Chapter Forty

Jon stood nervously, not sure whether to duck or just get the hell out of there, but the look on Richie’s face was more nonplussed than angry, and Jon quickly spoke again.

“Bro, I owe you an apology.” He grimaced. “More than one.”

And with that, Richie’s face softened fractionally. It wasn’t as though he was instantly forgiving Jon for all the shit he’d put them through, but the immediate apology was enough to make him willing to listen. Willing to find out what Jon wanted to say. Plus, if the truth were told, he’d missed his friend. Missed him for the better part of the last year, since Jon started spiralling into his rockstar-pissy-primadonna phase, since he stopped being Richie’s friend and became as close to an enemy as Richie had. The last month or so, since the tour ended, he’d missed the guy he knew, but not the Jon who’d been on the road, because that guy was the prick who’d been tearing them all apart.

All that showed on his face, though, during all those thoughts, was a relaxation of the taut lines around his eyes, not enough to allay Jon’s worries. Richie’s next words reassured him a little, though, as the taller man stepped back.

“I’m listenin’.” He moved into the room. “Shut the fuckin’ door, too.”

Relief washing through him, Jon walked into the room and closed the door, automatically taking a seat where he always had, when he and Richie wrote here. Richie sat on the end of his bed, looking across to where Jon sat slouched in the battered armchair, the scene so familiar to them both.

“So?” Richie prompted. He may be willing to listen, but he’d be damned if he was going to make it too easy for Jon.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, last few weeks.” Jon began, knowing Richie was used enough to his rambling to just let him talk it out. “And I know what a prick I was being, last few months of the tour. I was treating you - all of you - like shit, and I’m sorry. For all of it.”

He looked over at Richie, seeing partial acceptance of the apology, but his friend’s dark eyes were also asking for more, so he carried on talking. Carried on explaining what he’d only recently come to understand himself.

“Dot came out to California, few weeks ago, and I think that’s what saved me. Or started saving me. When she came out, she gave me a verbal ass-kicking and forced me to take a good long hard look in the mirror.” He lowered his head, staring at his hands as he fidgeted uncomfortably, then raising his eyes to look at Richie. “I didn’t like what I saw.”

“Join the club.” Richie interrupted softly.

“Yeah. Anyway, she made me think, for the first time in months, about what I actually wanted. Not with the band, or the business, or anything but me. She made me stop and think about what I wanted.”

Richie couldn’t help it, staring at Jon incredulously, his voice loud and abrasive as he almost yelled at him.

“Anything but you? What the fuck d’you think you’d been doin’ the last few months, but thinkin’ just about yourself?!”

Richie’s face darkened angrily, his fists clenching in a way that worried Jon. Worried him a lot, but still he knew, if Richie came at him, he’d sit there and take it. God knew, he deserved it.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I…..”

“Oh, excuse me!” Richie spat sarcastically. “Of course, I’m fuckin’ wrong. Nothin’ new there. The gospel according to Bongiovi, right? Toe the line or get the fuck out. You selfish little prick, Jon. Did you ever even think about how you were affecting me? Affecting the band.” He corrected himself quickly, but Jon got the message loud and clear, squeezing his eyes shut as Richie’s anger brought out the truth. Brought out the hurt he’d caused.

“Dammit, Richie - I’m trying to apologise. Not doing a great fucking job of it, obviously, but I’m trying! Will you let me finish?” He raised his hands. “Let me finish, then if you still wanna beat the shit outta me, then go for it. It’s no more than I deserve.”

Richie blew out an angry breath, forcing his hands to relax, running them through his hair, fighting down the anger.

“Fine.” He muttered. “I’m listening.”

Jon took a deep breath and continued.

“When Dot asked me what I wanted, the only thing I could think was that I wanted to get away. Get away from everything and everyone. Everyone except her. So we did. We took the bike and just lit out. Doc decided he was coming, too, which didn’t really help too much.” Jon shrugged. “After a couple weeks, when I……..uh….. when things just weren’t working out……..Dot told me to go on alone. Sent me off in the night, and she headed back home here with Doc.”

“I saw her.” Richie offered grudgingly. “Last week. Maybe week before. But she didn’t say much.”

That was his Dot, Jon thought. Protecting him from everyone, now that she wasn’t protecting him from himself.

“She wouldn’t, would she?” Jon said, both of them knowing she’d walk on broken glass for her man. All he could hope was that he was still that man. “I don’t fucking deserve her, Richie. Most women would be more than happy to give you chapter and verse on how fucked up I was when she found me in Malibu. How she found me lying stinking in my bed. How I hadn’t eaten in a week. Hadn’t showered in even longer. How the only thing I’d done was drink whiskey and feel sorry for myself.”

Richie looked at him closely, seeing that he was being completely honest. This was no whining, feel-sorry-for-me act, but Jon was telling him the exact truth of how low he’d sunk. It actually made Richie feel bad, that he’d been hating his friend so much, never able to see past his own hurt to see that, however much he hated Jon, Jon hated himself even more. Never able to see the dark depression that Jon had fallen into. It had taken a woman - Jon’s woman - to see it, and to drag him out of it enough that he could start to help himself. Could start to heal.

