Chapter 30

Yanking the door open, Richie stepped back to let the doctor in, then frowned in confusion at the sight of a room service waiter carrying a tray with a bottle of scotch.

 

“What the……?”  He said in surprise, then his brain caught up and he realised why Billie had so easily opened her door to him when he arrived - she’d ordered herself some amnesia and thought it had arrived.

 

“Sir?” 

 

The waiter was staring pointedly at his sleeve, at the blood soaking the fabric, and he took a step back from the door, looking down the hallway in search of security.  He recognised the man who’d opened the door, and like most of the country knew of the guitarist’s struggles with alcohol.  Unfortunately, he was putting together Richie and alcohol and bloodstains and getting all the wrong answers.  Luckily, though, before he could speak again the elevator doors pinged open at the end of the hallway, and a man carrying the unmistakable bag of a doctor emerged.

 

“Oh, thank God.”  Richie muttered, stepping into the hallway.  “Down here!”

 

As he moved back into the room, Richie glanced at the bottle of scotch.  He could hardly blame Billie for ordering it - he’d tried it for long enough himself, to use alcohol to chase away his pain.  Just that her pain was far more immediate and brutal than his had been.

 

“You can take that away.”  He told the waiter as the doctor got to the door. 

 

When the doctor had entered the room, Richie closed the door in the stunned face of the waiter, turning to face the doctor.

 

“She’s through here.”  He led the way to the bedroom.  “I got here about ten minutes ago, and she was…….” 

 

The doctor nodded.  The blood pooled on the floor, the trail of blood drops heading to the bedroom said enough.

 

“I took her through to the bed, but she passed out a few minutes ago.”  Richie swallowed hard.  “She’s bled a lot, doc.”

 

“I see that.”  The doctor nodded as they entered the room. 

 

Even the bedcover was now stained with blood where it had soaked through from her robe, and Richie heard the doctor suck in a horrified breath, then grab at his professional composure, stepping up to the bed.

 

“Did she tell you what happened?”  He asked as he felt for her pulse, finding it weak and thready.

 

“She was assaulted.”  Richie said slowly.  How much should he say?  As much as he had to, to make sure she got the help she needed.  “She said somebody beat her, raped her.  And worse.” 

 

His last words were whispered as he found himself unable to say it, and the doctor looked up in confusion for a second, then thought maybe he understood.  As Richie waited helplessly, the doctor moved the cover back and untied her robe again, his face paling as he looked at Billie’s battered form.  The fact of most of the blood on the back of her robe, combined with the dark streaks in the blood, told him what had happened to this woman, and he had to fight to keep himself together.  Dammit, he was a hotel doctor, there to dispense aspirin and band aids - he wasn’t an ER doctor.  Or a surgeon, which was what she needed.

 

Richie stood watching.  The way the doctor had turned pale told him even more how badly hurt Billie was, and he just didn’t know what to do.  He was rescued from the indecision by a loud knocking on the suite door, and a voice calling ‘paramedics’.

 

“Thank God.”  He muttered, heading for the door to let them in.

 

Much as the waiter and doctor had done, the paramedics had a quick double-take at the man who opened the suite door, but Richie just pointed them toward the bedroom.  He closed the door and leaned against it, looking to the bedroom door, wondering if he should call anyone.  Well, okay, not anyone.  Wondering if he should call Jon.  The answer didn’t take him long, and he pulled out his cellphone, hitting the speed dial and pacing toward the window, hoping to muffle his words a little.

 

 

In New York, Jon looked angrily at his phone.  Angry because he had to lay down his wineglass to pick it up as it buzzed.  The display told him it was Richie, and he answered grouchily.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Hello to you, too, Jon.”  Richie snapped back, his worry sharpening his tone.

 

“What is it?”  Jon shifted the phone so he could pick up his wine again.  He’d already had a bottle and a half, but needed more to try to get his brain to stop playing back Dot asking for a divorce.

 

“Bro…..”  Richie paused, trying to make his voice gentler.  “You need to come up to Philly.  Now.”

 

“Why?  Middle of the fucking night.”

 

“Because Billie needs……”  He was about to finish ‘to go to hospital’, but Jon interrupted too fast.

