Temporary Hiatus

Yes, it's the dreaded 'H' word, but please let me explain.

Audra has been kind enough to agree to a 2 week hiatus of ATR to allow me time to finish (or at least mostly finish) my other project and it also gives her the opportunity to put some extra time into LFS.  If my other project wraps up as I expect it to, we will probably even increase the posting frequency on ATR, but that hasn't been 'officially' decided yet.

Sooo.....  That's where we are and I hope you'll rejoin Jon and Sheridan (and US!) in two weeks for the rest of their adventure.  There are still great things to come!  Promise! :)

68 - Call to Arms

The inky blackness of night still enshrouding her room, Jeri Daniels groped blindly on her bedside table, searching for the phone emitting a distinctive call-to-arms ringtone.  In her slightly off-beat world, she considered it her version of the Bat Phone – only Jon Bon Jovi was her Commissioner Gordon and, if he was calling before the sun had cracked the horizon, it wasn’t a good thing.  It usually indicated a bad thing.

A very bad thing.

“Jesus….” Ken, her boyfriend of fifteen years, groaned as she threw him off like an unwanted  cover.  “What the hell could be so important at six in the morning when there’s not even an album in the works?”

The question was rhetorical and Jeri treated it as such.  Anything could be going on, but experience led her to believe it was crisis management.  These early-morning/late-night calls generally indicated something that required the proverbial circling of the wagons.  Maybe not bad news, per se, but news that nobody outside of Camp Jovi would discover – or at least discover the real truth about.

Jeri would make sure of that. 

Jon paid her very well to make sure of that.

She snapped the lamp switch on, flooding the room in a pool of soft light over Ken’s groan of protest.  While he buried his head under the pillow she brought the phone to her ear and automatically reached for the ever-present note pad and pen.

“Good morning, Jon,” she  greeted crisply and professionally, as though she hadn’t been sound asleep mere seconds ago.  “What can I do for you?”

The last few calls from him had been easy enough – token gifts for a new woman in his life.  The ‘urgent’ tasks had required no more than ten minutes out of her day.  Even the gag order surrounding the latest Richie-drama had been fairly routine, requiring only an immediate call to the PR firm with the mandate that there would be no official statement from Bon Jovi.

She couldn’t say she always agreed with her boss’s decisions in these situations – there were times when it would be better to say something rather than to let public speculation run rampant – but it was his band, family, friends and business.  She was merely another worker bee on the payroll.

“Jeri.”  The short, terse salutation had the fine hair at the nape of her neck standing with anticipation.  “I hope your calendar is clear, because it’s going to be a busy day.  Ready?”

Ballpoint tip poised over the paper. 

“Ready.”

“You remember that little resort in Jamaica I went to this summer?  I want you to book it for me again.”

That was easy enough.  She had the name and number in her electronic Rolodex.  It looked like a great place to honeymoon, if she and Ken ever decided to make this a conventional relationship.  Barring that, a vacation trip, someday.

“For the weekend?  Friday to Sunday?”

“No.  Today.   After I get a laundry-list of shit done.”

“Okay.  Any idea how long you’d like to stay?”

“Let’s plan on two or three days.”

“Done.  What time should I tell the pilot to have your plane ready?”

“No earlier than four.   Have him prep for two passengers.”

“The second passenger?”

“Sheridan King.” 

Nothing earth-shattering.  So far it was simply a getaway with the new woman in his life. 

Of course, being the ever-efficient assistant, Jeri had done her research on Ms. King the minute Jon had started gifting the woman with refrigerators and telephones.  It was her job to know everything about everything, and that included basic facts on all of his friends and acquaintances. 

She knew the wildly successful business woman had practically dropped off the map this fall after allowing her chain of stores to be absorbed by Barnes and Noble.  Forty, and divorced, Sheridan was still an active volunteer in the New York library system and a regular contributor to many of the same charities that Jon supported – with the notable exception of the odd Republican campaign contribution.

I bet this doesn’t last long when he discovers that little tidbit of information.

“Got it.  Next?”

“Get me in with my lawyer, preferably as my last stop before the airfield.  Three or four o’clock.  Better yet, have him meet me at the airfield.  It’ll be more efficient that way.”

“Can I tell him what it’s regarding?”

There was only the slightest hesitation before he briskly supplied his one-word answer.  “Prenup.  Standard-issue.  What do you know about planning a wedding, Jeri?”

She lost control of the pen and it skidded off the edge of the notepad, leaving an ugly black line in its wake. 

Holy shit.  He’s marrying her?

Jeri Daniels was the consummate professional.  In the seven years she’d worked for Jon, she couldn’t think of a single phone call that had rattled her.  She took care of his business with an air of impartiality and detachment, regarding the tasks put before her nothing but items on a check-list.  

Nothing flustered her.  Nothing surprised her.

This… 

Clearing her throat, she righted the pen and once again donned the cloak of unflappable efficiency, which had flapped – for just a second.

“I can know anything you need me to know.”

“Never had a doubt.”  There was a faint smile in his voice.  “Find out what kind of waiting period, blood tests, whatever that are required in Jamaica.  Find out if it’s even legally recognized in the States.  I need a simple, private ceremony.  Classic, elegant, tasteful.  Find a suitable venue.  And did I mention private?  Nobody is to know about this until I’m ready, Jeri.  Nobody.  I assume I don’t need to repeat myself?”

There was no one who loved or demanded their privacy the way Jon did.  There was a customary Secret Squirrel routine in effect, no matter what he did.  Yes, the paparazzi and fans still found him, but usually only when he didn’t mind being found.  Even so, to be on the safe side, she’d beef things up this time.

“No.  You don’t.  I’ll take all the usual precautions and double them.”

“Good.  If anybody can make this happen, I know you can.  Thanks, Jeri.  Call me if you have any questions.”

“Wait. I have questions.”  Her pen had been furiously scribbling while her mind raced with the minute details that had to be addressed for a wedding.  “Flowers and jewelry for the cermony?  Rings?”

“Oh, I almost forgot...  Piaget has a line of jewelry called Possession.  Arrange for somebody to bring a selection of rings to the private hangar at the airfield before takeoff.  Both men’s and women’s.  Flowers….  Something to do with cats?  Are there cat flowers?  Leopard?”

There are tiger lilies and pussy willows.  But leopards?  Ugh.

“I’ll see what I can come up with.”

§§§

Jon stealthily crept up the stairs so as not to spill the two steaming mugs of coffee he’d prepared.  It was still relatively early at only eight in the morning, but there was so much to be done that he didn’t dare let Sheridan sleep too much longer.  With any luck his caffeinated offering would dull the sting of the new day. 

God knew he didn’t want to rock the boat.  He was so proud of her and pleased with how last night had ended, that he was feeling the inclination to coddle her a bit.  That’s why he had slipped quietly out of bed at six, leaving her softly snoring while he slipped downstairs to make his phone calls. 

Really, there were only two calls – the one to Jeri and another to Dot.  Without a single feeling of remorse, he’d ‘cheated’ on the Dot call by targeting the house phone at a time when he knew she would be out.  She took the kids to school every morning at seven-thirty, and that was when he chose to leave a voicemail on the answering system.  Jon had no desire to actually speak to her, but she needed to know he would be out of town for a couple of days and would collect the kids on Friday.  They would spend the weekend in the city with him.

And their step-mother.  And their in-utero sibling.

That was going to be an ugly revelation, he feared, but not one that was scheduled for today’s docket.   Today his fiancée’s happiness took priority over anything to do with his ex-wife.  He would navigate those piranha-infested waters after the wedding.

Quietly placing the two mugs on his side of the bed, he tucked a leg under him and settled carefully onto the mattress.  Sheridan was face-down, her left cheek buried into the pillow with a rumpled sheet of golden hair obscuring her other cheek.  Puckered lips were parted prettily, deep breaths sighing between them.   

My wife. 

Yeah, he knew it was for the best and he didn’t regret the decision.  If he had to, he would engage in last night’s town hall debate all over again to sway her toward his line of reasoning, but still… 

Jon hadn’t expected to be looming on the doorstep of matrimony again this soon.   Logic and an innate need for control over his life had thrown him into autopilot, allowing him to readily plow through the necessary preparations, but his head still wasn’t really wrapped around this wife and baby thing.  It was like a news headline, not his life. 

But it will be.  One foot in front of the other until it’s just as natural as breathing. 

