60 - Shot Through the Heart

Jon sipped a cup of coffee and contentedly watched his kids, each engrossed in their own thing.  Stephanie was reading a book on her iPad, Jesse was playing some type of game on his, and the two younger boys were bouncing around the room and shooting one another with Nerf guns.  He missed the chaos.

You also miss Petey.

No.  He didn’t.  Well, maybe in an abstract kind of way.  His life was in his career and his family.  Those were the things that would go long-term.  The thing with Petey…  Well, it would never be anything more than sex, because she was right.

He wasn’t comfortable going out of the apartment with her.  His life was blissfully boring as far as the press was concerned, and he liked it that way.  Trotting through SoHo with Petey in full Goth regalia would send them into a frenzy and they would likely start speculating that he’d gone from Catholic to Satanic and that he – a la Ozzy Osbourne – was drinking the blood of bats, or some such outlandish shit. 

Despite the divorce, he was still a clean cut family man, with all his rock star hijinks sequestered purposefully in his youth.  They didn’t even speculate on the torrid affairs during the early years of his marriage anymore.  No, he was a respectable businessman looking to make a difference in the world.  While not sterling, his reputation had climbed steadily throughout the years.

“Daddy!” 

A Nerf dart splashed into his coffee cup, and he looked up to find Jake grinning at him.  “Ooops.”

“Pretty good shot, Little Man,” he complimented while still managing to look pissed.  He placed the cup carefully on the table.  “Think you could do it again?”

His cocky middle son nodded his head enthusiastically. 

“But you’re not going to, are you?”

Realizing he’d been tricked, Jake’s shoulders slumped in defeat until Romeo’s dart tagged him in the side of the head.  Then they were off and running again.

“Hey, bro.”  Matt slouched down in the chair next to his, offering his fist.  Jon bumped it with a half-smile for his baby brother. 

“What’s up, little brother?”  He liked to emphasize the little when it came to Matty, considering he was a good eight inches taller than Jon.

“My ass is dragging.  I was up all night putting together a dollhouse for Isabella.  I don’t know why we couldn’t do it before Christmas Eve and hide it in the garage, but Desiree said no because Bella might find it.”  He lifted his hands in a shrug.  “What the hell?  She’s three.  It’s not like she’ll be taking the car out.”

Jon chuckled.  “Yeah, I remember doing that for Steph one year.”  Thinking back, he realized it was only one year that he’d helped put together toys for the kids – any of the kids.  Dorothea always ended up doing it herself.  At least he thought she did it herself.  Spotting a Hot Wheels garage over by the tree, he wondered who was responsible for its construction.  He would have to ask Dottie.

For now…

“Hey, Matt, I’ve been meaning to ask you.  The guys and I wanted to have a little private party in the back room of your club.  Can you hook us up?”

“Sure,” he agreed affably, crossing his legs. “Just let me know when.”

“New Year’s Eve.”

Matt’s face contorted into a grimace.  “I think I’m already booked for New Year’s, but I’ll check and let you know.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Jon promised.  “It’s been a while since the boys got together for a little fun.  I really wanna make this happen.”

His brother sighed and Jon knew he’d put Matt in a difficult position, but such was the nature of business.  If he was going to own a business, he needed to learn how to weed out the most lucrative offers.  It was all part of the game, and he hoped Little Brother was smart enough to realize that.

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.  Let me check in with Gina tomorrow and I’ll text you with a green light.”

Jon nodded and thanked his brother with a clap on the shoulder before excusing himself.  Dorothea was standing in the doorway talking to his mother, and he wanted a word with her. 

“Hi, Ma.”  Jon slipped his arm around his mother's shoulders and enjoyed the warm glow of her attention.  His mother always looked at him as though he’d hung the moon.  Sometimes it was annoying as hell, but right now it felt pretty good.  He let his smile fade as he directed his attention elsewhere. 

“Dottie, who put the Hot Wheels thing together?”

Her brown eyes became muddled with confusion at the random question, but she didn’t have an opportunity to say anything before his mother piped in.

“Probably Tony.”  She turned to Dorothea for confirmation.  “Doesn’t he usually do it?”

With both Jon and Carol staring at her, she shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t back down when saying, “One of your brothers helps me with it every year.  Tony more often than Matt.”

He lifted his chin in acknowledgement, mulling over another of his shortcomings revealed.  Hell, he didn't even realize half the stuff he'd missed out on.  What else didn't he know about?

He quietly eased past both women and sought out the kitchen.  It was five o’clock in the evening on Christmas Day.  Surely there was an open bottle of wine around here somewhere.

The cork had just slipped free when Jon’s phone vibrated.

[5:30 PM]PT: Is noon okay?

Imp.

[5:31 PM]JON: Fine.  How’s home?

[5:32 PM]PT:  Fine thx.

“You have the same pissed off look as when you got here.  What’s the problem?” Tony asked, swiping the bottle away before Jon could pour himself any of the Bordeaux. 

“No problem.”  Jon thrust the phone back into his pocket, feeling more confused than ever.  “Just confirming my iPad for Dummies meeting with Petey.”

Tony filled a second glass for him, admonishing, “Be nice to her.  She’s having some problems right now and doesn’t need your pissy attitude about lessons you don't want to take.  Just listen to what she has to say, nod and smile.”

“Fuck you.”  He eliminated half of the contents of the glass in one long swallow, processing what he’d just heard.  Not wanting to ask, yet unable to help himself, he grudgingly inquired,  “What kind of problems?”

