86 - You Rock

“Good morning,” Grace greeted Richie in his kitchen and then turned for the coffee pot.  “Or should I say good afternoon?”

Ignoring the sarcasm, he simply smiled and took a seat at the table.   He knew exactly what time it was, he just didn’t care.  There was no place he had to be on a Sunday morning and nobody he needed to answer to since Ava was with her mother.  “Depends on what time it is, I guess.”

“Hmpf.  Afternoon then, since it’s after one.”  The gruff housekeeper thunked down his ‘OCD: Obsessive Coffee Disorder’ mug, expertly managing to avoid spilling a drop.  “Sleeping another one off are we?”

His eyebrows crinkled, but his smile never faltered.  That was different.  She might look down her nose at him, but she normally kept those kinds of comments to herself. 

“You bet.  Those all-night work sessions are killer on an old man.  But I got rough drafts for two songs done, so it was worth it.”

“Would you like some lunch?  I’ve got a salad prepared.”

And she was going to just ignore him.  What was he supposed to make of that? 

You don’t make anything of it.  She’s here to tidy up and feed you.  That’s what she’s doing.

It was David’s fault.  Ever since that phone call earlier in the week, he’d been looking at Grace with new eyes.  He found himself questioning everything she said and looking for an ulterior motive.  It was annoying as hell even thinking that he had an informant in his own home. 

“Nah, I don’t think so,” he declined pushing to his feet in preparation to hide in the family room.  “I’m gonna go see what’s on the news.  Thanks for the coffee, Gracie.  It’s the bomb, as usual.”

Her lips pursed unhappily for a split second before her features fell into its usual mask of impassiveness.  “You’re welcome.  They’re running another story on Jon’s marriage.  Apparently there are photographs of her ring making the rounds now.” 

That drew him up short for a moment and he scratched behind his ear, further mussing his already chaotic bed-head. 

Was that coincidence or intentional?  Either way it was interesting that she’d mentioned Sheridan. 

That was another thing that had him pissed at Dave.  Tropical Storm Sheridan had been weighing heavy on his mind since Wednesday, and he found himself questioning whether he might have royally fucked up with regard to her.  Maybe she really hadn’t sold him out.  Jon and David certainly didn’t think she had, and both men usually showed good judgment. 

That left him with an unpleasant alternative, though, and he scowled as he collapsed into his favorite chair and reached for the remote.   He had to dismiss it from his mind.  Richie couldn’t deal with the notion of Gracie the Mole.

It took about two clicks of the station to find the story Grace had mentioned.  There was an up-close and personal shot of a wide diamond band that seemed like something Sheridan would wear, even though the photo didn’t show her face.  It was very Beverly Hills PTA mom.

What his housekeeper had neglected to mention was the candid shots of Sheridan that were running along with the wedding ring photo. 

There were a couple of them.  One, in particular, showed her stumbling on the sidewalk and her eyes were wide with fear.  The next one had a guy that Richie very vaguely recognized latching onto her arm, presumably to help her stand, but the fear was written across her face in neon letters. 

Between the photos and that damned David, truthfully, he was feeling a little sorry for her. 

The media circus was tough enough to navigate when you knew the ropes, but for a newbie it could be a traumatizing experience.  He bet that Jon was going ape-shit over these pictures and throwing one of his prima donna temper tantrums, demanding heightened security to keep Sheridan on a short leash until she could find her footing in their world.

Richie sighed and slouched further down into his seat.  He would if it was his wife.

You need to mend your fences, dude.  It’s not like you to be such an ass.  Besides, you could use Jon’s input on that song you were working on last night.

It was a good thing he didn’t take that salad Grace offered him.  It was going to be hard enough to eat crow on an empty stomach.

§§§

“I hate Sunday traffic,” Jon muttered, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, impatient to get to his brother Matt’s house. 

Dinner with his parents had turned into something a little more.  His mom and dad had flown up from Florida for the weekend, but there were problems with the plumbing at their Jersey homestead that couldn’t be fixed until Monday.  Jon suggested that they go to a restaurant, but his mother decided that they should impose on his youngest brother and family instead.

“Mm,” Sheridan mumbled noncommittally, staring at his left hand.  “There’s something incredibly sexy about a man wearing a wedding ring.”

He laughed at the unexpectedness of her comment and flexed his hand, sparing no more than a glance at the white gold band adorning his ring finger.  “Is that a fact?”

“Mhm.  Especially wide, masculine hands like yours.”

Curiosity piqued, he lifted one eyebrow.  “Feelin’ frisky again I see.”

She grinned, unashamed that her libido was off-the-charts in recent days.  Hours was too long for her to go without some kind of sexual interplay and, if he was being honest, she was about to kill him.  The way things were going, he was legitimately considering battery-operated assistance.

The ringing of his phone overrode the song playing on the satellite radio before she did more than part her lips.  Inching forward in traffic, Jon punched a button on the dash to operate hands free calling.  “Yeah?”