Until it was, he wouldn’t allow her see him sweat.  It was a husband’s job to provide a sense of security, and he took his job – all of them – very seriously.  He had to be the one with the clear vision and determination so that, when her feet started getting cold after stepping into her wedding dress, he could reassure her that everything was going to be alright. 

Better than alright. 

Perfect.

Or he would die trying.

Jon put a light palm in the graceful indentation of her lower back, gradually increasing the pressure until he was dragging his fingertips in rousing circles.  When she snuffled and pushed her face further into the pillow, he smiled. 

She really was beautiful. 

“Kitten?  It’s time to get moving, baby, unless you trust me to pick out your wedding dress.”

The fine skin of her forehead furrowed into an uncountable mass of wrinkles beneath disheveled locks of hair.  One bleary eye peered up at him, a pot of foggy confusion simmering in its mossy iris.

“I brought you some coffee,” he cajoled, the waistband of his jeans folding when he bent to brush a kiss over her temple. 

His ace in the hole brought nothing but more furrows, this time laced with disgust.

“At least now I know why I have an aversion to coffee lately,” she muttered and flipped onto her back while simultaneously sweeping the curtain of hair from her face. 

“The baby doesn’t like coffee?”  Tracing her cheek with the knuckle of his index finger, Jon winked playfully.  “Are you sure this is my kid?”

The smooth motion of his knuckle stuttered with an abrupt realization.

Never once had Jon questioned the baby’s paternity.  He’d been all over accusing her of a deliberate pregnancy attempt, but not one time did he think to ask if he was the father.  That was how much he trusted and respected Sheridan.  In his heart, that trust and respect were simply two more reasons this family would thrive, despite its unscheduled beginning.

“I’ve resorted to tea for my caffeine fix.”  Another sleepy frown as she completely dismissed his flippant question.  “I don’t think pregnant women are supposed to have caffeine.  I’m going to have to look that up – along with everything else.  I did figure one thing out on my own, though.  December plus nine months is September.”

She let the ‘nine months’ reference hang there, unqualified, without actually labeling September as her due-date. 

In an abstract way, Jon had been through four pregnancies.  If he was having trouble wrapping his head around it, he had no idea how firm her grasp could possibly be.  She might freak out once this became ‘real’ for her.  Staving that off until after the wedding might not be a bad idea.

To that end, he rattled off a bunch of other things to muddle her mind until she sorted through them.

“Lots of stuff to do before September.  Lots of stuff to do today, for that matter.  You need to find a wedding dress , dig out your passport and throw some shit in a suitcase.  Make sure you pack that yellow and black bathing suit.  Then it’s off to meet the lawyer for the prenup, we’ll pick out rings and be in the air by six o’clock this evening.”

 

“Slow down,” she demanded, sliding to a seated position and drawing the covers higher up on her naked breasts.  “I’m still not awake.  Go through it again.”

So Jon repeated her chore-list, more slowly this time, adding, “I thought we’d go back to Jamaica and get married there.  Since you didn’t seem to care.”

“Jamaica?  Really?  Not at the same…?”

“Same resort,” Jon confirmed the unfinished question.  “Same room, even.  That okay?”

He grinned at both the sparkle that suddenly lit her eyes and the smile impatiently itching to dance over her mouth.  It was the first sign of true happiness she’d displayed since that fateful doctor’s appointment and a renewed sense of peace settled right behind his sternum.  He’d made the right decision. 

“Yes. That’s very much okay.  Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

Lifting the limp hand from her lap to his mouth, he glanced a kiss over her knuckles before knitting their fingers together and bringing them to rest on his knee.  With a reproachful eye, he cautioned, “No honor bar this time, Tequila Tillie.  You’re stuck getting drunk on me.”

“Really?  Nothing but you, huh?”  Her pitiful sigh was negated by the twinkle that had immediately shone sunnier at the impromptu nickname.  “Damn kid is already ruining my life.”

67 - Talk the Talk

He closed the door behind them, tossing his coat over the nearest chair while she hung her chocolaty leather jacket neatly in the closet. 

“Hey.”

She turned gracefully on the toe of the tan suede boot that just matched her suede slacks.  Smoothing her hands down over the complementary cashmere sweater, Sheridan absently thought how much she loved this outfit.  The fitted pants weren’t forgiving in the least, though, and had her wondering how much longer she would be able to comfortably wear them.

No.  Tonight there is no impending thick waistline.  The only ‘baby’ in this apartment is you.

“What?” she asked, slowly approaching the man whose hands were planted on his denim-clad hips.  Even frowning unhappily, he wasn’t any different than the last time he was here on Sunday.  So why did she feel unaccountably nervous?

Because no matter how you pretend, you’re pregnant and you both know it.

“Dave has a crush on you.”

Her features relaxed into a faint smile and Sheridan hooked her forefingers through his belt loops.  “Dave is certifiably insane.”

“Yeah, well there is that, but he has good taste in women.”  He stroked what felt like tentative palms over the soft material at her hips, making Sheridan think she wasn’t the only one who was feeling unaccountably nervous.  Was it possible that he was having trouble forgetting their reality, too?  Or was he not that into this?

Don’t be ridiculous.  Kiss him.  That’s all it will take.  That’s all it ever takes.

Her fingers tiptoed up the front of his bulky gray sweater and over the tops of his shoulders until they found the shaggy hair at his neckline.  Tilting her head at an anticipatory angle, she purred, “But I have even better taste in men.  Wanna taste?”

“Hell, yes.”  His lips locked over hers and the problems of the world drifted through a wormhole in the time continuum. 

This she knew.  This was familiar. 

The demanding way he pushed into her mouth, the distinctive flavor that assaulted her taste buds, the greedy way he sucked at her tongue…  They each worked their special brand of magic, doing their part to transport her back to the special place he’d first introduced her to in Jamaica.  It was a mesmerizing slice of Nirvana totally captivating her on that fateful, stormy night and she knew, deep in her soul, that she would never find it again without him.

Hard arms clamped her body to his as he voraciously devoured the breath from her lungs, leaving her limp and lifeless.  Sheridan was putty in his hands, just like she’d been since the moment he opened the connecting door between their Jamaican suites. 

The toe of his left boot danced her right one backward, then his right pushed her left until she felt the hard edge of the dining table digging into the crease where her buttocks met her thighs.  A sharp nudge had the suede seat of her pants sliding easily over the surface until her feet dangled freely above the floor.

“Not on my table, Jon.”

A harsh laugh mocked her attempt to protest and he wadded the hem of her sweater in his palms, shoving it crudely upward.  “Wanna bet?  I’m having pedigreed pussy on it right here and now.”   

“But…”  The fire burning low in her belly went from one alarm to five with his careless snarl, but this was where she ate.  She served food to guests here.

Unconcerned with her protests, the sweater was ripped over her head.  It left him with a lecherous smile and left her with a mauled chignon and a mere leopard print bra to cover her torso.  “To hell with the table.  I’ll buy you a new one.”

The man was a master negotiator, she would give him that.

Their arms became tangled, she clawed at his sweater while he proceeded to boorishly pull at her bra until her nipples peeked from the tops of the spotted cups.  His prey in sight, he spared a hot second to shuck the sweater and straightaway returned to roll the turgid pink tips in his fingers.

“Oh!” The touch prompted both a gasp and restless wriggling against the glossy maple surface.  She ducked her head to nip at his Adam’s apple while simultaneously arching into the pleasurably punishing touch.  At least now she knew why her nipples had become overly-sensitive in recent days.

“That feel good, Kitten?”  He gave them another sharp tweak.  “You rethinking your moral objections to fucking on the furniture?”

“Damn you,” she breathed, reaching for the heavy belt strung through the loops on his jeans, the buckle falling instantly free under her proficient manipulation.  “Don’t be smug.  You know I’ll let you fuck me anywhere you want to.”

There was a rumble reminiscent of distant thunder that rattled in his chest and he intercepted her  hands, the button and zipper on his jeans flying open as he kicked off his shoes.  “My first Black AmEx didn’t make me feel this powerful.  Strip.  Now.  I wanna see that beautiful pussy laid out wide and ready for me on your precious table.”

The satin-lined suede of her pant-legs hurt against the hyper-awareness of her flesh when they pooled toward the floor.  Her skin burned with the deliciously dirty heat he’d always been able to call up on a whim. 