 

“Billie needs?!  Hasn’t she taken enough from me for one day?”  Dammit, he knew he was being unreasonable, but the wine, and the hurt, told him he was justified.

 

“Fuck you, Jon!”  Richie snapped, turning to the window, hoping his words hadn’t carried to the bedroom where he could hear the soft voices of paramedics and the doctor as they worked on Billie.  “She hasn’t taken a damned thing from you, and you know it!”

 

Jon straightened in his chair as something in Richie’s voice got through to him.  Something that told him something very bad had happened up there.

 

“Shit.  Sorry.”  He exhaled sharply, setting down the wine.  “What’s wrong, bro?”

 

“Billie’s been……..”  Richie paused.  He couldn’t make himself say it over the phone this way.  “She’s been hurt.  I stopped by to say hello, and it was lucky I did.  The paramedics just arrived.”

 

“Paramedics?!”  Jon shot upright, already getting to his feet.  Okay, so she wasn’t his ‘problem’, but dammit she was his son’s mother and for that alone he cared about her.

 

“Yeah.”  Richie sighed.  “Get up here, Jonny.  She’s bad.”

 

“How bad?”

 

“Bad.”  He replied firmly.  “I’ll let you know when I find out which hospital.  Can you let Jay know?  I don’t have his number……”

 

“Shit.”  This wasn’t how Jon wanted to be talking to his son, but he had to man up - cowboy up - and do it.  “Let me know which hospital, then I’ll call him, okay?  Once we know where to send him.”

 

“Will do, bro.  Get here.”  Richie finished firmly, closing his phone and heading to the bedroom.

 

At the door, he paused, stepping aside to let one of the paramedics leave the room.

 

“Gurney.”  The guy said as he passed, a quick explanation of why he was leaving, and Richie just nodded, entering the room.

 

“How is she?”  He asked diffidently, and the doctor looked up, shaking his head silently, mouthing ‘not good’.

 

He stepped back against the wall, hating to watch, but unable to leave, caught between fear and the need to know what was going on.  What worried him more than anything - and he was no doctor, so didn’t know if it was really as bad as it seemed - was that she lay so quiet and still.  He’d have almost preferred if she was moaning in pain, thrashing on the bed.  This pale, silent sight terrified him. 

 

What scared him most was that maybe he’d arrived too late. 

Chapter 29

“Billie?”  Richie looked at her in shock - her hair tousled and her face pale, streaked with tears.  “Billie, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing.”  She lied.  Possibly the hardest lie she’d ever told, considering that even standing upright felt like it was tearing her apart.  She could feel wetness trickling down her thighs, and she didn’t know if it was just Nick’s semen leaving her body - which could only be a blessing - or if she was still bleeding.

 

“Nothing?”  Richie repeated.  There was clearly something very wrong here, but he just wasn’t sure how to raise the subject.  Despite their recent dinner, and their long chat, they were practically strangers.  Perhaps he should just stay out of whatever it was.

 

“No.  What did you want?”  Billie frowned suddenly.  “How did you know which room I was in?”

 

“Uh, I saw your room number that day we met.”  He shrugged with a tiny smile.  “It’s my birthday - well, if you write it like they do in the UK, so it stuck in my head.”

 

Billie glanced at the door, at the brass numbers ‘one one zero seven’.  July eleventh, she realised.

 

“You sure everything’s okay?”  Richie asked.  “You said you needed to make some calls - is everything okay at home?”  A minor brainwave.  “I tried your cell, but it was busy.”

 

“I must’ve been using it.”  Billie said lamely. 

 

“Thought you might say that.”  Richie pulled the phone from his pocket, holding it in front of her, his eyes concerned.  “Care to try again?”

 

“I……..”  Billie’s eyes rolled back as pain ripped through her lower body, and she staggered, grabbing for the edge of the door, but using her left hand, gasping in pain as she moved her arm carelessly fast.

 

“What the……?”  Richie stepped into the room, his hands gripping Billie’s waist to hold her upright.

 

Instinctively, she grabbed onto his broad shoulder with her right hand, her left arm hanging loose in pain, and her fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulder as she fought the pain, feeling her knees buckling with it.

 

“Jesus, Billie!”  Richie took one hand off her for a second, slamming the door behind him.