But Tony shook his head.  “Nothing I can mention, but it’s significant enough so that she worked from home last week.”

“She did?”  Why hadn’t she told him that?  He knew she wasn’t sick, so what was it?  “How come?”

His brother sighed.  Seemed like Jon inspired a lot of that in his brothers.  “I’m only going to tell you this because she’s going to be at your place this week.”  Tony glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else could overhear.  “There’s a guy trying to hunt her down.  If you spot a tall, skinny guy with a beak of a nose hanging around, call the cops.  She’ll tell you not to, but do it anyway.  I’ve already warned him off once.”

He schooled himself to be casual.  It wasn’t his place to fly mad and protective.  He shouldn't even want to.  “Any idea who he is?”

“Nah, she won’t say.”  Tony shook his head with disappointment.  “The guy was calling himself her fiancé though.”

Jon all but snapped the stem of the wineglass in his hand while willing himself to keep it together.

Mother fucker sonofabitch, it's the Lone Lover.  Just let me get my hands on him.

“What’s wrong?”  Dorothea entered the room and zeroed in on Jon immediately.

“Nothing.  Excuse me, I’ve got a call to make.”  With that, he hightailed it out of the room before she could ferret anything out of him against his will.

Jon closed himself in his former office and flipped the lock on the door to ensure a little privacy.  Now if she would just answer his call.  He pulled the phone from his pocket and tapped the number that would connect him to Petey.

This isn’t your place.  It’s over, remember?  It was fun, see you around?  Remember that?

It didn’t matter.  This was going on then, and he damn well wanted to know why she hadn’t told him.

“Hello?”

“Find someplace quiet.  You and I have to talk.”

“Can’t this wait, Mr. Bongiovi?”

“No, it fucking well cannot wait.  Now, Petey.”

She covered the mouthpiece and he could hear her mumbled excuses to whomever she was with.  Work appointment or something, he thought she said before the swish of air and a solid door sealing shut filtered their way down the line.

“Can you tell me what exactly is so damn important that I have to leave my family staring after me?  They can’t believe I have to work on Christmas,” she told him with a chill.

He didn’t care and refused to pretend he did.  There were more important matters to deal with at the moment..  “Why didn’t you tell me he was looking for you?  The Lone Lover.”

Did his feelings sound hurt?  Or did he sound appropriately pissed because she’d potentially compromised his privacy and her own safety?

“Because it didn’t have anything to do with you,” she informed him staunchly.  “Why do you know now?”

“Because Tony thought it might be good information to have, you know, just in case the fucker is lurking around my apartment on Wednesday.  Did you ever consider that I might want to know something like that, since you were spending so much time at my place?”

She growled with frustration, further pissing him off.  “I came.  Then I came.  And then I left.  That’s what we did.  My life outside that apartment was and is none of your concern.”

Fuck!

He kicked the ottoman so that it slid half-way to the desk.  Jon was mad because she was right and mad because he didn’t want her to be right.  He couldn’t really make up his mind which, but Petey Diehl was fucking killing him one blood pressure point at a time.  If he could reach her right now, he would…

You’d what Einstein?  Screw her into submission, or at least until you felt better?  You’d tell her that you care about her more than you wanted to?  That you want her to be safe?

No.  Hell no.  None of those things.  This, as with everything, came back to business.

That thought firmly in hand, he parked his butt on the edge of the desk and put on his arrogant CEO voice. 

“That’s where you’re wrong Ms. Diehl,” he informed her coldly.  “When your life threatens to affect the lives of my band and crew, it very much becomes my concern.  I can’t have some psycho ex walking around intimidating people, with the potential to compromise any single one of my shows.  It also affects your judgment and the job you perform.”

“I don’t work for you, Mister Bongiovi.  I work for your brother,” she said flatly.  “And he is aware of the situation, so take it up with him, not me.”

“You listen to-“ 

Jon looked at his phone upon hearing the click.  She’d hung up on him!  Dammit all to hell, she’d hung up on him!

The phone went sailing across the room, bouncing unharmed onto the couch, as he’d had enough foresight to plan.  He wanted to blow off some steam, not destroy his phone. 

Stalking to the window, he crossed his arms and stared out the window into the overcast day.  His mood was now as gray and dismal as the cold, dank Navesink in the pre-darkness gloom.

“’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring not even a mouse.”  Jon got through as much of the Christmas staple as he could remember, ungenerously admitting that there was something to be said for mindless recitation.  He was at least capable of forming a coherent thought now that he’d finished.

He couldn’t do this.  She was going to drive him to an early grave.  He couldn’t talk to her, he couldn’t think about her, he couldn’t give a shit about her.  If she wanted to work on his tour, fine.  Tony could keep the imp far the fuck away from him.

As a matter of fact, Jon would go find Tony and tell him that rightnow, before something stupid happened to change his mind.

Snatching up his phone, he unlocked the door and took slow, measured steps back toward the kitchen, where he'd last seen his brother.  He was very careful not to stomp, hiding his frustration under soft, cat-like steps.  It almost became a game with himself to see how quiet and unaffected his gait could be. 

That was how he came to enter the kitchen silently enough to catch Tony and Dot wrapped around each other in an intimate lover’s clench.  Her hands were running through his hair, and his were buried under her sweater.  Jon blinked his eyes, but the vision didn’t fade.  If anything they grew more passionate in one another’s arms. 

Stunned beyond all belief, he turned and left as silently as he’d come.  The pain in his chest was too sharp to think past.  He was incapable of forming words. 

His brother and his wife.

What.  The.  Fuck.