She could fit into any social setting.  Sheridan had the social acumen and awareness to talk the talk and walk the walk on any given occasion and she had – numerous times.

This occasion didn’t call for anything other than giving her inner whore a license to drive.  She loved that he provided a safe driving course for her.  She loved who he let her be with no judgment, only profound appreciation and approval.  She loved HIM.

“Yes, baby,” Sheridan moaned to the ceiling as he took that thrilling first bite of her neck.  Her nails echoed the thankfulness with dark red streaks down his naked back as he roughly claimed her, defiling her pristine tabletop once and for all.

The gentle rasp of hair between his stomach and hers heightened her titillation as much as the brutal fingers clamped into her thighs.   His hardness was dipping its head to play in the pool of her arousal.  Literally playing…  teasing. 

Sheridan rolled her hips to try and capture the only thing that would satisfy the aching.

His response?  A softly wicked laugh that had her hair standing on end with erotic anticipation.

“You want fucked?  I’ll fuck you, my hot little sex kitten.  I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk and then I’ll throw you on your back and fuck you again.”

“Then do it!  For God’s sake, do-  Unnnh!”

Claiming her with a fervor that reminded her of their very first time, he drove the breath from her lungs and stole any ability she might have to form words.  All she could do was concentrate on drawing in oxygen and releasing carbon dioxide as he used her well and good for what they both wanted.  Every nip of his perfect teeth sent her over another waterfall, every slam of his hips had her cliff diving into an ocean until she was drowning in him and the crazy chemistry that never seemed to fade between them.

When the tide went out, it was to find him slumped over her body, elbows propped at her sides while he lazily loved the purple marring along her neck and collar bone with healing swipes of his tongue.  Subdued gasps of recovery warmed the cooling perspiration on her skin as he pulled her wrist, planting gentle lips on the pulse point that beat visibly beneath her Possession bracelet. 

“You’re my possession,” he reminded, locking her into a gaze filled with sheer grit and determination.  “Don’t shut me out.  I’m not the enemy and I won’t allow it.”

Muscles that, only seconds ago, she’d deemed too rubbery to move now clenched in visceral response to the intensity that vibrated through him. 

Jon wasn’t a man to be slighted in any way.  She knew that.  She just hadn’t known if this would be one of those occasions where he…  might want to be slighted.  He had made his point in a way that not only her head understood, but her heart did, too. 

“And now I have no doubt that you’re my possession,” was her quiet disclosure, feathery fingertips gliding along the high arch of his cheek.  “Even if you don’t wear the brand.”

“Yeah…  Well, we’ll see what we can do about that.  C’mon,” he groaned, standing upright and tugging her to a sitting position in the process.  “Let’s go to bed and be possessive.  Wanna?”

“I do.  Very much.”

§§§

Jon automatically pressed a sleepy kiss to the top of Sheridan’s head.  She had just returned from the bathroom and was draping herself over his chest, head tucked into his shoulder. 

There was a palpable change in mood between now and this time last night, and damn if he wasn’t relieved.  If he hadn’t been afraid of upsetting her stubborn ass even more that it already had been, he would’ve demanded that she stay with him.  She just had to remember who he was and who she was with him.  Who they were, for that matter. 

In hindsight, letting her go was a major mistake, but maybe she hadn’t been the only one who needed a minute to breathe.  That’s all he’d needed though.  A minute to digest what this meant in the grand scheme of his life.

What he came up with was that things had changed, but they hadn’t.  They were still the same people who had a connection transcending so far beyond words that they had to let their minds go sometimes.  Their bodies could speak things to one another that their minds couldn’t even comprehend, and with a hell of a lot more conviction. 

Because, all sugar-coating aside, reality was that they had something different.  He couldn’t claim to understand it, but he knew it was rare and unique.  It was worth preserving.

“Will you still want me when I’m a hippo?”

If it was possible to get any more ‘at peace’ than he already was, Jon took that next step, smiling into the fragrant crown of her hair.  His girl was ready to talk. 

“Yes I'll still want you.   Guys actually find pregnant women insanely sexy.  It's a pro-creation/caveman thing, I think."

“Mm.”

After a long moment of ensuing silence, he wiggled his shoulder slightly, thinking maybe she’d fallen asleep.  “Sheridan…?” 

“Yes?” she immediately responded, sounding awake and alert.

So much for the idea that she was going to talk.

The ball was back in his court, so to speak.  There were decisions to be made, and he didn’t think she would ever be in a less defensive state than she was now….

“I think the sooner we get married, the better.  Less chance of people realizing you were pregnant before the wedding.”

Her soft sigh carried a hint of dejection, but she didn’t move from her position nestled into his side.  “I don’t want to get married.  I hate the thought of tethering our lives together forever just because we hit a bump in the road.  There’s no point in making a knee-jerk reaction.”

“I agree about not making a knee-jerk reaction…”  Jon struggled to find his diplomacy in the darkened bedroom.  Blurting out what he knew was best and expecting her to follow blindly along wasn’t the way to go.  “But our lives became forever tethered the minute that baby was conceived.”

“I know that, but marriage is different.”

“Marriage is different,” he concurred readily, resting a light hand over her back to act as a mood barometer.  If he could sense the foreshadow of an argument in the set of her body, then he had a shot at finding the words that would curtail the unpleasantness.  This was a discussion, not a fight.   “It’s telling our kid that I respect him and you enough to make the honorable choice.  Marriage is also telling the four kids I already have that when life doesn’t go according to plan you man-up, make the best of it and carry on.”

“You realize that makes me feel like a wart cluster on your perfect ass, right?”

If she hadn’t sounded so unhappy about it, he would’ve laughed.  Many years ago, at the knee of his daddy, he’d learned not to laugh at a morose woman.  Nothing good ever came of it.

“You’re not anybody’s wart cluster,” Jon chided, stifling his amusement.  “You’re the woman I fell in love with and would’ve likely married anyway.  The pregnancy just sped up the decision-making process.”

“Hmpf.”  Sheridan still wasn’t convinced.  He wanted his way and, while she didn’t really have any concrete objections to marrying him, she thought it was irresponsible to jump into it with no more than an awkward position and a moment’s notice.

“Okay, then let me be a hard-ass about it.  It’s not fair to pin this kid with the stigma of being a bastard while his brothers and sister are more socially palatable because they are the by-product of marriage.  Having my children in two different social strata is completely unacceptable to me.”

Of course he wanted to compare this one to his other children, but his other children weren’t and shouldn’t be a barometer of this child’s life.  In her opinion, anyway.  “This isn’t about your children Jon, it’s about our one child.” 

God that was still hard to swallow.  A baby.  She was hosting a real, genuine human being inside of her.  One that needed her in order to live.

“And OUR one child didn’t ask to be conceived.  But since he was… it’s our responsibility to protect him.  That includes giving him protection from judgmental asses and society as a whole because his parents didn’t think enough of him or each other to offer him a united household.”

In her teen years, it was practically unheard of to have a child out of wedlock, and the baby and parents alike bore the stigma.  There was a girl in her graduating class that never made it to graduation because of one such unfortunate ‘accident’.  Sheridan remembered her classmates had talked about that baby like it was no better than a second class citizen – and that was being generous.  Did people really still think that harshly about children of unwed parents? 

Jon’s been the poster child for rock and roll responsibility.  He has a social face to maintain and those damn paparazzi are worse than any high school cheerleader, jock or nerd ever hoped to be.

“You are one of the most responsible women I’ve ever met, and this is what responsible parents do, Sheridan.  Is it really a tragedy to marry the man you love so that you can give your baby the umbrella of both emotional and legal security?”

Legal security.

The businesswoman in her knew that she could provide for a child.  And, knowing Jon, he would insist upon providing for it even if she didn’t want him to.  But if something happened to him, Dorothea’s children would be known as his true heirs.  His real children.  Their… baby would be exactly like he said  - in a different social strata from the other Bongiovi children. 

Bongiovi children…

“I…”  This baby would be a Bongiovi.  Baby Bongiovi.  “I have an obligation to live up to.  That’s what you’re saying.”

“In my own charming way, yeah.  I’m saying that… and that I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured absently, mentally fast-forwarding to kindergarten.  The school nurse would call home because the baby was sick, asking to speak to Mrs. Bongiovi.  But the only Mrs. Bongiovi would be Dorothea.  Or Jon’s mother.  Sheridan wouldn’t even share her child’s name.