 

She started to fall, couldn’t stay on her feet as pain tore through her again, and Richie dipped low, hooking his arm under her knees, his other shifting to her shoulders as he lifted her in his arms.  As his gaze flicked downward, he saw the blood, a bright stain on the wood floor, and his heart accelerated in panic.

 

“Shhh.”  He whispered as she moaned pitifully, her body tense in his arms, her eyes clenched shut.  “Hush, darlin’……..let’s get you through to the bed.”

 

“Noooo……..”  Billie whimpered, but he was already moving, his long stride eating up the distance so that they were in the bedroom before she’d finished her protest.

 

“Jesus!”  Richie snapped as he saw the bloodstain on the bed, too, but there was nowhere else he could put her, and he laid her carefully onto the stained mattress.  “Billie, what’s wrong?!”

 

A gasp of pain was his only answer, Billie rolling onto her side, drawing her legs up, Richie turning pale as he saw the back of her robe soaked with blood, and he grabbed for his phone.

 

“Billie, you need a doctor………a hospital……”

 

“No!”  Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.  “Please, Richie…….you can’t………”

 

“Billie, you’re bleeding!  You’re bleeding a lot.  I’m no doctor, but you need to be in an ER.  Now.”

 

“Richie, I can’t!  Everyone will find out!”  Her eyes filled with tears.  “Please!”

 

“I’m not promising anything.”  He pulled the cover over her.  He’d sit for a minute, but despite what he’d just said he was getting her to an emergency room.  “What happened, Billie?  The truth.  Give me that at least.”

 

“I……”  She buried her face in the pillow, shaking her head, but Richie laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

 

“Tell me.”  He said, softly but firmly.  “Tell me, Billie.”

 

Tears were streaking her face again as she looked at him, letting the emotional pain, the shame, of talking about it distract her from the searing pain ‘down there’.

 

“I……somebody else knows, Richie.  About Jay.”  She clenched her eyes shut again, hating herself for how stupid she’d been, feeling Richie’s gentle touch on her shoulder, his hand stroking soothingly.  “He found out - doesn’t matter how - and he……he agreed to keep quiet about it.”

 

“And what did he want in return?”  Richie asked.  Like he couldn’t figure that one out.

 

“Me.”  Billie whispered, forcing herself to look at him.  Refusing to let herself be ashamed of what had been done to her.  “Me, to do whatever he wanted.  And I let him.”  Her tears spilled over again, her eyes begging Richie for understanding.  “One time, Richie.  Just one time, I let him use me……..but tonight I said no.  Tonight I told him to get the fuck out.”

 

“He didn’t like that, huh?”  Richie brushed a thumb over her cheek, wiping tears.

 

“No.  He……..”  Cowboy up, she told herself.  “He hit me…….beat me……..raped me……  He…..he…..oh, God……..  He……..”

 

She was shaking now, and Richie guessed what she was trying to say.  Or at least he thought he did.  The obvious pain, the bleeding told it’s own tale of a brutally violent rape, and he hushed her tenderly.

 

“Shhh………you don’t need to say it, Billie.  I get it.”

 

“No!”  She shook her head fiercely.  “No!  He……..”  Her voice steadied fractionally.  “He….he held me down……and he…..he…….”  Even the word made her feel nauseous, and she searched for another word, unable to bring herself to say ‘buggered’.  “He sodomised me…… motherfucker…….he……”

 

He’d never know how he did it, but Richie crushed down the horror and disgust of what she’d just said.  Refused to allow himself to think of it, really, because if he did he knew he’d fall into rage, demanding to know who had done this to her then storming out to rip the fucker’s nuts off with his bare hands.  And right now Billie needed support and comfort, not that.  He squeezed his eyes shut as he fought for control, tears stinging his eyes at the thought of a man - if you could call someone who did that a ‘man’ - doing to that to any woman.  To anyone.

 

“Shhhhh.”  Richie gathered her carefully into his arms, trying not to move her too much, holding her tightly.  Then a thought occurred.  “Billie, why did you let him……?  To protect Jay?  I know Jay might be pissed that you never told him before, but………..  Oh sweet Jesus!  You did that - you let him do that - to protect Jon?!”

 

She was silent in his arms, then a tiny nod against his body.

