Chapter 7

Jon was still out on the terrace, sipping at his coffee, feeling too lazy to go inside for a refill and so trying to make it last. His cell rang, the display showing ‘Dean’, and he flipped the phone open.

“Hey, Rich. What the fuck’s got you up so early? Or is it who?”

“Asshole.” Richie muttered, but in a way he was pleased to hear the joking sound of Jon’s voice, assuring him that Jon was over the initial shock and panic of yesterday. “And it’s kinda ‘who’. Just wanted to check in, make sure you were okay, man.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jon glanced toward the terrace door, checking it was shut. “I called the hospital, and once I got past some Rottweiler in a nurse’s outfit, I spoke to Jay’s doctor.”

“And?”

“And….he’s still unconscious. The doctor isn’t particularly worried, though, but he did scare the shit outta me when he said it was a brain injury.”

“Yeah, but that’s what they say for anything like that now.”

“So he said.” Jon agreed, biting back the snarky comment that rose to his lips, knowing Richie was right. “Anyway, I’m gonna take a trip down this afternoon, see how he’s doing.”

“You want company?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine, bro. But thanks for the offer.”

“Well, you need me, you know where I am.”

“Yeah. I…..” Jon broke off as he heard the terrace door slide open, turning to see Jake approaching. “Looks like my peace and quiet’s over for the morning. Kids are awake.”

Richie chuckled. “I’ll let you go then - call me, though, when the ‘other’ kid wakes up, ‘kay?”

“I will, bro. Later.” Jon flipped the phone shut when Richie said goodbye.

Laying the phone on the table, Jon reached out and grabbed Jake in a hug.

“How you doin’, buddy?” He asked, and Jake wriggled slightly in his embrace so he could look up at his dad.

“Morning, dad.” He hesitated nervously, then spoke up. “Dad…..”

“Yeah, Jakey?” Jon could see the serious look on his son’s face, and he had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“I’m sorry, dad. I threw the football and knocked over the flowers.”

“You did?”

“Uh-huh. I’m sorry.” The little boy’s voice was contrite, and Jon ruffled his hair.

“Okay. Well, you guys already got punished for it, I guess, but…..” He paused, not for effect, but just thinking how glad he was he’d not had the three boys at the game when Jay got hurt. That they hadn’t seen their father lose it, hadn’t heard his confession to Richie. Feeling Jake tense in his arms, Jon ruffled his hair again. “But, thank you for owning up. You know I was more angry at you guys lying to me than about what happened, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, in future, just don’t lie to me, Jacob. And don’t play football in mom’s and my bedroom either!”

“I won’t.” Jake promised.

“Good.” A final squeeze of his arms around the boy. “Hungry?”

Jake nodded, so Jon followed him back indoors, into the kitchen where they pulled out cereal and bagels and bread, making a thorough mess of the kitchen as they fixed breakfast. Jon sent Jake to fetch his brothers, knowing they’d be awake but playing in their bedrooms. The four male members of the Bongiovi family - at least, the four who carried the family name - ate breakfast in the kitchen, finishing just as Belle, the housekeeper, arrived to start work.

Belle had been with the family long enough to be almost part of it, and therefore allowed a lot of latitude in her conduct toward them, so when she jokingly demanded to know who’d made such a mess of her kitchen, the boys immediately pointed at their dad.

“Traitors.” He muttered with a grin, then looked at the time. “Belle - I don’t remember what time Tina starts today, but if she’s not here, would you be able to keep an eye on these three later? I gotta run out for a few hours.”

“Of course. Maybe I should get them to clean their bedrooms.”

The kids looked aghast - not again?! - but Jon saved them, smiling wryly as he explained.

“They did that yesterday.”

“They didn’t go to watch the Soul?” Belle was surprised - those boys loved the game almost as much as their father did.

“Uh….no. We had a little bit of an….issue….so they stayed here.”

“Oh.” Belle had two sons of her own, so she didn’t pursue the matter any further. “Well, I’m sure I can cope with them today if needs be.”

“Thanks.” Jon said gratefully, gulping the last of his coffee before leaving the kitchen, heading for his bedroom again.

He showered, shaved and dressed in his preferred outfit of baggy, battered cargo pants and a faded black tshirt. Except when the occasion - or his wife - demanded it, he was no clothes horse, and his tshirts were as likely to be Gap as Gucci. You could take the boy out of Jersey, but he’d always have those blue-collar roots pulling him back.

For a couple of hours, he sat in his office, his laptop open on the desk, working through the pile of email that seemed to accumulate every day, making a few calls on his desk phone. Eventually, the inbox was reduced to a manageable few messages, and he checked the time before picking up the phone again, calling his driver and telling him he just needed the car - he’d drive himself. While he waited, Jon grabbed another coffee, then Belle pointed to the counter.

“You left your phone outside.”

“Shit! Thanks, Belle.”

