143 - Breaking News

Richie was restless.  He tossed and turned, but the luxurious bedding of the Four Seasons did nothing to make him comfortable.  The tight lump that had been in the center of his chest since Angelina’s wasn’t going away. 

When he closed his eyes, he saw nothing but Tony’s grim resolve and Petey’s strained features. He heard nothing but the gunshot that echoed through the restaurant and the screams of Dot and the mothers when Jon called out to Petey.  Felt nothing but mounting guilt.

I should have made them work their differences out in the damn car.  Then they wouldn’t have been alone in that hallway.   

The other side of his brain wanted to argue the point.

If not tonight, then it would have been some other night.  He was going to make a move eventually.

Fine.  He could make himself buy into that, but he still should have been there, doing something.  Richie had done nothing but gawk at his best friend, just like the rest of them.  The weight of his inaction made up a sizable chunk of the lump in his chest, and rubbing a hard fist against his sternum did nothing to relieve the ache.

Digging his head into the pillow with a frustrated grunt, he picked up his phone and checked the time.  It was nearly midnight. 

It’s only nine at home.

The time-zone calculations were automatic and second nature to him, but this time it was in vain.  Who would he call?  His sex buddy was out of the question.  Ava might distract him, but he didn’t want to infect her with his cloud of gloom.  Heather?  No.  Hell, no. Even if he might’ve considered it at some point, it was time to step beyond that.

You know who you want to call.

Using thumb and forefinger, Richie scrunched up his face and rubbed harshly at his eyes.  He knew he shouldn’t.  They weren’t supposed to talk until he got back, but he didn’t want to talk about them.  He just wanted to talk.

The phone screen flared to life under his touch, and the correct sequence of buttons was tapped before he could change his mind.  It rang once.  Then again.

“Hello?”

Denny’s voice was loud to be heard above the clamoring of a crowd in the background.  She was evidently out somewhere.  If it weren’t for the caller ID he probably would’ve hung up.

“Hey, darlin’.”  His uneasiness was paved away beneath his typical relaxed drawl – or that had been the plan. 

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

Acting had never been his forte.

“Nothing.  Nothing’s wrong.  Did I catch you at a bad time?” 

“Nooooo.  Not really.”  Which meant he had.  “Hold on.”  The scratching sound indicated that she was muffling the phone, but he could still hear the apologetic, “Could you excuse me for a minute?  It’s my boss.  I’ll be right back.”

Guess that fucking told you.

He was swamped with the overwhelming impulse to hang up and let a bottle of whiskey take a crack at the lump in his chest that had just grown harder.  After a full minute and still no Denny, he was on the verge of doing just that and leaving her to get on with her evening - one without interruptions from her boss.

It was at that instant the background noise went dead.  She must have finally found someplace quiet. 

“Now.  Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Where are you?”  It was none of his business, but the question bubbled so determinedly forth that he couldn’t have stopped it.

“In the ladies’ room.”

Playing dumb wasn’t her usual style.  Reading between the lines, he felt her reluctance to be the blunt, forthright woman that organized his life without visible effort.    She didn’t want to tell him where she was.

But I need to know.

“No, Denny.  Where are you? Are you at a club?  Did I interrupt a date?”

“Richie, don’t do this.  Yes, I’m having drinks with someone, but I’m here if you need me.”

His stomach squirmed and stirred a simmering anger.  A couple of days and she’d resumed her single lifestyle without a second thought.  Without the supposed ‘talk’ they were supposed to have about this thing between them.

“I see you have a lot of confidence in the direction that ‘talking’ was going to take our situation.”

“Stop right there,” she ordered in a threateningly low voice.  “If that’s why you called, then now is not the time.  Is that what you called for?”

How had the lump in his chest gotten bigger without pushing through his breastbone and sitting fully atop his body?  The liquor would’ve been the better choice.

“I originally called for a friend.  Now I’m just calling my assistant to make a change in travel plans.  Some shit has gone down here and I’m sticking around for a little while longer.  I’ll text in a couple of days so you can schedule my flight home.  Enjoy your evening, Denny.”

Funny, his mouth was moving and words were falling out, but it didn’t sound like his voice.  Didn’t feel like his voice either.  What difference did it make?  He was finished with his conversation, and it looked like he had one less item on his list of things to worry about. 

“Richie – “

“Den, don’t.”  She didn’t have to justify herself to him.  Not really.  He was the one who had pushed and then retreated.  Would’ve been nice to know what the hell she was thinking, but that could wait for…  a while.  “It’s all good.  I’ll catch you in a day or two.”

☠ ☢ ☠

Jon jerked awake, jolted by the punch of a dreamed Taser gun.  “Christ Almighty,” he muttered, wiping down his face from forehead to chin.  That shit yesterday had apparently made more of an impact than he’d been able to admit. 

The sky was streaked with the pale gray of an early winter’s morning, too early to get up, but not by much.  He rolled from his right side over to his left, reaching for Petey.  His eyes flew open at finding the bed empty.

Where the hell is she?

A yawn overcame him, popping on both sides of his jaw as he flung the covers aside.  There was a chill in the room, and it drove him to seek out his discarded pants from the night before.  Snapping the elastic low on his waist, he scratched his belly.  “Petey?”