 

“Billie, why?  You don’t owe Jon anything!  Certainly nothing like this!”

 

“I wanted to give him time to explain to his family.  It’s not their fault.  His kids can’t find out from the newspapers, Richie.  His wife………”  Her voice faded away.

 

“Jesus!”  Richie whispered again.  Billie obviously bore some kind of love for Jon, but to allow herself to be abused this way, to protect him and his family?  Even Richie’s standards of friendship - brotherhood - found that almost unbelievable.

 

“You do need a doctor, though, darlin’.”  He said gently, and Billie made no response, silent in his arms.

 

Too silent, Richie realised.

 

“Billie?”

 

No response, and he pulled back, seeing her face chalk-white.  Probably because a fair proportion of her blood was on the bed.

 

“Shit!”  Still holding her, Richie grabbed the bedside phone, dialling reception.

 

“Good evening, front desk.  This is Daniel, may I help you?”

 

“Yeah.”  Richie’s voice was rough with fear.  “Daniel, this is room eleven oh seven.  Ms Kelsall’s room.”  He swallowed hard, trying to keep her confidence but needing the urgency to be understood.  “I came to visit her and she’s been assaulted.”

 

“Here in the hotel?”  Daniel’s voice was stunned.

 

“Yes.  In her room.  Get an ambulance.  Now!”

 

“Yes sir!”  A fractional hesitation.  “We have a resident doctor here.  I’ll send him up, too.”

 

“Good.”  Richie paused.  “We need the ambulance like yesterday, Daniel.”

 

There was no reply, because Daniel had already hung up the phone to dial for help.

 

Carefully, Richie laid Billie on her side, even his limited knowledge of first aid telling him she was safer on her side than on her back.  He hesitated, but something in him had to know how bad this was, and he cautiously untied her robe, opening the soft fabric to see.

 

“Sweet fuck.”  He muttered as a brief glance showed him the dark bruising over most of her torso.  What scared him more was the blood that coated her thighs, sticking the robe to her legs as she lay unconscious.  “Where’s that fucking doctor?”

 

With perfect timing, someone knocked at the door, and Richie quickly closed her robe, pulling the cover over her and heading to the door to let the doctor in.  As he reached for the door handle, he saw the sleeve of his shirt soaked with blood, from when he’d lifted her, and sickness rose in his throat as the severity of her injuries sank in.

Chapter 28

With the backs of her legs against the bed, Billie stood helplessly at bay for a long moment, bile rising in her throat as Nick stripped off his shirt and dropped it to the floor.  His arousal was already obvious, and the nausea started to choke her as she remembered the last time.  Worse, this time he was clearly at least a little drunk, and she could feel the danger from him so much more this time.  The fiercely independent streak in her - the strength that had seen her through more than her fair share of shit already - rose suddenly, and her expression shifted from fear to decision as she moved away from the bed.

 

“No.”  She said coldly, flatly.  “Not again.  Get out of my fucking room before I call security.”

 

She was heading for the door, forcing herself to walk resolutely past him, and that made the next moment even worse, because as Nick threw his fist forward, into her belly, her own momentum increased the force, the impact driving every ounce of air from Billie’s lungs.  As she gasped for breath, Nick grabbed her arm again, pulling her toward him.

 

“Don’t push your luck.”  He hissed.  Damn, but he’d been imagining - planning - this night for the last few days, and the alcohol in his blood added fuel to his hunger.  No way he was letting her deny him his pleasure.  “Take off your clothes.”

 

“No.”  Billie spat, finally able to breathe again.

 

Nick sighed, jabbing three stiffened fingers into her already sore flesh, directly under her ribs, careful even now to keep the bruises where they’d not be visible.

 

“I won’t ask you again.”  Another jab, harder this time.  “Now, take off your clothes.”

 

For the first time in her life, Billie felt fear.  Well, okay, so she’d been frightened before, more than once, but this was a jolt of something far more primal, and not a fear of Nick’s threat of exposure.  This was a gut-wrenching terror of what he intended to do - what he would do - if she defied him.  Slowly, her face pale and sick, she nodded acquiescence, beginning to unbutton her shirt.

