62 #Dealing

 I’m going to lose him.

 

Teddi had known that all along.  From the first time they had sex, she’d been planning for him to walking away and never look back.  Any female with a shred of sanity would, because the odds of keeping Jon Bon Jovi were astronomical.

 

The woman staring back at her from the ornate vanity mirror hadn’t gotten that memo, though.   Her pale features were that of someone who’d just found out Santa Claus wasn’t real.  Who had let herself buy into Jon’s charismatic hype that “they” didn’t have an expiration date.

 

Well, now there was one.  That February kick-off for the US tour was the day their relationship would curdle like spoiled milk because it would be impossible for her to attend the show.  She was beyond repair, and that’s undoubtedly what David was saying to Jon right now.   

 

Refusing to think further about what may be taking place at poolside, Teddi turned the cold water tap and passed her hands through the flow.  Damp fingers were pressed to her throat until they no longer felt cool, when she repeated the process with her nape. 

 

There were many things that could’ve happened here today.  She’d gone through endless scenarios since accepting this invitation, knowing that the best-case was discomfort and feeling out of her element.  She’d thought the worst case would be fainting or vomiting, but instead she received ultimatums to become normal – or else.  The funny thing was, they’d been issued by David, whom she thought was taking such great care to accommodate her “condition”. 

 

“Shows what you know,” she murmured to the woman in the mirror before turning off the faucet and reaching for a hand towel. 

 

The only thing holding her here were the millions of tight-knit etiquette fibers that made up her very being.  If there were shears strong enough to cut them, she’d do it and put an end to this outing, but there were no shears stronger than Grandmother Peabody’s stern voice reminding that it was rude to hide in the bathroom at a social function.

 

Making sure the hand towel was hung as neatly as she found it, Teddi paused with her hand on the doorknob for a deep breath.  She jumped when a knock coincided with her exhale and was followed by, “Everything okay in there?”

 

Pretend to be normal.

 

Her chin lifted, and the practiced smile slid into place as she opened the door.  “Of course.  I just needed to evacuate some Dancing Gypsies.”

 

The ever-present sunglasses were tucked into the neckline of Jon’s gray tee, and his flip-flopped feet were planted wide while he studied her face.  There was no getting around him.  She was stuck in the powder room until he decided to move, and from the looks of things, he wasn’t in a hurry.

 

“I didn’t know he was going to do that.”

 

“It’s fine,” she assured because that’s what one did in these types of situations.  “I feel a bit of a headache coming on, though.  If it gets worse, I’ll call for a ride home so that you don’t have to leave.”

 

“Cookie,” he sighed, lifting the hand she wanted to retreat from but didn’t.  Teddi stood still and allowed her jaw to be cupped while he quietly asserted, “Nothing’s changed between you and me.  Yes, everybody wants to see you frolicking through oceans of people, but today isn’t some kind of come-to-Jesus intervention.”

 

“Excellent analogy, and since I’ve been on the receiving end of several, I feel qualified to assure you that’s exactly what it is.”

 

He grimaced at the bitterness she couldn’t stifle, and the hand that held her face slipped behind her neck, pulling a reluctant Teddi into his arms. 

 

“No, it’s not,” he repeated.  “Swear to Christ, you won’t hear another word about it today.  Dave promised me.  All we’re gonna do is hang out in the pool while we pickle our livers.  I might even get drunk enough to tell some embarrassing stories.”

 

His honeyed tone and firm embrace made for a powerful combination.  Jon didn’t have to sweet talk any woman, yet he was making that effort for her.  Once upon a time (not so long ago), she’d been willing to indulge in every moment with the knowledge that it may be their last.   

 

What had changed since then, really?  He had wanted to put a dimmer on her stark view of reality, but the truth was that neither of them knew when they’d reach the end of this road they were on.  Not even David, with his dire ultimatums could predict it, because Jon was a stubborn man who didn’t bend at the doubt of others.  If the music world knew anything, it was that.  He wrote his own fortunes to suit himself and no one else. 

 

The road isn’t ending today.  Enjoy the journey, Theodosia.

 

“How will we get home if you’re drunk as a skunk?”

 

A soft exhale tickled her neck as muscular arms constricted for a quick squeeze.  “Eh, we’ll figure out something.”

 

His subtle signs of relief reinforced Teddi’s choice.  Today, she would make a memory.  Steal a piece of time.  Because….  Well, there was nowhere else tonight she should be.

 

Don’t say any of that that out loud.  You know how he gets about song lyrics. 

 

She smirked into his shoulder, finally returning the hug.  “Then let’s go get pickled.”

 

Her apparent willingness to move on with the day brought Jon some level of relaxation, but as they went back through the living room hand-in-hand, he was still mentally braced for another scene.  Was she going to rip David a new ass once they got outside?  Unlikely, since that wasn’t the polite thing to do, but he could imagine her creating a chill in the ninety-degree air. 

 

That’s what he would have to figure out how to diffuse while still trying to digest what this whole turn of events meant for him personally. 