Jon picked it up, seeing the light flashing for a missed call. His heart fell into his boots - or would have, if he weren’t barefoot - when he recognised the Philadelphia area code. A quick check of the outgoing calls confirmed his fear that the number was the hospital, and he hit the redial button as he headed back to his office, closing the door.

He just asked for Jay’s doctor, pacing nervously around the office while he waited for what felt like hours. Finally, the doctor came on the line, slightly out of breath.

“What’s happened?” Jon asked without preliminary, his fear too close to the surface.

“Everything’s fine.” The doctor assured him. “I just wanted to let you know - as you asked - that Jay came around briefly about a half hour ago, and he’s sleeping again now.”

“Sleeping or unconscious?” Jon queried tersely.

“Sleeping.” The doctor said firmly. “He’s still feeling the effects of the sedatives.”

“And is he…….was he…….”

“He’s fine. He was awake long enough for us to do a few very quick checks, and he’s absolutely fine. In fact, his first words were ‘did we win?’!”

“That’s my…..” Jon stopped himself before he said ‘boy’, quickly changing to finish “….kind of player!”

“He’ll be out of here in a few days.” The doctor said, and Jon was grinning in relief now, clenching his fist for control to keep his voice steady.

“That’s great news. I’ll let Coach know - he can tell the team. I’ll still try to drop in later.”

They said goodbye, and it wasn’t until he’d laid down his phone that the doctor realised he hadn’t mentioned that the player’s mother had arrived. Still, it didn’t make a difference, he consoled himself as he went back to work.

Jon quickly called Richie, updating him on Jay’s condition. His friend was appropriately happy at the news, joking how obviously the hard Bongiovi head extended to the teenager.

“You still goin’ to visit?”

“Yeah. Wanna see for myself, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Richie paused. “Swing around and pick me up on the way.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I know that. I want to.”

Jon agreed, telling Richie he’d be there in an hour or so, traffic permitting, then he closed the phone and grabbed shoes and a jacket on his way to the kitchen. Belle was fixing lunch for the boys, who were sitting lined up like sparrows at the table, and Jon quickly said his goodbyes, filling a travel mug with coffee for the drive.

With perfect timing, he’d just finished lacing up his running shoes when his driver called to say he’d arrived, so Jon headed down the stairs. His panic over Jay was gone, but he wasn’t about to tempt fate with an elevator ride just yet.

The drive to Philly was surprisingly swift, and after collecting Richie, Jon drove to the hospital. They were just about to walk in when he stopped suddenly.

“Shit! I forgot to phone Coach. You go on in and I’ll catch you up.”

“And you can have a smoke, too, huh?” A mild verbal jab from the guitarist, but Jon shook his head.

“Nah. Quittin’.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, just grinning as he walked into the hospital, riding the elevator up and heading to Jay’s room. He was preoccupied with Jon’s sudden - but not unwelcome - decision to quit smoking, so he was in the room before he realised there was someone sitting by the bed. A female someone.

Hearing his footsteps, she turned away from the sleeping kid, her face turning pale as she obviously recognised him, instantly knowing that her secret wasn’t a secret any more.

“Oh, Jesus, no…..” She muttered, looking at him in shock.

Richie didn’t recognise her - he’d never seen her before - but her reaction, and the fact that she sat by Jay’s bed, told him who the still-youthful brunette had to be.

“Billie.” He said softly.

Chapter 6

When Jon woke the next morning, his first thought wasn’t of how he missed waking up curled into his sleeping wife, or of the hundred-and-one things he always seemed to need to do. His first waking thought today was of Jay, lying alone in a hospital bed, possibly still unconscious. It was barely six o’clock - Jon’s body was tuned to run on little more than minimum sleep, his brain never seeming to totally shut down, just slowing enough to let him rest before kicking back up to full speed after four or five hours of sleep. The only time Jon tended to sleep longer than that was on the rare occasions when he was sick - he’d been cursed with a body that just couldn’t sleep through a hangover, instead forcing him out of bed when all he wanted to do was die quietly in a corner.

He reached to the bedside table, picking up his cellphone, then hesitated as he realised he didn’t actually know the number for the hospital. A quick call to directory assistance solved that, and he scrawled it onto the pad on the bedside. Before he made the call, though, he slipped out of bed, heading into his bathroom as nature’s call became impossible to ignore. Scratching himself as he wandered naked back to the bedroom, he grinned at a memory of Dot laughing one morning as he did just that, teasing him that if only the fans could see him now, bleary-eyed from too much wine, morning breath and scratching his balls….. His grin widened as he remembered where things had gone after that, with him freshening away his morning breath with the taste of his wife, until she was crying out and clutching at his hair. Then his rebellious mind threw another memory at him, from long ago, of ramming himself into Billie as they both watched in her bathroom mirror, and he pinched the bridge of his nose hard as tension set in.

“Fuck.” He muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for his phone.