 

Nick released her, watching with a twisted grin as she stripped to her underwear.  When she paused, he sighed, unbuckling his belt and sliding it slowly from his jeans.

 

“All of it.”  He said, his voice almost gentle.  And that terrified Billie even more.

 

When she stood naked in front of him, Nick nodded, not even trying to hide his smile of satisfaction at the bruising already beginning to show on her abdomen.  He toyed with the belt in his hand for a moment, the feel of the leather somehow turning him on even more, his dick swollen so hard he was surprised the denim was able to hold it back. 

 

Stepping forward, he hung the belt over his shoulder for now, lifting both hands to cup her breasts, the soft flesh filling his palms.  He looked down at his hands for a moment, squeezing just a little, then raised his eyes to her face as his grip tightened, the touch deliberately rough, intended to hurt.  Billie gasped, biting it off as soon as it escaped her throat, and Nick did it again, digging his fingertips into her breasts, moving his grip to pinch her nipples until he heard that lovely sound of pain slip from her throat again.  He smiled at her.   God, he wanted to be inside her, but first…..first…….

 

“Get on the bed.”  He said roughly, the excitement tightening his throat as he took his hands off her, his fingermarks clearly visible on the pale skin.  “I want you on the bed, on your belly.  Now!”

 

Billie shuddered, but the look in his eyes scared her enough that she did as he said, thinking - hoping - that obedience would cause less pain than defiance.  In the back of her mind, though, as she pulled down the cover and got onto the bed as ordered, her stronger side was screaming at her.  Screaming that this wasn’t her.  That she was better than this - stronger than this.  Screaming ‘why in the fuck are you letting this prick do this to you?’ 

 

She didn’t have any answer, though.

 

As Billie lay prone on the bed, Nick took off his jeans, his dick so hard it lay rigidly against his belly as he stepped forward, sliding the belt off his shoulder, holding the buckle end in his right hand.  He knelt on the bed, down by her thighs, and when Billie flinched at him running a hand down over her buttocks, he chuckled, speaking in a conversational tone.

 

“You know, I’m so glad we met.”  He said, his hand moving down between her legs, pushing her thighs apart a little.  “Because, without you, I’d never have the chance to……..to play.  To try out things I’ve always wanted to.”  His hand moved away, and he raised himself up on his knees to increase the range.  “But since I don’t have all night - my wife is waiting, y’know - let’s move right along………”

 

He’d barely finished speaking, Billie just beginning to wonder what he intended, when she found out, as the leather of his belt whistled through the air to crack against her ass.  She yelped in pain, the initial shock of the sting replaced by a spreading burn, worsened as he swung again, the pain of the second blow hitting the already sore area leaving her breathless. 

 

Nick hit her another eight, maybe nine times, until the sobbing sound of her breath had him so hard he thought his dick was going to burst, and he dropped the belt, moving further onto the bed, grabbing her thighs and spreading her legs wide.

 

“You want me, darlin’?”  He growled, pressing the tip of his dick into her, then gripping her hips, and Billie somehow found the breath to answer, her voice hoarse with pain.

 

“No, you prick.  I……….”  Her voice faded into a moan of pain as his hands lifted her, a thrust of his hips ramming him into her body, her flesh resisting his entry, despite her body having betrayed her, her flesh growing wet in instinctive preparation for what nature knew was coming.  The lubrication of flesh trying to protect itself, but most definitely not the wetness of true arousal.

 

“What was that, darlin’?”  The repeated endearment was a cruel counterpoint to his hard thrusts, his fingers hooked into her hips, fingernails biting into her skin.

 

Billie bit on her lip, forcing herself to stay silent when all she wanted to do was scream at the pain, to beg him to stop.  She’d rather take this all night than beg this bastard for anything.  Nick, though, wanted - needed - to hear the pain, and he fucked into her harder, every stroke brutal, ripping tiny sounds of pain from her despite her best efforts.  Fighting to hold himself back from orgasm, Nick grunted to her again, a spiteful pretence of caring.

 

“I’m sorry, darlin’, isn’t this position working for you?”

 

She couldn’t stop herself.  The pain rippling through her was enough to drive away her common sense, to make her sneer an answer to him.

 

“No, it’s not………..your dick’s too fucking small………..”

