28 - La Familia

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”  He didn’t bother opening his eyes, but lazily swirled a thumb in the small of her back to indicate that he was awake and listening. 

Sheridan glided her foot up and down the length of his calf, pondering the best way to approach the subject that was on her mind.  They hadn’t yet needed to discuss any potentially sensitive subjects – ones that had nothing to do with them, anyway.  Maybe it would be best to feel out the boundaries and see how receptive he was going to be to the idea.

“Are we at a point in our… relationship… that I can talk openly with you about something that might be none of my business?”

Offering a soft grunt, he scooted into an upright position, his movement forcing her out of the comfortable spot on his chest.  She quietly huffed with disappointment and propped herself beside him on the headboard.  Pulling the Aerosmith shirt down to cover her thighs, she slanted him an inquiring look.

“We’ve been pretty intimate.  I’d say that there are a few doors open.”

She snickered softly,  no longer feeling obligated to accept the chaste side-by-side pose to have this talk.  Twirling her legs beneath her, Sheridan walked on her knees, the mattress shifting beneath her as she straddled his lap.

“Don’t get all defensive,” she chided softly, lightly leaning into the palms she rested against his bare shoulders.  “I only wanted to ask about Richie’s housekeeper.”

The tension around his mouth eased and he regarded her with open curiosity.  “Gracie?  What about her?”

“I just wondered about her.  Has she been with Richie long?”

Jon slid his arms around her back, encouraging her to lie on him, and he tucked her head into his shoulder.  “I dunno.  Four years, maybe?  Heather’s dad sent her Richie’s way when he needed a housekeeper.  Why?”

“His ex-wife’s father sent him a housekeeper?”  That was undeniably strange in her book. 

“It’s not like that with Richie and his ex.  They’re still friendly, and he’s always gotten along with her parents.”

“That’s still weird, in my opinion.  But, even so…  Maybe I’m imagining it, but I’m picking up on some tension between her and Richie.  Do they get along?”

“Yeahhhh…” he said thoughtfully, on a sigh. 

“That didn’t sound terribly convincing.”

He ignored her teasing, saying, “Sheridan.  Sit up and look at me.”

She did as he asked, surprised to find his face as somber as she’d ever seen it.  Had she hit a nerve of some kind?  She certainly didn’t want to start trouble this early in their trip.  It would probably be best to retract the question and stifle her feminine intuition.

“I warned you it might be none of my business…”

A single finger lifted to touch lightly against her lips, and he shushed her with a slow shake of his head.  “I didn’t say it was none of your business, but it is Bon Jovi family business.   Part of the reason that family has remained intact for so long is that family business is never discussed outside the family.  Fans may speculate, but they never truly know.  We don’t confirm or deny, and I’m trusting you to keep what I’m going to tell you in strictest confidence.”

Jesus.  Had she hooked up with the Mafia?  She thought there had been stories about uncles in the ‘waste management’ business, but Sheridan had ignored them, believing they were highly exaggerated romanticisms.  On the off-change they weren’t, she didn’t know if she was ready to dip her scarlet-painted toes into that particular pool.

“Jon, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Stop,” he ordered softly, scrupulously searching the depths of her eyes.  “Everything I know about you tells me that you’re as honest and discreet as they come.  Tell me you’ll keep this between us, and I’ll trust you to do it.”

Good Lord, what was he about to tell her?  Did Richie and his housekeeper hack up bodies and store them in the basement – if there was one – for Pete’s sake?  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but Jon’s show of trust touched her.  Refusing the information now would be insulting.

“Of course I’ll keep it between us,” she agreed.  “I would never break your confidence, Jon.  That’s just not who I am.”

The way he exhaled made her think he’d been unobtrusively holding his breath.  He smiled affectionately and pulled her in for a quick kiss of approval.  “I know.  At least I thought I did.”

She didn’t see a need to reply to that, but slid off of him so that they were both a little more comfortable for this chat and snuggled into his side.  It was only a short wait for him to decide what it was he wanted to say, and how he wanted to say it.  Ultimately, it came out as, “Richie battles demons, and he doesn’t always win.”