She wasn’t in the bathroom, but he took the opportunity to make a morning pit stop before wandering downstairs.  A quick check of both the living room and kitchen came up empty.  “Petey!?”

“In here,” a distant voice panted, and he set out toward the far corner of the apartment.  He crossed into the at-home gym to find her on the treadmill.  Sweat was pouring down her back and her ponytail bobbed in time with her footsteps as she pounded on the treadmill.  The small television that he used to watch the news while he ran was turned to one of the news stations. “Morning.”

“Morning yourself.  Looks like you’ve been at it a while.”

She nodded, punching the button that would begin the cool down phase on the machine. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Unhappy lines creased Jon’s face.  She’d fallen asleep in his arms last night right after they’d made love.    He had foolishly thought it meant she found peace with yesterday’s events.

“Don’t frown,” she puffed, a little smile tugging at her lips.  “I woke up excited about today and tomorrow.  Lists started forming in my head for what needed to be done to accommodate the date change, but it was too early to start making phone calls.” The treadmill came to a halt, and she turned sideways on it. 

Jon moved to stand at the side of the running surface, the few inches it was elevated bringing Petey much closer to eye level than usual.  Factor in his bare feet and her tennis shoes and they were pretty well the same height.

“Yeah?”  He asked again, searching out her eyes for any sign of a cover up.

“Yeah.” 

Sweetly puckered lips were proffered and he fitted his palms to her hips before he touched them with his own, relieved that she seemed to be her normal self.

“I didn’t get around to saying it last night, but I’m proud of you Sugar.  I’m not bringing anything up, but I heard you reciting yesterday, so I know how freaked out you were, but you still kicked ass.”

Petey shook her head with denial and pulled away from him.  She opened her mouth to argue with him, saying, “I’m not – “  when the news announcer’s voice infiltrated their conversation.

“Shot through the heart?”  The plastic looking man asked from behind the news desk.  “We don’t know that to be true, but rocker Jon Bon Jovi was involved in a shooting incident yesterday evening.  The well-known musician and philanthropist was dining with family and friends at Angelina’s, a popular Staten Island eatery, when things went horribly awry.  Details are slow to be released, but we do know that one man is dead after the incident.  Stay tuned for more information as it becomes available.”

“Shit,” he sighed, turning back to her.  “Flying under the radar was too much to fuckin’ hope for, I guess.”

Petey’s eyes had gone hollow, the lively animation of a moment before sucked out.  An empty, baby blue shell left in its place.  “I guess it was.  We should probably keep Rocco and Greg for a little while longer, don’t you think?”

Using his grasp on her hips, he shook in hopes of rattling the vacant look away.  “Hey.  It’s all part of the life, Baby.   It’s inconvenient as hell sometimes, but this is my world.  Just hold your head high, smile and don’t say anything.  The fire dies if you don’t feed it.” 

Something occurred to him.  His life had been pretty low-key in the last few months, making this the first media shitstorm since they’d been together.   Granted, the unexpected intrusion wasn’t an all-the-time thing, but it wasn’t so unusual.  She would have to accept that. 

Jon squared his shoulders and met her eyes point-blank.  “This is what you’re signing on for as my wife.  Does it make you regret the decision?”

“No, dumbass,” she snapped.  “But can you give me ten seconds to acclimate?  You’re not the only one who has ever been in the public eye, but it’s been a while.  I need to find my sea legs again.  And, as much as this is about you right now, Rock Star, it’s going to be about me at some point.  My name and lifestyle change and all the speculation that goes with that.”

Her ‘endearment’ pissed him off.  For a minute he’d overlooked that she wasn’t – hadn’t always been – Petey.  She was Miss Patience Heinz, girl genius.  Of course she’d done the whole media thing, dozens of times over.

“I’m sorry.  I’m not a fucking genius like some people, and I tend to forget you’re anybody but who you are.” 

The annoyance seeped out of her features and her angrily knit eyebrows were exchanged for lines of remorse. 

“And you’re right,” he went on to agree, a little coolly.  “We should keep Rocco and Greg for a while longer, in case the press gets overzealous.”

Because they were going to have to ride this one out.  Part of the deal with their release last night was to stay local for the next several days.  That meant no escaping to a tropical hideaway, and it put their honeymoon on indefinite hold.   Likely until at least the first tour break in April.  Spring Break with the kids and then St. Maarten’s maybe.  Who knew?

“I’m sorry for being a bitch,” she sighed, draping her forearms over his bare shoulders and dropping her forehead against the left one.  “It just caught me off-guard.  I didn’t mean anything personal by it, I was just irritated.”

A gentle tug had her swaying fully into in his arms.  Jon ignored the cold, clammy t-shirt under his touch and instead focused on the warmth of her body radiating from beneath. 

She was alive.  They were alive.  After yesterday, he didn’t want to take that for granted.  It may not be as much fun, but this was just as much a part of living as the phenomenal sex they shared.

“S’ok.  Just means you’re one temper tantrum ahead of me.  I’ll catch up soon enough.”

Next post, Tuesday, July 31st. :o)