“Nah.” Richie stretched slightly, loosening the tense muscles of his back, already feeling their friendship starting to re-establish itself. His voice was far friendlier as he spoke again. “Go on. Dot sent you off into the night…….?”

“Yeah.” Jon had to start being a little more careful of what he said now. He didn’t intend telling even Richie about Billie. “I rode a while longer, and it was getting better, being alone. Then I hooked up with a rancher, out in the middle of Kansas. I was fixing to just sleep a night out in the desert, but after they told me I’d probably wake up coyote food I figured to find a hotel instead. Since there weren’t any for miles, I got myself invited to sleep over at the ranch.”

The wistful expression on his face made Richie wonder about the ‘rancher’, but he didn’t ask, just let Jon continue.

“I stayed there for a few nights - helped out a bit around the place to pay my way - then decided it was time to get back to reality. So here I am.” He reddened slightly. “I called Cher, to find out where you were, then decided to come here first.”

“Jesus! You must’ve been feeling brave if you called Cher - she hates you, man.” Richie chuckled, then frowned a little. “You haven’t been to see Dot?”

“No. She’ll understand. She knows I fucked up with all you guys, so she’ll understand I needed to come apologise to you first. I need to get in touch with Teek, Dave and Alec, too.”

“Yeah. You probably wanna go see Teek first.” Richie suggested. “He got almost as pissed at you as I was. In fact, last time I punched you out, he walked away and let me get on with it.”

“I remember.” Jon muttered, wincing at the memory of the asshole he’d been for so long, then he looked Richie straight in the eyes. “Are we still friends?”

“I think so.” Richie said carefully. There’d have to be a bit more water under the bridge before he’d be completely sure.

Jon nodded, understanding. “That’s the best I can ask right now. For a while there I thought the band was finished. Thought our friendship was finished.”

“Which one bothered you more?” Richie asked curiously, but Jon didn’t hesitate.

“That we weren’t friends any more. The band - the business - the money I didn’t give a fuck about any more. Just couldn’t seem to remember why we - I - wanted it so much. I guess I have to thank Billie for putting things back in perspective for me.”

“Billy?” Richie frowned. “Who’s Billy?”

Jon cursed himself silently. So much for not mentioning her, huh? Still, he was just lucky that her name could be taken two ways.

“The rancher. Billie.”

“Oh. Right.”

Getting to his feet, Jon moved restlessly around the room, Richie watching him as he tried to figure out what he was going to say next. Finally plucking up the courage, he turned to the guitarist.

“Do you want to carry on with the band?” Jon blurted, and Richie nodded slowly.

“If you want me to.” He said carefully.

“Ah, shit, that’s not how I meant it.” Jon shook his head. “I meant…….do you think the band should stay together? Do you think we can do it again? Still do it?”

“Yeah, I do. But I think we all need to take some time and space from each other, Jon.” His face was - unusually for Richie - serious. “Last few years, we’ve worked together, played together. Hell, even if we weren’t working we vacationed together! I think we’ve proved that’s not healthy.”

“Amen to that.”

“Yeah. So maybe we just need to take some time out. Do our own thing for a little while, then all get together again without the pressure.”

What Richie wasn’t saying, of course, was take a bit of time to allow the memories to dim a little, to stop the anger building again. He didn’t need to say it. Jon knew.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we need to do stuff on our own for a bit.” He smiled slightly. “It’d let you get on and work on that record you’re always talking about.”

“I have been, kinda.” Richie said, nodding toward the sheets of paper scattered on his bed.

“Cool.” Jon hesitated, but he didn’t want to step on Richie’s toes. He’d fucked up enough already. “When - if - you wanna, let me hear it, ‘kay?”

“Sure.” Richie remembered something he hadn’t been sure he’d ever get a chance to tell Jon. “Hey - Cher had a call from somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody…….you know how it goes in Hollyweird…….and they were asking about ‘Wanted’ for a movie.”

“Yeah? What movie?”

“Not sure. Some Billy the Kid thing I think. Emilio’s doing it.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Nope. Haven’t had the time. You should, though. You’re the businessman, Jon - I just play guitar.”

They both laughed, then Jon walked over to Richie, holding out his hand.

“I’ll say it for the last time. I’m sorry, Rich.”

Richie looked at the outstretched hand for a moment, then shook it firmly. “Apology accepted.”

Richie got to his feet and he and Jon hugged like the brothers they should’ve been, the hug heartfelt and sincere. Letting each other go, they stepped back, neither of them ever embarrassed at showing their feelings toward the other. Even now, after their falling out.

Grinning at Jon, Richie turned to the door. “Wanna beer?”

“Just one.” Jon replied. “Then I gotta go see Dot.”

They headed up into the kitchen, helping themselves to beer from the fridge as Mrs Sambora looked at them both before smiling.

“You boys hungry?”