You might to decide to marry him before then.   Or you could always put ‘King’ on the birth certificate.

Give Jon’s baby her ex-husband’s last name?  She knew without asking that his Jersey pride and male ego weren’t going to allow that.  That idea was immediately nixed.

Growing impatient at her silence, Jon nudged her, prompting,  “And?”

Her hair slithered over the bare ball of his shoulder as she looked up at him through the murky dimness of night.  There was no disgrace in marrying one of People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive.

She truly loved him.  She did.  He had a good heart, a strong moral conscience and ethical fiber.  He had proven himself to be a good father.  He worked hard.  He was sexy as hell and made her feel every bit as sexy.  They could make a good life together.  

The three of them.  Counting his older children, technically, the seven of them.

The two of you have already weathered hard times.  This isn’t hard times, it’s just life.  And it’s not just your life anymore.  Live it, Sheridan.  He makes you happy.  Make him – and the baby – happy.

“A prenup is a good idea, don’t you think?  I’ll be content with a simple cookie-cutter agreement.  ‘This is mine and that is yours’, kind of thing.  Is that okay with you?”

Since he hadn’t been privy to the inner workings of her convoluted mind, she might have stunned him with what seemed like an abrupt about-face.  At least, she assumed that’s what prompted the moment of silence before he picked up the ball and ran with it.

“Okay.  I’ll call my lawyer.  You have a preference as to when and where we get married?”

A delicate shoulder shrugged indifferently and she tucked her head back into the crook of his shoulder.  “City Hall as soon as the waiting period allows?  I don’t need a big wedding.  A private, civil ceremony will be fine.”

“You trust me to take care of the details?”

Why not?  He didn’t get to pick out her dress – or maybe even his suit – but beyond that, it was all semantics.  “As long as it’s tasteful and semi-traditional… yes.”

“Okay.”  He nudged her again in response to the death grip she’d banded around his chest.  Sheridan was starting to freak out just a little bit.  She was going to be a mommy.  Who was marrying the daddy and living contentedly ever after.  “What else, Kitten?  Talk to me.”

God, I hate being vulnerable.  I hate being unsure.  I hate not knowing what to expect.  I hate being weak.  Just help get me through tonight, Jon.  Hold my hand and make me believe we’re doing the right thing.  Then tomorrow…  Tomorrow I’ll get my act together and act like I have some sense.

She snuggled her face into his chest, her cheek making a nest among the sparse hair while her fingers drew languid circles around his navel.  Her voice fell into a quiet wistfulness.   “I… really hate that this is happening so fast, but – eventually – I’ll get used to putting another person’s wants and needs before my own.  I guess.  Won’t I?”

He held her tight.  So tight.  Even if he didn’t understand, he was doing his best to be supportive.  Sheridan was exorbitantly grateful for the infrequent display of his softer side.  She needed it.  Just for a minute.

“Without even realizing it,” he promised, hugging her close.  “Welcome to parenting, Kitten.  You get to do all kinds of shit you hadn’t thought about doing before.”

66 - Situation... Normal

“So tell us about yourself, Sheridan,”  David invited, leaning back in his seat after a hefty swallow of red wine. 

It was Tuesday night and she was with Jon, David and David’s wife, Lexi, at a quiet steakhouse in Brooklyn.  She hadn’t wanted to honor the dinner engagement, but seeing as they had already cancelled on Jon’s keyboardist once, she hadn’t felt justified in doing it a second time. 

Right now, she was glad she had ignored the negative voice who told her she didn’t want to dress up and do her face and hair for people she didn’t know. The music was as soft as the chandeliers that lit the restaurant’s rustic atmosphere and, after twenty-four hours of emotional and mental turmoil, she appreciated the serenity.

After breaking the pregnancy news to Jon, he had started in with a zillion questions that Sheridan hadn’t gotten around to asking herself, much less answering, yet. 

How far along was she?  When was the due date?  What kind of wedding did she want?  What about telling her family?  What about her meeting his?  His kids would need to be the first to know, as far as he was concerned.  Did she want to be there with him, or did she want him to handle it?  Dorothea would have to know, too.  What kind of engagement ring did she want?  Was she going to trust him to pick it out, or would she like to choose it herself?  Of course, she would move in with him when they were married, if not before.

Well, she had no idea – about any of that.  Her gut reaction to marriage was a vehement, “No!”.  She had no desire to marry because a man had ‘gotten her in trouble’, but, loath to engage in World War III, she was wisely keeping that opinion to herself for the time being. 

Overall, his questions only succeeded in raising more questions and worries for her. 

Sheridan was irrationally horrified at the thought of telling her family she’d gotten accidentally ‘knocked up’.   She could envision the look of disappointment in her parents’ eyes and it made her nauseous.   Cole might not say anything, but then there was Riley, who would just tell her she was stupid and point out what a fine example she was setting for her nieces. 

That, in turn, brought Jon’s kids onto the scene.  He told her that he and Dorothea had repeatedly lectured Stephanie and Jesse on abstinence and, being realists, followed it up with the importance of safe sex.   Now he had to stand before them as a hypocrite with an unplanned pregnancy to his credit.

Jon hadn’t tried to accuse of her being at fault in this predicament, but it didn’t prevent her from feeling as though he thought she was.  Between that and all of the uncertainty hanging in the air, Sheridan had decided it best to return to her own apartment last night, with the notion that solitude would give her time to do some much-needed thinking. 

He hadn’t been happy about her waltzing away with so many major decisions still up in the air, but he grudgingly let her go – after they’d made one determination.  They wouldn’t mention the baby to anyone until they agreed upon some concrete answers to the multitude of questions.

It was so early in the pregnancy that he felt they had a bit of time before they would be forced to ‘go public’.  After all, she couldn’t be more than a few weeks along.  In fact, by Sheridan’s estimation, the earliest possible conception date would be…  Christmas Eve.  Only two-and-a-half weeks ago.

Two down and thirty-eight to go.

She mentally berated herself for drifting away from her dinner companions.  Smiling gamely, she pulled the wedge of lime from the rim of her glass and squeezed it into the club soda she was drinking.  “Sure.  What would you like to know?”

“Oh you know…”  David waved a careless hand.  “Zodiac sign, political affiliation, Satanic troupe number, Wiccan names…  That kinda thing.”

“David!”  The beautiful, blonde Lexi poked him in the thigh before turning apologetically to Sheridan.  “He’s an idiot.  You can’t believe half of what he says and the other half should be fact-checked to within an inch of its life.  He lives to be outrageous.”

Dave scowled unhappily at his beautiful bride for ruining his fun.  It was too soon for the Siren to have that kind of information.  The best part of this kinda thing – besides yanking Jon’s chain – was the uncertainty.  Sheridan didn’t know him or how he rolled.  That was to his advantage, putting her off-kilter and leaving her more receptive to his warped brand of get-to-know-you. 

Based on Dot and Richie’s perceptions, he was way freakin’ curious about this chick and her uncensored reaction to his peculiarity would be very informative.

“Quiet, woman,” he commanded with a poke of his own, returning his attention to Sheridan.  As he did, he noted that Jon wasn’t even smiling, just staring into his wine glass as though it were playing the latest blockbuster hit movie.

Interesting.  They were all over each other the other night.  Now Jon doesn’t even act like he wants to be here.  Come to think of it, has he even touched her since they got here? 

He coached himself to pay closer attention. 

“Well…  To respond directly to your questions:  I’m a Sagittarius, a Republican, and my Satanic troupe number is 666.”  Her green eyes went shrewd as she leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, “I could tell you my Wiccan name, but then I’d have to turn you into eye of newt.”

Jon’s head whipped around amid the chuckles of amusement, a puzzled expression etched into his forehead.  “Republican?  You didn’t tell me you were a Republican.”

Ding, ding, ding.  Ladies and gentlemen, in this corner we have Don Juan de Democrat, eager to stomp out the heart of Republican greed….

The Siren regarded her beau with a leisurely arched eyebrow.  “You never asked.”

…and in this corner is the Regal Republican.  Calm, cool, collected and ready to rumble.  Let’s see how Round 1 goes!

Jon studied his woman for a long, silent stretch while the other couple looked back and forth between the two.  With nothing further said, Jon turned back to his wine with a slow nod.  “You’re right.  I didn’t.”

David was unaccountably disappointed.  If he’d just witnessed the end of a relationship, they should have provided subtitles, because he had missed all the good parts.

