, annoyance, anxiety were all crowded out of her heart by the much softer emotions dwelling there.  There was no one in the world she would rather fight with than this man, because the end of those fights held moments of sweetness.

“I love you, too, Jonny.”