“You mean alcohol?” 

He nodded regretfully.  “Rehab works for him – almost too well, because it gives him a false sense of security.  He thinks he can have a drink without it becoming two or more.  Sometimes he can and other times… not.  It’s a little frustrating for those of us who love him.  Gracie more than the rest of us, I think.”

“Because she sees him almost every day.”

“Yeah.  From New York it’s easy for me to pretend he’s got everything under control, but Gracie is here for each backward slide.  If not during, then after.  Her military background puts a short leash on her tolerance for his lack of discipline, I imagine.  She gets a little gruff with him, and he either becomes contrite and straightens himself back out, or gets pissed for a while after.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve caught him in the pissed state a few times.  He threatens to fire her, but never does.  I think he knows that she means well, even if she has unconventional methods.”

Sheridan gently stroked a face that had more and deeper lines than it had a few moments ago.  While it was nice to know her feelings weren’t unfounded, those sad lines were enough to make her wish she hadn’t asked.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. 

“So am I, but he’s a big boy.”  The observation was tinged with helpless regret.  “He’s gotta get his shit together sometime.”

❧❧❧

“So…”  Richie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table at Dos Amigos.  “How the hell is it, months later and in a city full of millions, you two crazy kids managed to reconnect?”

Jon’s friend knew this story.  He had told it to him personally, but for some reason, Richie wanted to hear it again.  Maybe to get Sheridan’s take on it?  It was tough getting into the Boys’ Club, and he wasn’t ready to let her in the door yet. 

No big deal.  It was only a matter of time before Sheridan charmed him, too.  Jon could play along in the meantime.

He smiled, leaning back into his chair and crossing his legs as Sheridan rolled her eyes and popped a salsa-drenched tortilla chip into her mouth.  Idly studying her from across the table, he wondered if Kitten would come out with her claws bared if he gave her a good enough reason. 

“She wanted to write my biography, so she convinced Karl Fenning to invite us to the same party.”

“That’s crap,” she immediately mumbled around her chip, not bothering to swallow before she launched into protest.  When she did get the tortilla down, she declared, “If I wanted to write your biography, I could’ve found you on my own.  I wouldn’t need Karl.”

“Biography?”  Richie’s eyebrows crept up toward his hairline, in feigned surprise.  From the look on his wingman’s face, Jon might as well have said ‘lobotomy’.  The guy played dumb like a professional when the mood struck him.  “You’re gonna do an authorized biography?”

“We actually never got around to talking about that,” Sheridan commented at the same time Jon snorted, “Hell, no!”

“Oh yeah.  This is gonna be fun.”  Richie put his hand in the air, fingers snapping while calling jovially, “Señor!  More chips and salsa!”

After shooting a pissed-off glare at Richie, Sheridan turned to Jon, a sardonic smirk twisting her lips.  “You sound so adamant.”

“I am,” he assured her with a matching smirk, crossing his arms defiantly. 

It didn’t intimidate his Kitten a damn bit.  In fact, she crossed her arms in exactly the same way, just to mock him.  She earned another measure of respect for that defiant maneuver and her enticing, “No room for negotiation at all, huh?”

“None.”

Lifting a cocky eyebrow, she reached into the basket of tortilla chips freshly delivered by the waiter.  She carefully perused the contents before making her selection and picking up a perfectly formed corn triangle with the tips of her fingers. 

“I bet I could make you change your mind.”

He barely restrained a groan at the white-hot flash of seduction blazing from carefully hooded eyes.  It was the tiniest of cracks in her prim demeanor, but he saw it – and it slayed him.

Oh, Baby.  You are sooo welcome to try.

“I bet you can’t.”

“Where can I get in on this action?  I got fifty on JB,” Richie interjected with a calculating chuckle.

That quickly, Kitten vanished, leaving Jon to wonder if he had imagined the snapshot in time.  Now, Sheridan smiled benignly, dipping her chip in salsa and reverting to her ‘normal’ self.

“All it would take would be the right sales projections and you could be bought, Bongiovi.”

I don’t want to be bought.  I wanna be convinced, and tonight you get your chance.