Including the part where she put Jon’s gonads in her purse.  Shoplifting is a crime, but this is kosher?

“Um…  So what is it that you do?” Lexi broke the awkward silence by asking her own question of Sheridan.

Again, the Siren smiled politely.  “For years, I owned and operated a chain of bookstores.  Recently, I decided I was missing out on life by living it at such a hectic pace, so I sold my business.  Now I do volunteer work while I dabble with some new hobbies.”

“Looking like that and you can read, too.  You’re just full of surprises, SS Siren.”

David silently awarded points to her for rolling her eyes and laughing at the soul sucking siren reference.   He deducted them from Jon for his churlish frown.  Man was a serious stick in the mud tonight.  It was time to figure out what was going down. 

Flicking his wrist, he effortlessly drained the remains of his wine and pushed back in his chair.  “Damn wait staff is usually pretty good, but tonight they’re way behind my need for booze.  I’m headed to the bar for a refill.  Jon, come with me and get that empty glass problem taken care of.  Can we get you ladies anything else?”

Both women declined and he clapped his friend and boss on the shoulder as they ambled in the direction of the alcohol.

“So what’s your deal?” he asked amicably after giving the booze-tender instructions for the proper refill of his undersized glass.  “In the five minutes I spent with you two last week, you couldn’t keep your hands off of her.  That didn’t surprise me.  The fact that you haven’t laid a finger on her tonight…?  That completely confounds me.  Trouble in paradise already, man?”

Jon gave the barkeep an appreciative tip of his chin as he handed over his empty glass.  “Nah, we’re good.  I’ve just got some shit on my mind.  Work, kids… you know the drill.”

“I do know the drill.  Blonde bombshells are supposed to make all that shit disappear.  Is yours broke?”

Finally, a genuine smile tipped up the corners of the famed singer’s mouth.  No teeth, but it was still a smile.  “No, nimrod, she’s not broke.  Real life has been problematic lately.  We’re both distracted.  Her niece had surgery last week, like I told you.  Yadda, yadda.”

“Yadda, yadda ain’t Yiddish, so no comprende there, Hoss, but I don’t believe your lyin’ ass.  I’m utterly shocked that you aren’t sharing your problems – not – but if you wanna unload, I’m more than willing to help you sort through your baggage.  Being the brilliant relationship-artist that I am.”

Blue eyes read the labels behind the bar from left to right, with a subtle nod.  “So do you hate her, too?”

“Hate who?  The soul sucking siren?”

Jon snorted quietly.  “Yeah.”

“Hell, no, I don’t hate her!  She plays with psychotic others well.  I kinda have a sarcasta-crush going on, as a matter of fact.  But if you want me to hate her, I could consider it.”

“Nah.  It’d be a nice change of pace to have somebody in my life who doesn’t.”

Studying his old pal in the mirror over the bar, David saw weariness in his eyes.  He didn’t know what was going on with Jon, but it was significant enough to necessitate wearing his ‘game face’ to look like nothing was wrong.  The problem – for Jon, anyway – was that Dave knew him, and something was wrong. 

Unfortunately, he also knew nothing would pry it out of the other man until Jon was damn-well ready to turn it loose.  Dave would have to be patient and remind the stubborn fuck every-so-often that he didn’t have to fight the windmills of life all on his own. 

“Now, I can’t promise she isn’t going to hate me….  But you’re used to your women hating me, so I don’t see this as an issue.”  He slapped Jon on the back with a wide grin.  “Right, old man?”

❧❧❧

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” Jon stated quietly as the hired car crept through unusually thick mid-week traffic.

He had been thinking about it all through dinner.  Lemma had sensed something was off between them because something was off between them.  That something wasn’t going to be fixed by sleeping in two separate beds in two separate parts of Manhattan. 

Last night, he’d let her go against his better judgment, and it had turned out to be exactly the mistake he’d known it would be.  Sheridan had used the separation to retreat into some type of shell, keeping him out like he was the enemy.

“I’d rather be in my own bed.”

“Fine,” he readily agreed.  “Then I’ll stay at your place.”

“Alone.  I’d rather be in my own bed, alone.  I can think better that way.”

He reached across the seat to pick up her hand, the heat of it prompting the realization that he really hadn’t touched her all night.  This had to stop. 

“You don’t get to shut me out, Sheridan.  This affects both of us and, accordingly, we will make the decisions together.”

“Together?  Is that what you did when you decided we were getting married and moving into your condo?”

He would’ve been less bothered if she’d jerked away from him, smacking his face and chewing his ass like a professional football coach.  As it was, she left her hand docilely nestled inside of his and spoke indifferently as she peered out the side window.

“Sheridan…”  Did she actually just flinch?  Why the hell is she flinching?  “Talk to me.  Surely to God you’re not afraid of me.”

“That’s ridiculous.  Of course I’m not afraid of you.  I just prefer to be alone until I can get a grip on the situation.”

“And I prefer not to leave you and your stubbornness alone.   Knowing you, you’ll come up with some cockamamie plan that is completely unacceptable and cuts me out of everything.”

Her silence did nothing but lend credence to his assumption. 

That shit wasn’t going to happen.  This was his baby and it would be treated with the same care and respect as his other four babies.  It wouldn’t be a disrespected bastard love child and he was not going to be an absentee father.  No more than his job made him as such, anyway.

“I just want to think without you pressuring me.”

“Fine.  No pressure.  We don’t have to talk about anything, but you need to understand that I’m not going anywhere.  You couldn’t shove me out of your life before and you’re sure as hell not doing it now.”

“Because I’m carrying your child.”

“Because you’re the woman I love, who happens to be carrying my child.”

Another block passed, her attention still directed out the window.  She had yet to look at him since they’d started this conversation and it was starting to annoy him. 

“I want one more night of normalcy,” she declared out of nowhere, in the same emotionless voice she’d been using since they left the restaurant.  The difference was that, this time, she was staring straight at him, her face a mask of sheer determination.  “I want you to hold me, fuck me and call me Kitten like none of this ever happened.  One more night.  Then I can move forward.  Can you please do that?”

It was an irrational request, but it almost made sense.  How messed up did that make him?  Normalcy, as they knew it, had been ripped from them in one simple quest for antibiotics.  He was greedy and desperate enough for their brand of normal – and a normal Sheridan – that it actually seemed like a good idea.

Jon gently separated their hands and slid an arm around her shoulders.  He planted a soft kiss on the crown of her head, speaking quietly while enjoying the bizarre sense of relief seeping into the far corners of his body.   

“Yeah.  I can do that.”

65 - Ain't Life Grand?

She couldn’t go home and be alone.  She couldn’t call her sister, mother, best friend… or Jon.  Sheridan wasn’t there yet.  She couldn’t say the words out loud.  It would make them undeniably real.

After her brain had re-appropriated custody of an ounce of blood, poor Dr. Waverly had spent the better part of half-an-hour with her.  He dutifully battled her cross-examination and accusations with the expertise of a professional witness.  How did this happen?  Why didn’t the birth control pills work?  She had PMS!!  If there was a chance of her antibiotics reducing their effectiveness, why hadn’t someone told her?  If it was written in the precautions and warnings that the pharmacy issued with her prescription, why wasn’t it highlighted?  Someone was at fault here!

His bedside manner may need improvement, but the good doctor never flinched as he calmly provided a logical response to each and every one of her arguments.  He remained sympathetic, yet matter-of-fact, even through the bandying about of the dreaded ‘malpractice’ word borne of Sheridan’s disbelieving desperation.  Ultimately he advised her to not act rashly, but to think carefully about it.  She had options, if she chose to use them.

She needed to think.

That’s how she came to find herself in the ladies’ department at Saks, absently fingering a leopard-print blouse.  It was something she would never have looked at in the past, but ever since Jon had given her that first scarf, it seemed as though she saw cat-themed things everywhere. 

Automatically checking to see if they had her size, her hand froze.  What difference did it make?  In a short time she wouldn’t be able to button it.  Why the hell was she here?  None of the spring clothes they were beginning to display would fit when spring actually arrived. 

Frustrated, she whirled away from Contemporary Sportswear and trained her sights on the elevator.  Shoes were a woman’s best friend.  They wouldn’t let her down, and they certainly wouldn’t stir her already disturbed emotions.