“Hey, bro.”

Jon’s eyes shot quickly to Sheridan, who didn’t instantly recognize that voice the way he did. 

“Rich.”

Now her eyes found his, a mixture of trepidation and question marks swirling in their depths.  He was just as curious as she was, but, having no idea he could only shrug.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Nah, man.  Sheridan and I are stuck in traffic.  You should know that you’re on speaker, though, and I will hang up on your ass without a second thought.  Watch your mouth.”

The grudge he was still harboring did away with his usual diplomacy.  Richie had essentially called Sheridan a traitor.  And Jon could still hear the click in his ear from last Friday when he called to share the news of his wedding and baby.  That was when Richie had hung up on him.  The man he’d been friends with for decades hadn’t offered “congratulations”, “best of luck”, or even “that sucks”.  He’d hung up like an immature dick.

Sheridan’s hand came to rest supportively and appreciatively on his thigh with a little squeeze.  He folded it up inside his, inching forward as traffic finally started to move. 

“Fair enough,” Richie consented levelly, seemingly unbothered by the pseudo-threat.  “I actually wanted to talk to both of you, so this is good.”

Again, Jon could only answer his wife’s silent questions with a shrug.  “So talk.”

“I…  Not sure where to start, really.”

The car behind Jon beeped loudly and he flipped his middle finger up in the air.  “You wanna try this again when you are sure, then?”

“No,” the guitarist huffed.  “I talked to Lemma and saw some stuff floatin’ around out there.  Just wanted to check on you guys and see how you’re doing.”

“Bullshit-“

Sheridan’s sharp tap on his thigh and vigorous shake of her head stopped him from calling his friend out on that crock.  She seemed inclined to let him slide.  It was probably one more of her tranquility efforts.  He appreciated it and her effort to keep his heart rate at a reasonable level, but he still had principles.

“We’re fine, Richie,” she responded pleasantly, as though she was chatting with her mother instead of somebody who had dubbed her Satan incarnate.  “Are you doing okay?”

“Uh...  Yeah, I am.  Thanks, Stormy.” 

“No,” Jon mumbled under his breath so that only she could hear him.  “He doesn’t get to pretend nothing happened.”

“Yes he does,” she countered softly before Richie interrupted, oblivious to his place in their spousal-differences. 

“The bottom line here is that I love ya, man, and I’m sure I’ll love your new wife once I really get to know her.  So why don’t you guys meet me in Indianapolis for the Super Bowl and we can start fresh?”

“You’ve got Super Bowl tickets?”  Jon couldn’t stop the sports aficionado inside him from asking, but his principles quickly derailed the initial interest.  “You know what...  It doesn’t matter.  You can’t call expecting everything to be hunky-fuckin’-dory after you’ve been such a complete and total fuckwad.  You owe Sheridan an apology.”

“No he doesn’t,” she overruled with a sharp poke to his leg as they finally hit the turnpike.  “Richie, you don’t owe me anything.  I’ve gotten a glimpse of how difficult it can be to live in a fishbowl.  If I had an actual person to lash out at instead of a phantom, I’d do it, too.   It’s okay.”

“I’m… sorry you’re dealing with this shit.”

Jon shook his head with a frown.  That wasn’t the apology he wanted and Sheridan was way too forgiving.  She didn’t have to be a doormat to keep the peace.  That wasn’t something he would ever ask her to do, nor would he want her to.

“We’re getting through it.”  She was reassuring his friend with one breath and him with the next, by mouthing, “It’s fine”.

“You don’t have to play nice,” he spoke quietly. 

“I know, but if it makes things better between you, I want to.  Accept and get your friendship back on track.”

“Nice ring, by the way,” Richie added on awkwardly, still unaware there was a second conversation taking place. 

Smiling for the first time since answering the call, Jon glanced at his wife with doting pride.  “Yeah, Sheridan worked out a deal to find out who can’t keep their trap shut.  The picture of the ring was her down payment.”

“Ah.”

Realizing that road had the potential to get muddy, Jon transferred his attention back to Richie’s invitation.  “So… Super Bowl?”

After working out the details without engaging in the warmth they usually shared, Jon disconnected the call with an aloof, “Later.”

He turned to fix Sheridan with a stern look as they slowed to go through the toll.  “I don’t expect you to be anybody’s whipping boy, you know.”

“Good, because I’m not going to be.  He wanted somebody to blame for his hurt and humiliation.  I understand that now better than ever.  Eventually, he’ll find out that I had nothing to do with it and be humiliated all over again.  He has problems, Jon.  I don’t see any need to add to them.”

Unbelievable.  All the crap she’d had to put up with and she still wanted to make Richie out to be the injured party.  Every day he found something n that made her a truly amazing woman.  Jon picked up her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

“You rock, Sheridan Bongiovi.”

“Of course I do,” she agreed with a soft huff and a playful wink.  “I’m married to a rock star for Heaven’s sake.”