70 - Duck, Duck, Cat

“I’m sorry, but you’ll need to power-down your electronics for a few minutes, until we get airborne,” flight attendant Rhonda advised her passengers.  “But I’d be happy to bring you a magazine or a drink before we take off.”

“Nah, I’m good.  Thanks.”  Slumped in the plane seat that bore his ass-print and with eyes at half-mast, Jon angled his head to regard the woman seated at his right hand.

Sheridan politely declined and slid the power switch of her iPad, her drooping eyelids reflecting exactly the way he felt – ready for a power nap.  Even under the best of circumstances today would have been trying, but with his limited sleep and her condition, they were both pretty well drained. 

His phone had been glued to the side of his head since six o’clock that morning.  Checking in with his mom to let her know he was headed out of town, deliberately avoiding Dorothea’s pointed questions as to why he would be out of town, consulting with Sheridan on attire for the ceremony, talking briefly to the kids, working with his agent on the legal aspects of the movie tracks, fielding a call from the record label who wanted details about the next Bon Jovi project… 

The list went on for days, ending with the lawyer and the jeweler, two tasks that went off without a hitch.  Prenup was signed without fanfare and the rings were stashed in his flight bag, having been chosen within minutes. 

In the midst of the madness, Jeri had been in contact off and on all throughout the day, requesting information necessary to the wedding particulars.  That included inquiries that he had to pass off to Sheridan because he didn't know the answers – namely her vital information for the marriage application.   Jeri’s foresight had enabled them to get a jump start on the twenty-four hour waiting period, thereby setting the stage for tomorrow’s sunset exchange of nuptials. 

He was pleased. 

Sunset was kind of a romantic thing, and considering the complete and total lack of romance surrounding the kickoff of their union, an ‘idyllic sunset ceremony’ – as Jeri tagged it – assuaged his conscience.  Women were all about hearts and flowers and shit.  The least he could do was ensure that something about their wedding hit one of those categories.  ‘And shit’ was better than nothing.

I’ll make it up to her on our wedding night.

Which they now got to have in Jamaica.  If the hidden pitfalls of Jamaican bureaucracy had forced them to wait for a Friday wedding, they would’ve been rushed from altar to airport to be back in New York for the weekend.  This was infinitely better. 

And, if it all went off without unwanted media pests, Jeri would be getting a substantial token of Bongiovi appreciation.  As it stood now, she was the one providing tokens. 

When they had boarded the plane, there had been two wrapped gifts waiting to be stowed.  One was a smallish black box with ivory ribbon that bore a written note from Jeri.   “Something new for the bride to wear at the ceremony.  Or borrowed if she doesn’t like them.” 

Sheridan elected not to open it, citing fatigue as a major drag on her level of appreciation and tucking the gift into her carry-on bag for later.  He figured it was jewelry.  Jeri designed eclectic necklaces, bracelet and stuff in her free time.  Jon even owned a couple of the funkier pieces, but he couldn’t imagine Sheridan ever wearing the edgy creations.  

Maybe he was wrong.  Only time would tell.

The other gift-wrapped package waiting to go into holding was bigger and wrapped in silver.  Something vaguely identified by Sheridan as a ‘wedding gift’.  Whatever the hell that meant.  She offered nothing more, merely burying her nose in that iPad while he continued his quest to answer the most phone calls in a single day.

Taking a quietly deep breath, he forcibly shoved away the hectic pace.  Strategic PR shit was still bubbling in the back of his brain, but his give-a-damn was currently out of commission.  Right now he was on his way to a stolen paradise with his fiancée and her endearingly frazzled French braid.  They needed the respite and he would damn well take it for them.

He reached his right hand out, easily flipping hers over on the armrest and locking their fingers together.  “Now that my fucking phone has been forced into the ‘off’ position – thank you Jesus – talk to me.  You found a dress?”

“Mhm.”  The serenity of her smile was cathartic.  “Simple, yet elegant, and your suit will be the perfect complement.”

She had put her order in for a dark suit, light shirt and dark tie, all of which he had hanging in his closet already.  New and unworn, in fact, purchased for an event that he was playing next month.  As she said, simple. 

And easy.  He liked easy.  It worked for him.

No way in hell could I have squeezed a shopping trip into my day.  Even if I managed to physically find time, there’s no way I could’ve focused enough to give a rat's ass about what I was gonna wear. 

“Jon…” 

He mentally reset his sails again, tuning back in to find her thoughtful gaze on him as the plane’s wheels lifted off the runway.  “Yeah?”