There were sky-high heels awaiting her attention in the shoe department.  Sexy, open-toed peep shoes, hooker boots, ankle boots, pumps, strappy evening shoes…  The list of shoes went on and on and none of them would be wearable in eight months.  Her waddling body would likely plant one of the pencil-thin heels into the first patch of grass she wandered near.

My life is going to change forever….

Slightly depressed, she moved toward the more comfortable – flatter – shoes. 

It would change her life forever, because her options...  Well, they weren’t options.  Abortion was a flat no.  Adoption wasn’t feasible either.  It was one thing to physically provide the means to make a child.  She knew Madison was biologically half hers, but she never thought of Madi as “hers”.  Having an unknown child out in the world, uncertain if the parents could financially provide for it the way she was able to…  No.  She couldn’t do that. 

Good, bad or indifferent this baby would be hers.

Don’t forget the father.

Yes.  The father.  Who would likely be more devastated than she.   Jon looked fantastic for a forty-nine-year-old man, but he was a forty-nine-year-old man.  There was no way another child had been in his prospectus for the next eighteen-plus years.  There was a very good chance he wasn’t going to be happy.

Tucking her hand inside one of the slouchy, fur-lined boots that were so popular nowadays, she wondered if she was too old to wear them without disgracing herself.  Sheridan lifted her head in search of a salesclerk to request her size, but before she could flag the young man down, something else caught her eye.  Something spotted.

On the other side of the display was a pair of Ugg boots much like the ones she wanted to try for herself.  The only difference was that these were pink.  And leopard-printed.  And teeny, teeny, tiny.   Just the right size for a baby to wear.

Or a little kitten.

If ever there was going to be a sign from that bitch, Karma… this was the one.  It was time to talk to Jon.

❧❧❧

[3:08 PM]KITN:  What does your schedule look like for the rest of the day?

Stifling a little smile, Jon put his guitar aside. 

[3:09 PM]JON:  Just a little homework.  Is this a booty call I hope?

[3:10 PM]KITN: So you’re home?

Not exactly the resounding “hell, yes!” he’d been hoping for, but it was a start.  Once she got here, he could convince her.  Easily.

[3:12 PM]JON:  Yes.  Coming over?

[3:13 PM]KITN:  Yes

Yes?  That’s all he got?  He wasn’t always a stickler for details, but he’d like to know when to expect this little sparkle in his Monday afternoon.

[3:15 PM]JON:  When?

[3:16 PM] KITN:  20 min.

Good.  That meant he had time for a quick shower.

The new song was coming along well.  Very laid back, and indicative of where he was at in his life.  It was written specifically with the movie in mind, but there was the happy coincidence that it reflected him just a little bit, too. 

Pulling a clean Henley from the closet, he decided his jeans were good.  He’d only worn them yesterday when the kids were here and today when he took them to school.  Nobody else had seen him in them, so they weren’t ‘dirty’.  They were well under-used as a matter of fact.  

He twisted the shower handle to ‘scalding’ and impatiently waited for it to get that way. 

Only guys can appreciate broken-in clothes, he thought, stepping under the spray. 

David was a perfect example.  He’d said something similar when Jon called to reschedule dinner for tomorrow night.  He was moaning that Lexi was onto him about his black and white boots, asking if he was ever going to get rid of the ugly things.  First of all, Dave didn’t think they were ugly.  He loved those homely fashion statements and he would hold onto them until the soles were worn out.  Then he’d probably have them resoled for another go-around. 

Richie also got it.  Not quite so much, because he was a fashion guru nowadays.  He only wore his clothes half as long, just so he could pimp them by being a live mannequin.  At least, Jon assumed he was still schlepping clothes.  When several calls and text messages had gone unanswered, he resorted to calling Richie’s house phone and, in the process, connected with Grace.  His guitarist still wasn’t speaking to him, according to her.

He considered it a fortunate twist of fate to have reached the housekeeper and spent a bit of time talking to the woman, asking her input as to Richie’s general well-being.  He did everything but flat-out ask her if she went to the tabloids about her employer’s drinking, but she seemed like the same Grace he’d met on a dozen different occasions.  Very abrupt, up-front and in your face.  He just couldn’t see her tattling out of school. 

He didn’t think. 

I’m not worrying about that now, he thought, slinging the towel around his neck and brushing his teeth.  Right now he was looking forward to a very enjoyable visit with his girlfriend.  Depending on what she had going on, maybe dinner and a sleepover, too.

Jon was just padding back into the lower-level living room when he heard the discreet chime that signaled the arrival of the elevator.

Good timing.

He detoured from the sofa to the foyer and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed and a ready smile for the woman who had managed to capture his heart.  When the doors slid open, though, she didn’t have quite the same smile he did.  In fact, he thought her smile looked strained – or pained.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his muscles tensed.  Something was up?

“Hi,” he greeted her, stepping forward with open arms and silently inviting her into them.  She accepted the invitation, but only long enough to press a quick kiss to his cheek.  Afterward, she immediately back-pedaled, shrugging her shoulder to hike up the large bag dangling from it. 

“Hi.”

“Uh…  You gonna take off your coat?”

She nodded her head, now shifting the bag from her shoulder to the floor while she shimmied out of the black leather jacket to reveal the soft red sweater that he liked so well.  When the jacket was properly hanging, she retrieved the bag from the floor and reseated it on her shoulder, pushing the hair back from her forehead. 

“We need to talk, Jon.”

For once, he wished he’d been wrong.  It would’ve been nice to believe everything was hunky dory in Love Land, but no good ever came from a conversation that started with those four words:  we need to talk.

“Alright.  You want some coffee?”

She opened her mouth to answer before apparently having second thoughts.  Her hair swung around her shoulders when she declined with a shake of the head. 

He nodded, gesturing for her to precede him into the living room, where she perched on the edge chocolate sofa, the bag taking a spot beside her right food.  Sheridan wasn’t meeting his eyes, frowning thoughtfully into the wood burning fireplace as he sank down beside her.

What the hell is going on?  You’d think she was about to dump me.

“I have some news,” she quietly interrupted his thought.  “I have slightly bad news and life-changing news.  Which do you want first?”

He abhorred questions like that.  Both were obviously going to be some kind of shit he didn’t want to hear.  Why did he have to choose the order in which they hit the fan?

“Just tell me what you’re gonna tell me.”

A magazine was produced from the gargantuan bag and flicked onto the coffee table before she reclined into the sofa.  The cover was pink and bore a blonde girl in a form-fitting,  sparkly dress that was the same shade of pink as the background. 

Cosmopolitan Magazine.  He already didn’t like where this was going.

Her head lolling back into the cushions, Sheridan took – what he perceived to be – a fortifying breath.  “The Cosmo article didn’t get pulled.  There wasn’t time, for one reason and I had already signed the contract for another.  But… Bridget did get my real name pulled from the byline and replaced with a  pseudonym.”  Her mouth curled up with faint amusement as inched her head around and flicked a glance at him.  “Stormy Kingston.”

He immediately made the connection and knew what she’d done.  Hell, it was kind of clever and he might have been amused, too, if there wasn’t a trepidation lurking behind her amusement.  That trepidation was making him tense and he cracked his knuckles, ready for the other shoe to drop.

“Okay,” he sighed, knowing this wasn’t the last he would hear about this fucking article.  Knowing it as sure as he was sitting here, but he pushed the ominous feeling aside.  Rather, he pushed that ominous feeling aside.  There was another one still hanging tough.  “I’m not happy, but there’s nothing to be done about it.  It is what it is and I hope I’m wrong about it biting us in the ass.  Now… was that slightly bad or life-changing?”

“Slightly bad.”

Why was he not surprised?  Oh yeah.  Because the frown-lines around her mouth had only gotten deeper after that revelation. 

“Okay.  So give me the other.”

Lifting her head, she sat up and slowly pivoted in her seat, turning to face him with an aura of stoic resignation.  When emerald eyes locked into his, Jon was victim to a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach – the likes of which he hadn’t felt since This Left Feels Right caught ten different kinds of hell from the fans.  Call it premonition, call it a flashback from that fucking fortune teller, call it whatever the hell you wanted.  He knew this was going to be bad.

“I went to the doctor today for more antibiotics, but he said I didn’t need them.  He also said the last round of antibiotics interfered with the effectiveness of my birth control pills.”

No.  Jesus, don’t let this end the way I think it’s going to end.

“I’m pregnant, Jon.”

