John Francis

Jon sat there, the disconnected cell phone dangling from one hand.

Motherfucker.

Disgust curled his lips as his mind raced with what he had learned, adding in bits and pieces to what he thought he knew.

It had taken a few moments to convince Jeremy, or ‘Mark’ as he now called himself, that he really was speaking to Jon Bon Jovi.

Then the revelations started.

The double life Mark had led that Amanda knew nothing about. Mark’s son and the two on the way.
Why the FBI had thought he was involved in drugs and how he was cleared. His and Amanda’s divorce and his remarriage. Everything he had kept from Amanda.

Jon had been startled out of his thoughts at one of Mark’s questions.

“Didn’t Richie tell you all this?”

“What?” Jon asked, barking out the word.

Mark repeated, “Didn’t Richie tell you all this?’

Jon nearly slapped himself off the stool as his palm met his forehead. Everything suddenly clicked into place and he was furious to the point of not having words.

“Mr. Bon Jovi?” Mark said.

“Yeah, I’m here. Fuck.” Jon said, the last word spoken on a low breath. “Listen - thanks for telling me this.”

“Jon?” Mark asked.

“What?” Jon answered, distraction clearly evident in his voice now.

“When you see Amanda, tell her … tell her… ”

Mark’s only answer was a phone line gone dead.

~~~

“Trish, I need to go to Jon’s. Will you drop me off there?” Richie asked, already pulling out his wallet to pay their bill.

Trish looked startled for a moment, then nodded, taking a last bite of toast as she stood, settling her purse over one shoulder.

Richie threw some bills on the table and took her elbow as they walked to the door in silence. A silence that lasted for nearly half of the 20 minute drive to Jon’s house. Finally, after several loud sighs and not a few curse words, Richie filled Trish in on everything that had been happening. He’d told her some of it, but now, with words running into each other as he tried to fit it all in before they arrived, he told her the rest.

“Jon’s mother is going to meet me at his house,” he explained, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “This has got to stop. She has to tell Jon what she did.”

Trish rested a hand lightly on Richie’s arm. “Are you sure that’s what she’s going to do?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, she said so on the phone.”

“Okay,” Trish said, “then just call me when you need picked up.”

“I will,” he grinned at her. “Meet me with a bag packed for the both of us.”

Trish’s forehead crinkled slightly as she looked at him with questioning eyes.

Richie’s grinned widened, but he didn’t answer as he entered the security code at Jon’s gate and then pulled into the driveway.

“Richie! Why am I meeting you with a bag?” Trish demanded only half teasingly.

Shaking his head, grinning even more widely, Richie pulled the car to a stop. He put it in park, got out and waited for Trish to come around to the driver’s side. Laughing eyes met his smile as Trish stopped in front of him, a hand resting on her hip. Richie kissed the tip of her nose.

“Because we’re going to Vegas, baby, and we’re getting married! I’ll call my lawyer after I’m done here and get the papers ready and everything will be set for you to become Mrs. Sambora!”

Trish smiled back at him, although Richie didn’t notice that it wasn’t quite her normal smile. She nodded, turning to get into the car. He waited until she’d fastened her seatbelt, then banged lightly on the top of the car as she began to go.

He wasn’t looking forward to the next several minutes and was glad at least one area of his life was going well.

Trish drove out the gate of the home of Jon Bon Jovi and was livid before the car tires had connected with the street.

How DARE he just assume I'll marry him?

She loved Richie, and she was having his baby…she just didn’t know yet if she wanted to marry him.

~~~

Jon heard a knock at his front door from what seemed to be a long way away. He’d been toying with an empty wine bottle as he thought about what Amanda’s husband -- no -- her EX-husband had said. Even with a mind fuzzy from alcohol, some things just didn’t make sense.

The knock came again and he grumbled under his breath as stood up, wincing a little at the stiffness in his back. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, but feeling the twinge of his lower back as he stood meant it had to have been a while.

“I’m coming, dammit!” He hollered as he walked through the living room to the door.

Throwing the chain and snapping the dead bolt, he opened the door.

Jon stepped back, waving Richie into the house. He closed the door, turned, and punched Richie right in the mouth.

Richie staggered, his back hitting the wall as his feet fumbling beneath him. He slid down the wall, a stunned look in his eyes, blood trickling down from one corner of his mouth.

Jon stood, looking down at him.

“Motherfucker.” Jon said, venom coating his words.

Richie raised his hand to his mouth, touched the blood that flowed and looked at it. He raised his eyes to Jon.

“Likewise.” He said, a half-grimace, half-grin crooking one side of his mouth as he rose to his feet.

The sounds of fists hitting fleshed echoed through the silent house.