Dialling the hospital, he managed to get put through to Jay’s ward, but had more difficulty convincing the nurse at the desk to give him any information. She insisted adamantly that she could only give patient information to family members, and Jon had to bite his tongue not to blurt out that he was family. That the patient was his son. Right now, he’d no clue if Billie had a husband and, if she did, whether the guy knew who Jay’s biological father was. Also, he didn’t want to take the chance of the nurse telling Jay - assuming he was awake - that his dad had called. If Billie hadn’t married, who knew what she’d told her son about his father.

Jon tried playing the rockstar-football-team-owner card, but still no dice, so he finally asked to speak with Jay’s doctor, dredging the guy’s name from his memory. That, the nurse agreed to, and after a short wait Jon found himself talking with the young doctor who’d been treating his son.

The doctor was willing enough to give Jon an update on the player’s condition, but there really wasn’t much to tell. All the tests were coming back fine. Other than the collarbone, there were no broken bones. No bleeds or clots. Just that Jay was still unconscious.

“You said it’s fairly common.” Jon tried not to sound as worried as he felt. “But just how common is it for a fit, healthy young guy to stay out of it this long?”

“Unfortunately, it’s still - even now - a pretty inexact science.” The doctor admitted. “Brain injuries like this are very unpredictable, and until he wakes up……well, we just can’t tell.”

“Brain injury?!” Jon repeated, panic shocking through him. Not even allowing himself to dwell on the import of what exactly they ‘couldn’t tell’ until Jay woke up.

“Aw, shit!” The doctor said, then caught himself. “Sorry, Mr Bon Jovi. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I only meant concussion. We’ve no reason to suspect anything more - ‘brain injury’ is just a general term.”

“Oh.” Jon’s heartrate slowed a little. “Okay. Well, I’ll maybe drop by and see him later - I need to be in Philly anyway.”

That was a lie. He’d no reason at all to be in Philadelphia. Except for seeing his son.

“I’ll let the nurses know.” The doctor said. “I gather you had a bit of a run-in with Diane - she didn’t sound too happy when she transferred you to me.”

“Uh, no. She said she couldn’t - wouldn’t - give patient information to anyone but family. She’s stubborn.”

“That she is. But I guess, if you think about it, it’s a good thing. I mean, if it were one of your own children, you wouldn’t want her giving out information on the phone.”

The words ripped into Jon. The doctor couldn’t know just how accurate he was with that, and Jon pinched at his nose again, the tension returning.

“Yeah. Well, I’d appreciate if you could let them know. Richie Sambora may drop by, too. Jay’s our youngest player - the baby of the team - so I guess we feel kinda responsible for him.”

“Okay. I’ll spread the word to the nurses.” The doctor promised, impressed again by the star’s concern for his player.

Jon said goodbye, closing his phone and dropping it onto the mattress, dropping himself beside it, one arm covering his eyes as he tried to force relaxation onto himself. It didn’t work, and he got up with a groan, pulling on a pair of sweats before heading for the kitchen. Heading for coffee.

The coffee maker was programmed for his bodyclock, so the pot was full and waiting for him. Jon poured an outsized mug-full, taking a fresh pack of cigarettes from a cupboard and heading for the small terrace off the living room. Though he and Dot both smoked - she more than him - they did try to keep the second-hand smoke away from the kids as much as they could. Besides, Jon had too many memories of the nicotine-soaked smell of his childhood home, and he preferred to keep his house free of the smell as far as possible.

Lighting a cigarette, he sat in one of the cushioned chairs, watching idly as the smoke rose almost straight into the air, no breeze in the city yet this morning. He took another long drag, letting the smoke curl from his mouth as he reached for his coffee. Since his dad’s death from the ravages of lung cancer, Jon knew that Richie had a major problem with his continued enjoyment of smoking. He’d told Richie, deadly serious, that he didn’t need to smoke - he liked to smoke - and Richie had looked at him in disbelief. He’d reminded Jon that he’d said almost those exact words about his own drinking problem. His alcoholism, he’d actually said. Reminded Jon of how it had almost destroyed him - partly because he’d toughed it out for so long - the typical Jersey attitude of needing no help - until it affected him to the point where he couldn’t play one of their own songs. A song they’d written together for Slippery, and which he’d been playing without even thinking about it for better than twenty years. That had been the day Jon and the rest of them had sat him down, and he’d made the decision - because nobody else could make it for him - to get himself some help.

Now, though, Jon looked at the cigarette thoughtfully. Seeing his own son lying unconscious in a hospital bed through what could be termed just shitty luck - that kind of brought it home to Jon just how fragile a thing life could be.

Sure, Jay was attempting - pretty successfully - to make a living out of a contact sport, but Jon knew the odds of the tackle causing this kind of injury were fairly low. Just shitty luck.

He sighed and stubbed out the cigarette. Sure - shitty luck - but why keep lowering your own odds? He’d quite before - surely he could do it again? Jon chuckled to himself as he remembered the old joke - ‘sure I can quit - no problem - I’ve done it dozens of times’.