His eyelids immediately fell shut as he absorbed the impact of the words.  Images came rushing at him in the darkness of his mind, one after the other:  a squalling baby Romeo, a fussy baby Stephanie, a demanding baby Jesse, an always-wide-awake baby Jacob.  Unhappy, discontent, loud, opinionated, needy, and demanding babies. 

He loved his kids with all his heart, but he loved them now – as individual people who had opinions and voices.  Not as bald, miniature old people who knew no other way to get their point across other than to scream themselves blue in the face.

For Christ’s sake, he was almost fifty.  The patience required for babies had been a stretch for him the first four times.  He damn sure didn’t have it now, when he should be hitting the relaxation stage of his life.  The only babies in his realm should be at a distant point on the horizon, like after Steph and Jesse each married and brought their babies to visit – and took them home again.

“Jon?”

“Did you do this on purpose?”

The cold-hearted sonofabitch inside of him, the one usually kept on call for business negotiations, pushed his way to the forefront without Jon’s permission.  The harsh words were a surprise, even to him.

If you had asked him to predict his initial reaction to this kind of news, those words wouldn’t have been anywhere on the top ten list.  But Jon didn’t like surprises, especially ones that he was going to spend the rest of his life financially liable for.  It made him angry and his mouth ran on emotion instead of logic.

Sheridan only allowed his slur to blindside her for a heartbeat before anger contorted her pretty face into a bitter twist.  Admirably enough, she managed to keep her tone civil in the face of his hurled accusation.

“Don’t you dare insult me that way.  I’m not some scheming, conniving bitch, and I’m not exactly overjoyed about this either.”  She pushed to her feet and crossed her arms at her waist, drifting toward the windows and away from him.  “You have every right to be angry, but it isn’t all about you.  This week with Mandi had only solidified my opinion that being childless was the right choice for me.  Maternal is not in my genetic make-up.  At least you know you can be a good father.”

He snorted, collapsing back into the couch cushions and throwing his right ankle onto his left knee.  “Yeah, because I don’t have a kid in counseling and three more who are screwed up but manage to hide it better.  Please… let’s bring another one into the fray.  Maybe I can find a new and interesting way to emotionally scar this one.”

She whirled on him, hard lines etched around her mouth and in her forehead.  “You don’t have to be a part of this, you know.”

“The hell I don’t.”  Rising to his feet, he strode to the window and gave her the same hard look.  “I’ve never shirked a responsibility and I ain’t plannin’ to start now.”

“Gee, don’t I feel special, right up there with filing your income taxes?”

Guilt should be pushing to the forefront, but he couldn’t seem to find it in him to care that he’d been tactless.  He was in crisis management mode and he wasn’t apologizing for being the guy who managed a crisis.  It was better than throwing her out of his house because he didn’t have the balls to deal with it.  He would deal with it, by God.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, grow up.  Life isn’t some endless damn parade of rainbows and love sonnets. Obviously.”

He barely had time to snatch her wrist in a restraining grip before she slapped the shit out of him.

“Now’s probably not the time to ask if  you want to get married, I guess,” he gritted.

If looks could kill, Jon’s brains would be splattered throughout the entire downstairs.   She jerked free of her imprisonment and defiantly re-crossed her arms.   “No, it’s not and no, I don’t.”

“We’ll discuss it later, then, because my kid won’t be a bastard.”

“Jesus!” she cried, this time throwing her hands in the air.  “In the space of ten seconds I go from being a conniving bitch to the incubator for YOUR kid.  Sheridan is still right here, you know.  I’m still the same woman you supposedly loved when you left my apartment yesterday.”

“Goddamn it, I’m  handling this the best way I know how!”

“Yeah, well, your handling sucks.”

Growling under his breath, Jon crammed his hands in his pockets and locked into a stare-down with her.   Her jaw was set in stone and she was ready to fight him tooth-and-nail.  God knew she would, too.

Jon didn’t want to fight.  He wanted this to go away, but in lieu of that, he wanted the situation under control.  Anger was merely his way of attempting to control chaos and he was going to have to find a better method before this shit got completely out of hand.

Get your shit together, Bongiovi.  You have diplomacy out the ass.  Use a little of it.

“Fine.  I’ll try again,” he huffed, forcibly softening his tone and his stance.  “This isn’t something I wanted to happen, but I’m not going to run because it did.  And it isn’t a ‘you’ or a ‘me’ thing, it’s an ‘us’ thing – from now until… forever.  Both of you will have my support.”

She blinked at him, silent for at least an eternity – in his mind.  At the very least it was long enough to make him antsy and annoyed before Sheridan’s stance and facial expression softened in accordance with his.  Her voice softened too, barely audible when she said, “Thank you.”

“C’mere.”  Anger, annoyance and antsiness diffused by those two softly-spoken words, he curled his fingers around her wrist and propelled her forward.  To his surprise, she stepped willingly into his arms, subjecting herself to his gentle scolding.  “I don’t ‘supposedly’ love you, Sheridan.  It wasn’t my dick talking when I told you I loved you.  I meant it, and that doesn’t change on a whim.”

Nodding her understanding, she curled her arms around his waist and let her weight sag against him.  “I never wanted this, Jon.  I didn’t.”

Sighing, he cinched his arms tight, keeping her close.  “I know, baby.  Neither did I, but it’s gonna be okay.  We’ll get through this and we’ll do it together.”

Along with my kids, your family, my family, my ex-wife and every fuckin’ tabloid in the entire goddamn world.  Ain’t life grand?

64 - Happy Freakin' New Year

“Hey,” Sheridan greeted him with a brief, distracted kiss, leaving the door open in an unspoken invitation to follow behind her as she disappeared back into her apartment.  Knitting his eyebrows with curiosity, Jon ducked his head around the door and followed it with his body, only to find her head buried in the coat closet.

Well, good to know she’s missed you after almost a week apart.

All hell had broken loose after New Year’s, in a manner of speaking.  Chaos erupted in both of their personal lives and demanded their individual attention, thereby keeping them in their own worlds for much of the week. 

Sheridan’s younger niece, Ashley, had suffered an acute case of appendicitis that required surgery.  Doing the only thing she knew to do, Sheridan had stepped in to help out.  That had primarily consisted of feeding Mandi and keeping her out of trouble while Mitch worked and Riley was at the hospital. And monitor her phone calls, according to Jesse.  She was always asking Mandi who she was on the phone with, which apparently didn’t endear her to either teenager’s heart.

His world had tipped back and forth a bit with both work and family.  He’d been approached for a movie soundtrack that looked promising, so he’d been talking to his agent and looking over the contracts on that.  Dorothea had suddenly found some kind of life and asked Jon to ferry Romeo to his bi-weekly counseling appointment and keep both younger boys for the night.  Apparently she had a parent activity board meeting at school and plans to go out after – he assumed with the other mothers. 

The good news was that Dr. Rennicke was pleased  Romeo had survived the holidays without seeming any worse for the wear.  In fact, she said he seemed more clear-minded and content than she had previously seen him.  Jon had no idea why, but he would take what he could get.

And you should get what the hell is going on with your girlfriend.

Pushing the door closed behind him, he noted that she was wearing one of her favored  at-home sweat suits, with the zippered hoodie tops.  This one was black, and her bright yellow socks stood out against it like a beacon of light on a dark ocean.  Her hair was up in a ponytail that was trailing near her waist as she stretched to retrieve a bag from the top shelf. 

All of this would’ve been mildly interesting on any other day.  Today – Jon checked his watch – tonight, this was fucking weird.  They were supposed to meet David and his wife, Lexi, for dinner within the hour. 

“Uh…  What are you doing?”

Her words were muffled as she dug through the bag.

“Say again?”

She lifted her face, turning deliberately toward him and speaking slowly, irritated that he’d reverted to cro magnum man, who wasn’t smart enough to understand multisyllabic words.  “I know I bought a new pair of earrings last week at Macys.  I was with Suzy and Madison the day after Christmas.  They’re dangly gold hoops, and I can’t find the damn things.”

“Okay…”  This was one of those woman things that defied testosterone logic.  The jewelry box on her dresser had a bunch of earrings in it.  Couldn’t she find another pair so they could get this show on the road?  “Can’t you wear another pair to dinner?”