Sheridan lifted their joined hands, touching soft lips to his knuckles.  “I’ve never seen your press smile in person, but I’m almost certain you’re wearing it.”

“No,” he frowned with his entire face – creased forehead, knitted eyebrows and downturned mouth.  Very, very few people saw behind his game face and the ones who did had known him most of his life.  It was second-nature to immediately deny it.  “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” she gently corrected him. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

A shiny red thumbnail swirled swept circles over the back of his hand and she lifted one side of her mouth in amusement.  “You’re doing something that I always think of as a duck impersonation.”

What the fuck?  A duck?

His frown creased deeper to keep even with his confusion level.  “Now I really dunno what the hell you’re talking about.”

“A duck.  You give the appearance of being cool and collected, surrounded by calm waters.  Below the water’s surface, though, you’re paddling like hell to stay afloat.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed a little and he took a moment to really look at her.  Selfish and self-centered were two descriptions which he would’ve never considered applying to Sheridan, but evidently he hadn’t really believed that.   He couldn’t have, because her astute observation took him by surprise. 

Now that she’d explained herself, he realized he felt like a damn duck.  Often. 

“I don’t admit that to anybody.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to admit it to me.  I can see it.”

She can see, huh? 

The wave of relief that washed over him was so intense that he was half-afraid he'd suffered from VERY premature ejaculation.  Pulling this deal together and the ensuing stress were hard enough, but acting like it was a piece of cake on top of it all was enough to kill a guy.  To realize that he was doing it for someone who didn’t require his game face was… nice.  Overwhelmingly nice. 

“PR,” he confessed on a tension-relieving sigh, sliding further down into the seat and angling his body toward hers as much as the seatbelt would allow.  “I’m working through logistics of how much to release and to whom in such a way that will deter any unwanted digging.  I don’t place full trust in the PR people for my band, much less my personal life.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m stuck in my own pregnancy fog and really hadn’t even thought about PR.”

He mimicked her gesture of a moment ago, touching his lips to her lifted knuckles in a soft kiss.  “No reason to be sorry.  This is something I do.  You be pregnant and I’ll deal with the press.”

“That sounds fair.” She agreed with an angelically sleepy smile.  “You’ll do trash, too, right?  Since breast-feeding is mine?”

“Mm.  I’ll make sure it gets done.”

She snickered softly.  “Does that mean you’re going to hire somebody to take out our trash?”

“Hell no,” he snorted around a yawn.  “I have an able-bodied teenage son.  He can do it.”

Brushing the hair on his forehead to one side, Sheridan shamefully clucked her tongue and traced her fingertips down the stubbled jaw he hadn’t bothered shaving today.  “Lazy, lazy man.  Maybe I can express my milk.  Then you can get up in the middle of the night to feed the baby.”

“What the hell?”  One eyebrow arched accusatorily.  “Yesterday you could barely spell pregnant and now you’re going off about breast-feeding and ‘expressing’ your milk.  You’ve been holding out on me.”

“There was a reason I chose a bookstore as my livelihood, Rockstar.  I’m an information junkie, and I’ve been downloading pregnancy books and magazine articles to my iPad all day.  I was reading an article on the importance of breast feeding right before take-off.”

He chuckled, wearily rubbing at his left eye with the heel of his hand.  “Sounds like you’re doing your own fair share of duck paddlin’, there, Kitten.  Lawd help me, I bet I learn more about pregnancy this time around than I did the last four times combined.”

“Yeah, but did you know I was duck paddling before then?”

“Baby…”  He shook his head sadly.  “I was being nice by calling you a duck.  You’ve been more like a seizure-riddled cat doing the funky chicken.  Nobody doubted that you were flailing a little.” 

She reared back and gave him a playful smack on the shoulder while swearing at him through her laughter.  “You ass!  What a mean thing to say!”

The delicate giggle made him go a little soft inside.  He genuinely loved her.  Baby or not, family or not, media hell or not, this was where he wanted to be. 

God I hope she knows that.

“The truth hurts sometimes,” he informed her with an indifferent shrug, taking note of the exhaustion glazing her eyes.  “Now gimme a kiss and go lay down in the back before you pass out.”

“But where will you be?” she asked, unfastening her seat belt with no argument.  Obviously she was just as tired as she appeared.

“After I check in with Jeri, I’ll be crawling in beside you.”

He had one more last-minute special request to make of his assistant.  It wasn’t much, and it was sappy, but Jon hoped Sheridan might appreciate the sentimentality.