John Francis

London was a total fail as far as Amanda was concerned.

Apparently Bon Jovi was taking up “residency” at the O2 in a few months and the entire city was awash with advertisements for the event. It seemed she couldn’t enter a shop or travel on a bus without having Jon’s face in front of her.

First it hurt, then it aggravated the hell out of her. She was so over Jon Bon Jovi. Finished, done, through, kaput.

She told herself that about a gazillion times during that day and each time she believed herself until she would come smack up against his face. Again. On a poster or a billboard or a bus and then she knew she was lying to herself.

Walking the streets the first day she’d arrived had been done on auto pilot. True to her nature, she had become completely lost, wondering why on earth the city couldn’t have normal North/South and East/West streets. She then realized she was criticizing architecture and promptly asked directions and returned to her hotel.

It had been a miserable first night.

A weak sun lightened her room the next morning as she woke in a familiar pattern. First, awareness, then … WHAM! It hit her. What had happened. Like a mini-movie starting with her own personal wicked witch in the form of Jon’s mother. Then Jeremy. Then … the last night with Jon.

She stopped herself on that thought, taking just a few moments to remember the smell of his skin against hers. The warmth of him. The tight muscles and the golden softness of hair on his arms, his chest, his …

Her breath caught as desire flooded through her.

She hated herself for it.

And still she lingered, her eyes closed, seeing him in all his naked splendor as he had thrust inside her last night. And again. And then again. His eyes blazing into hers, his face so intense as he reached his release. There was a moment when his eyes had softened as he’d looked at her and she had known that her heart was forever his.

Until the next morning. When she awoke … alone.

When once again it was all over and it became another part of the nightmare from which she couldn’t seem to wake.

Tears flowed slowly from her eyes and she turned on her side in the soft fluffiness of the bed.

And cried.

Again.

~~~

After Susan had hung up on him, Jon had just sat quietly for a while, thoughts flying through his head as he tried to plan.

Jon liked to have a plan. He was a plan kind of guy. He knew what he would be doing from the moment he woke up to when he would crawl, exhausted, into a bed at night. Right now he had touring to plan, meetings to attend, his charity to oversee, songs to write, and an entire life to get on with.

Which was exactly why he sat there, unmoving, as the more he tried not to think about Amanda, the more clearly he saw her.

How she’d looked last night as he bent over her, crushing her breasts with his hands as he filled his fingers with her softness. The slick sheen of sweat on her skin as orgasm after orgasm overtook her. The tangle of her hair in his hands as he’d buried himself inside her.

A groan escaped him, startling him into opening his eyes and making him aware of a straining hardness in his already tight jeans. With a wince, he twisted up from his chair, determined steps taking him from his office into the kitchen.

He needed coffee.

He needed to get his mind back in the game.

He needed to call his assistant, the guys, hell, his mother. Anything to take his mind off the one thought that wouldn’t leave.

That what he really had was questions to ask.

And to get the answers he was coming to need, he had a woman to find.

Now he needed a drink.

~~~

Moaning and retching woke Richie. He had spent the night at Trish’s and they’d stayed up late, talking after their love-making in quiet whispers and loud laughter.

He rolled over in the bed as he looked around, trying to find out where the sounds he’d heard were coming from. Not seeing Trish, he got up and quickly moved to the closed bathroom door. He knocked softly as he called her name.

“Trish? You okay, honey?” He waited for her answer, grimacing in sympathy at the sounds of gagging traveling through the door.

“Trish!” He turned the handle, but the door was locked. He knocked again, calling her name louder, but the sounds of her illness only increased.

His brow wrinkling in concern, Richie thrust one broad shoulder against the door and it gave way, banging back against the wall. His momentum carried him into the room and he saw Trish bent over the toilet, holding her hair out of the way, the other hand braced on the rim. Tears flowed down her cheeks as her stomach rebelled again and again. He moved quickly to her side, grabbing her hair and holding it up, his other hand supporting her shoulder.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?” His attention remained focused on her and he gave a sigh of relief when she shook her head no.

Trish fought and lost another round with her protesting stomach, aware of the irony that this gave her a few moments to think. Her answer, while rather strangled sounding, sent the conversation in the direction she needed it to go.

“Flu.”

“Honey, are you sure?” Richie wasn’t sure he’d heard someone so wretchedly ill in a while, especially where alcohol wasn’t involved.

Trish gasped as she managed to win the current round. “Sure. Just flu.”

Richie’s hand closed over hers as she held hair up and away and gently tugged it out of her grip.

“Just relax, babe. I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes closed as another wave of nausea passed through. Her stomach seemed to be settling and she relished the warmth of Richie’s hand against the small of her back. Trish had no idea how to begin to tell Richie what had happened. She certainly hadn’t expected to get hit so hard with morning sickness and knew using the excuse of a “flu” wouldn’t last more than a day or two before he would become concerned enough to insist she see a doctor.

Those few days would give her time to decide what to do.

Trish sighed softly as she pushed up to stand and move to the sink.

Washing out her mouth, she let her hair fall to the sides again, shielding her for a few more moments.

She knew what she was going to do.

What she didn’t know, was how to tell Richie.