“I guess I can.” She tossed the bag back into the top of the closet with a sigh and swept a wear palm over her head to smooth the stray hair from her face as she turned to him, finally ready to offer her full attention.   Her full attention included the head-to-toe inspection of his dark slacks and shirt, wool dress coat and red scarf.  Her follow-up question expressed sheer confusion.  “Why are you so dressed up for Chinese take-out?”

Well that explains why she’s not ready. 

“I guess you forgot dinner with Dave and his wife?” he inquired dryly, slipping his coat off and folding it over the back of a dining chair. 

“No, I did not forget.”  Her arms folded at her waist and lifted tired eyes to his.  “Dinner with Dave is Saturday.  Today is Friday and we’re supposed to be staying in.”

Shaking his head with a rueful smile, he hooked wrist around her waist and nudged Sheridan into the circle of his arms.  This was not going to make her happy.  “No, Kitten.  Dave is Friday.  Old folks at home is Saturday.  Remember?  Dave was going to be in the city doing business stuff?”

“Fuck.”

“You think we can and still be at the restaurant by seven?”  Knowing good and damn well it was going to get him smacked, he was a bit surprised when she just dropped her forehead onto his shoulder with a bone-rattling sigh.

“I don’t think I can brush my hair and still be at the restaurant by seven.”

“Hey.”  He jiggled his shoulder to gently shake her off so that he could give her face a closer inspection.  The color in her face was almost non-existent except for smudgy dark shadows beneath her eyes.  Her cheek bones were more pronounced than usual, making her cheeks look hollowed out and gaunt.  “Are you okay?  You look like you’ve lost weight.”

“I’m fine.  This week has been rough, is all.  My stupid sinuses are still screwed up and the drainage is making me nauseous and I just don’t feel well.”

“Why haven’t you been back to the doctor?”

She rolled her eyes.  “And when would I have done that?  Between trips to the hospital, grocery store, and Riley’s house?  Or maybe in between laundry, cooking and brow-beating to do homework?  I’m fine and I’ll go back for more antibiotics on Monday or Tuesday.”

Fine wasn’t a word he would use to describe her right now.  She never said ‘fuck’ just for fun.  She had to be totally irate or lost in the throes of passion for his favorite swear word to cross her lips.  A night in might not be such a bad idea. 

“You want me to reschedule with Dave?”

Hope and relief bloomed in the emerald green depths of her eyes.  “I’d hate to cancel at the last minute, but I’d also hate to be late.  What do you think?  He’s your friend.  Will he be offended?”

“Hell, no,” Jon snorted and then stole a brief kiss.  “Offended is not in his extensive egg-head dictionary.  I’ll run back to my place to get some jeans and a sweatshirt and, on the way, I’ll call Dave for a rain check.  Why don’t you call and order dinner while I’m gone?”

He’d put Dave Bryan off five days a week to keep Sheridan looking at him like she was right now.  You’d think he just hung the moon and the stars from the adoration shining up at him.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful.  But do you care if we get Italian instead of Chinese?  I think I’m in the mood for ziti.”

❧❧❧

“Suzy, I know,” Sheridan huffed, cramming the magazine into her bag as she walked into the professional building where her doctor had his offices.  “But there was nothing else for me to do.  Bridget couldn’t pull the article.  I told you that.”

“Yes, but you didn’t tell your boyfriend that.  Remember him?  The one who doesn’t want you publishing his bedroom exploits?”

Do you know how much I regret having that conversation with you?

It had been right after New Year’s and only a day after Ashley’s emergency appendectomy.  Sheridan was out of her mind at the time, both with fatigue and surrogate motherhood.  Mandi was doing an admirable job of reinforcing Sheridan’s decision to not have children, proving beyond a doubt that mothering wasn’t in her blood.

In the midst of it all, Suzy had called to thank her for keeping Madison on New Year’s Eve and tell her how much the little girl had enjoyed the party.  Assuring her it had been a pleasure, Sheridan tried to ease off the phone, but Suzanne had been thoughtful enough to ask about her Cosmo article.  Not being lucid enough to use her mental filter, Sheridan confided Jon’s reservations, his desire to have the article pulled, and the whole nine yards. 

“I remember quite plainly, thank you very much, but we have barely seen each other since I found out.  My life’s also been a little crazy lately, as you may recall.  When Jon and I manage to hook up long enough to talk, all I’ve wanted to do is find out how he’s doing and tell him that I love him.”

“Which is still incredibly sweet,” her friend remarked.  “I never thought you’d find love outside of a business deal, but you did.  That tickles me to death, you know – which is why I don’t want you to screw it up by not telling him before he finds out on his own.”

Okay, so maybe she should have told him that Bridget couldn’t get the article pulled, but he was going to roll his eyes, act smug and say it was going to bite them in the ass.  At least Bridget had managed to get Sheridan’s real name replaced on the byline.  The brilliant author of this erotica was Stormy Kingston, and Sheridan considered  that a stroke of clever genius on her part.  How better to give a silent nod to their Jamaican adventure than with a weather-related first name and the capital of Jamaica as the last?

“Suzanne.  I’m going to tell him.  It’s not exactly like he religiously reads Cosmo and was waiting for the Valentine edition to hit the newsstands.  I can go by his place tonight.  This is so not a big deal.”

She stepped from the empty elevator into the receptionist’s lobby on the fifth floor.  Looking around she saw that it was already crowded, even at ten in the morning.   A lot of patients was the sign of a good medical practice, she supposed, but she disliked the crowds in the waiting room.  Particularly when trying to conduct a semi-private phone call.

Time to wrap this conversation up.

“Suze, I have to go,” she said quietly, pausing by the wall to maintain some distance from the sea of sickly folk.  “I at the doctor’s office now and can’t talk.”

“Doctor?  Are you sick again?”

“Not again.  Still.  I’ll call you later, okay?  Maybe we can do lunch this afternoon if I get out of here in time.”

Not likely, but it was a nice thought. 

“Okay.  Call me when you’re finished, but if the timing doesn’t work out please remember…  Tell Jon.”

Sighing, she placated her friend with a dutiful  “I will.  You’re making too big of a deal out of this, but I will tell him.”

❧❧❧

Two hours had passed since that phone call ended, and Sheridan was reaching the height of her pique.  The nurse had escorted her to the exam room an hour ago and, to her surprise, it was only about five minutes before Dr. Waverly appeared.  After explaining that the antibiotics he had prescribed last time were completely ineffective, she had been subjected to the usual bout of poking, prodding and peering. 

It was to be expected and she naturally assumed that would be the end of her appointment.  She would walk out the door with a magical prescription in her hand, go to the pharmacy and move on with her day.    

Not so. 

Commenting that her sinuses didn’t appear to be the problem, he wanted to do a  quick panel of blood work.  His rationale included testing for mononucleosis or an elevated white blood-cell count that might indicate another source of infection in her body. 

She got that, and had the fleeting thought that Jon wasn’t going to be thrilled with a rampant case of mono.  Then again, she wasn’t going to be thrilled with a mystery infection either.  Right now, she wasn’t thrilled at all.  Her arm had been stuck and bandaged forty-five minutes ago with no further word from anyone wearing  a stethoscope, or even ugly nurses’ shoes. 

Preparing to hop down off of the uncomfortable exam table and venture outside for her answers, Sheridan was spared the trouble by the return of her physician.  He looked… concerned.

“Sheridan,” he began slowly, pulling the rolling stool next to the exam table and regarding her somberly.  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but when I got the results from your blood work, I asked them to run it again, just to be sure.”

Her stomach hollowed out and a slow tide of nausea rolled in as an effort to refill it.  “So you found something.”

“We did,” he confirmed with a nod.  “I’ll be the first to tell you my bedside manner could use some improvement, and I might not deliver this news with the right amount of finesse.”

I don’t give a damn if you sky write it, or carve it into a stone tablet with your ink pen.  Stop stalling!

Outwardly, however, she maintained her usual composure and calmly requested, “Just tell me.”

“Alright.  You’re pregnant.”

Funny…  She’d never realized one could actually feel the blood drain from their face, but she could count every drop as it did.  It wasn’t five seconds before all of the blood rushed from her brain and into her liver for safe-keeping.  During that five seconds, as she stared blankly at Dr. Waverly, only one irrational scenario raced through her mind.

“Hi, Jon.  Remember the article you wanted me to get pulled?  Yeah, well, I couldn’t, but guess what?  I’m pregnant.”

She had a sneaking suspicion that her little article was going to end up being one of the brighter spots in his day.