 

Dave’s uninvited fuckery forced Jon and Teddi to a small crest on the landscape of their relationship, and Jon wasn’t crazy about the view from the top.  The horizon looked too much like the dire end Teddi had been predicting all along, and it was only absolute stubbornness that had him focusing on the next step rather than the bleak distance.  They could always find an unexpected fork in their road that took them in a different direction.

 

“Jon.” She slowed with a tug on his hand beside the big grand piano.  “Do you think David would mind if I tried it?  Just to see how it sounds?”

 

Speaking of unexpected…

 

“That’s right.  Tori mentioned that you play.”  Jon nudged her toward the padded bench.  “Show me what you’ve got.”

 

She shot him a half-smirk before sliding onto the padded leather bench and sliding back the key cover.  “Will you sing?”

 

“Oh Christ,” he groaned, kicking himself for not thinking this through.  Being thought of as an on-demand jukebox was an occupational hazard that was annoying as fuck, but in all fairness, she’d had plenty of opportunity to ask before now.

 

“I don’t mean a replica of a recording, or even a live performance.”  Her fingers tickled over the keys too lightly to make a sound.  “I once heard a soundcheck on YouTube where you did ‘Raise Your Hands’ down the octave, in almost a speaking voice.  It was so unique and, to be frank, sexy that I found myself wondering what other songs might sound like done that way.”

 

If it would steer this day back to something that resembled normal and carefree, he’d could manage that.  It’s not like it would tax his voice to half-ass a song. 

 

“Yeah, okay.  As long as I can remember the words.”

 

She held out an upturned palm.  “Give me your phone and I’ll find them.”

 

Flattening his mouth with rolled eyes, he resisted the impulse to be a wiseass and handed over with a neutral, “I guess you have something in mind, then.”

 

“Yes.”  Efficient fingers navigated through the apps, flicking with ease until they located what she was looking for.  “I’m also very fond of your acoustic work.  To hear an acoustic version done down the octave might be the highlight of my Jovi girl life.”

 

He accepted the returned phone with a chuckle.  Dating a fucking Jovi girl.  With a Ph.D. and anxiety from hell, no less.  And he was taking requests.  If Maggie had predicted this shit, then he would never have questioned her soothsaying skills, because this was somewhere in the realm of the Twilight Zone for Jon.

 

Along with the fact that he didn’t really mind any of it.  Go figure.

 

As Teddi struck the piano keys to create a heavy, lethargic series of notes, he read the screen with a lifted brow.  “Is there some hidden meaning behind this choice?”

 

“Meaning?  No,” she denied with a Mona Lisa smile, repeating the introductory chord progression of “I’d Die For You” under a lighter touch than he was used to hearing.  “I spent many hours listening to your Yokohama and Ludwigshafen performances from the late nineties.  They were inspirational in my desire to learn it.”

 

At least it wasn’t supposed to be some kind of creepy serenade.  That earned her some points, which he mentally added to the growing tally. 

 

“It’s only a shame I won’t get to swoon over the harmony on that Romeo and Juliet line,” she mused while repeating the musical passage again.  “Richie’s voice blends magically with yours.”

 

Four years later and comments like that still bit him in the ass like a rabid Rottweiler.  He should be used to it by now.  In most instances, he was, but hearing it from her was unexpected, so Jon hadn’t braced himself for it.  Was that her intention?  Was she trying to dig at him in retribution for Dave’s intervention tactics? 

 

If that was the case, she would be disappointed, because he was emotionless when responding, “Yeah.  It did.  Back when we were us.”

 

“Mm.  That sounds like a song title.  When we were us.”

 

“Yeah.  It does.”  Fuck it.  Trying to keep the peace wasn’t worth sacrificing his own peace.  “Is this some kind of polite vindictiveness for what happened outside?  Are you picking at an old scab to piss me off?”

 

The music stopped abruptly as her fingers froze on the keys, and the look of horror she turned on him convinced Jon of her innocence even before she spoke.

 

“Absolutely not!  I would never be so cruel.  If I’d realized it was still a trigger for you, I never would’ve mentioned it.”

 

She wasn’t playing mind games with him; he was just being a big frigging baby. 

 

Feeling stupid, he bent his head over the phone and dragged a thumb over the glass, sliding the lyrics up and down before gruffly ordering, “Play the song.”

 

“Jon.”

 

He refused to look up from the words he’d penned a hundred years ago.  How could there be so much pity in one fucking name?  “Look.  I want to discuss this about as much as you want to discuss agoraphobia.  Yes, I overreacted.  Yes, it’s obviously still a trigger.  Can we just let it go?”

 

“Have you talked to him at all?”

 

Talking was a generous term for the brief text exchange he’d had with his former guitarist four years ago.  In his book, “sorry, man” and “fuck you” didn’t qualify.

 

“No.”

 

“When you get into the Hall and have to, what will you do?”

 

He lifted hardened eyes, hating the pity he found in her soft gaze.  Even more, he hated that he didn’t have an answer to that question.  Every time the thought came to mind, Jon had a different reaction, until he’d finally reached the point of refusing to waste his brain cells on worthless speculation.

 

They weren’t in the Hall yet.  If and when that time came…

 

“I’ll deal with it, just like I do everything else.”