“Mom… Mom! Stop! Please, just stop. I need to get away for a while.” Amanda’s voice held weariness from listening to her mother tell her to come home.

She was at the airport, waiting to board, her flight leaving in less than thirty minutes. She’d waited until close to boarding to make the call to her mother. She couldn’t just leave without a word, especially as she’d sent the luggage she wasn’t taking to London. Her mother deserved an explanation - at least a few words about why Amanda wouldn’t be coming home.

“Mom, I just can’t come back right now. I need some time. I need to think…”

She heard a heavy sigh as her mother bit back the words she wanted to say.

“Okay, honey - just…” Another deep breath. “Take care of yourself.”

Her throat tight, Amanda got out the necessary words to end the call. She was grateful for her mother’s concern, but she didn’t want to talk anymore. She didn’t want to put into words what she had lost or how she would live without it.

She never wanted to hear Jon’s name again.

She tried to shut off the little voice that whispered over and over again…

Liar.

~~~

“What do you mean, she’s checked out?” Jon said, his voice dropping to a growl.

“I’m sorry, Sir, Mrs. Matthews checked out earlier this morning.”

Jon glanced at his watch - 9:30. Where could she have gone already? He hadn’t planned on calling the hotel, hadn’t planned on speaking to her, but Richie’s words wouldn’t leave his aching head.

“You are such a prick. Good luck finding her when you change your mind.”

He wasn’t changing his mind, but dammit - he hadn’t asked the questions he wanted answers to. Hadn’t asked her how she could throw everything away. How she could throw him away, what they had.

He’d thought he might go back to the hotel. Confront her. Make her tell him what he wanted to know most - why she had done it.

Now what the hell was he going to do?

~~~

Jesus Christ - what was she going to do?

Richie and Trish had been seeing each other for a little over seven weeks. Their trip for her to meet Ava had been a success and she had enjoyed her time in California. It had been only that morning he’d told her he loved her and she had been overjoyed to hear it and to give voice to her own feelings.

Her job was finally finished and she was unemployed for the first time in her life, traveling with Richie, spending all her free time with him, meeting the rest of his band mates and their easy acceptance of her. She and Amanda had become good friends.

Her life had been so hectic that it wasn’t until her period was due for the second time that she had found herself a little concerned. Not much though, she and Richie were careful and she figured the first missed period was just due to the changes in her life and the accompanying stresses. Throwing up for the past week had her considering a stomach virus, a rather mysterious one that seemed to disappear after each morning was over.

Yesterday she had been at a drugstore, picking up a few items, and when she was checking out she was surprised to see she had bought three pregnancy tests. This morning she had woken early, her bladder full, and grabbing one of the kits, she’d urinated on the enclosed stick. A few minutes later the word “PREGNANT” had shown on the little window.

The second test formed a “plus” sign - a symbol she found ridiculously ironic considering she did not think being pregnant at this time was any kind of plus.

The third test just turned blue – blue for her mood, blue for her feelings, and blue for bloody PREGNANT.

How could she be pregnant? They’d never slipped…

And then she remembered in a flash of memory so strong she felt her body flush. Florida. Amanda’s birthday. The shower.

Oh dear God.

That one time. Just once. And now - this.

Her next bout of nausea wasn’t entirely because of morning sickness.

~~~

Jon stood in the living room of his large Red Bank home, his mind wandering from one thought to the next, unsure as to what he should do or where he should go.

It was very unlike him and a frown curled his lips. The silence of the house seemed to have weight to it as he turned first in one direction and then the other. With a burst of irritation, he strode in the direction of his office, sure he would figure out who to call when he got there. He sat down hard on the chair behind his desk, a whump arising as the soft cushion of the seat absorbed his anger.

The airport. He could call the air…shit, they wouldn’t tell him dick.

Jesus, ya pussy, you know who to call.

Jon’s face scrunched as he scowled at himself. He pushed the 2 on his phone and pursed his lips at still having her cell number on speed dial.

He took a deep breath and listened to the first ring.

~~~

Amanda’s eyes unconsciously rose to the speakers in the ceiling as she heard a voice call her row on the plane. With a sigh, she gathered her carry on and her purse, shrugging the latter over her shoulder. She glanced sympathetically at the mother ahead of her, a crying infant in her arms. The child, little more than a few months old, wailed piercingly in her mother’s arms.

She never heard the phone in her bag ring.

~~~

In his home, Jon listened as the rings turned into Amanda’s voice asking callers to leave a message. His eyes closed as he pressed the disconnect button. He’d missed her … or she wasn’t answering. Something told him that it was his first guess, she was already on a plane headed for … Florida? Antartica? Katmandu? How could he find out where she would go?

It dawned on him then and he scrambled to find the number he’d casually tossed on his desk weeks ago. Dialing with a slightly shaking hand, he waited for her to answer. His breath catching in his throat as he heard the familiar voice.

“Hello?”

“Susan? It’s Jon.”

“Jon?”

“Yeah, Jon Bongiovi.”

“What do you want, Jon?”

“I…”

“No.”

“Wh…what?”

“No.”

“Susan, please…listen…”

“No.”

“But…”

He stopped at the sudden silence of the ended call.

“Fuck!”

He really didn’t want to call Amanda’s mother.