 

“Yeah?”  Strangely - and, if Billie had been thinking clearly, frighteningly - he didn’t sound as pissed as she’d have expected, and he shocked her totally when he withdrew from her abused flesh.  “Not big enough for you, huh?”

 

Relief flooded her as the painful penetration stopped, then Billie felt his hands move further onto her ass, confusing her a little, but as his thumbs pushed her buttocks apart she suddenly understood.

 

“No!”  She gasped, trying to move away from him.

 

“Yes.”  Nick hissed.  “Oh, yes.”

 

Her voice rose in a shriek of pain as he entered her again.  Entered her brutally hard, in a way nature never intended.

 

“No!”  She screamed as he crammed his dick into her, and she swung her arm back, trying to claw at him as the pain exceeded anything that had gone before.

 

“Naughty.” 

 

Nick caught her wrist, yanking her arm up her back, holding her in an armlock with one hand as the other held her hip, drawing his hips back and thrusting in hard again.  He’d never even had a momentary thought of having sex with another man, and his wife had always point-blank refused to even entertain his suggestion of trying this, but Jesus it felt good.  Making love - fucking - even raping a woman had never felt so unbelievably good as it did right now, sodomising a struggling woman as she screamed for him to stop.  Seemed like this little cowgirl was teaching him things he’d never known about himself.

 

Fortunately, with the armlock, Billie’s face was pressed deep into the soft pillow, so her screams were muffled, and he was pretty sure this hotel’s rooms were well soundproofed.  Anyway, right now he didn’t care, because her ass was so incredibly tight that he was sure he could feel his balls vibrating with his impending orgasm, and her screams - now subsiding into sobs - just increased the pleasure.

 

Sobbing into the pillow, Billie had stopped fighting against Nick’s armlock, because she could feel the bones of her shoulder grating against each other, and she knew the joint was a hair away from dislocating.  Not that the pain of it could even begin to compete with the other pain, and she felt a shudder of revulsion as he rammed forward again, his sweat dripping onto her naked back.

 

Feeling her stop fighting, Nick took his hand off her wrist, gripping the back of her neck instead, pushing her face into the pillow as he thrust harder, grunting with the effort of every stroke.  When his orgasm hit him, he whipped his hand down, both of his hands on her hips again, lifting her onto the short, hard strokes as he spilled himself into her, knowing he was hurting her.  It wasn’t that he didn’t care he was hurting her.  He did care.  And he liked it.  Finally exhausted, he let her slump to the bed, collapsing onto her, feeling her body heaving in silent sobs as he lay on top of her, his dick still deep inside that special, tight place.

 

As his breathing evened out, Nick brought his lips to her ear.

 

“How was it for you, darlin’?”

 

Billie didn’t answer, just kept her face pressed into the pillow, swallowing the gasp as Nick jerked his hips back, pulling out of her aching body.  She didn’t even move as he got off the bed and went into the bathroom, and when he returned, strangely subdued, he dressed in silence, though Billie could feel his eyes on her naked body.  Even knowing he was watching her, she hurt too much to move, even to move her thighs together right now, and Nick slipped his belt back onto his jeans before sitting on the bed, lifting her hair off her face, grinning at the tear tracks on her cheeks.

 

“Hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.”  He smirked, twisting the handful of hair so she looked at him, her eyes dull with pain.  “We must do it again, sometime soon.”

 

“Will you please just get out.”  Billie whispered, hating herself for asking so politely.  She wasn’t sure what he could do to her that was worse than what he’d just done, but she didn’t want to find out.

 

“Since you said please.”  Nick smirked again, using her hair to shake her head as he got to his feet.  “Next time, I’ll let you blow me afterward.  That mouth’s too good to waste.”  He stepped toward the door, then gave an evil laugh.  “Then, again, so’s that ass.”

 

And then he was gone, leaving Billie prone on the bed.

 

After she heard the door click shut, Billie moved painfully, turning carefully onto her side and drawing her legs up.  Just about everything from her neck down hurt, but the bruises on her breasts and belly, the bruises on her ass, none of those was even close to how badly she hurt everywhere between her legs.  As her brain processed the events of the last half hour, a spasm of nausea hit, and it was enough to send her off the bed and stumbling to the bathroom, falling on her knees to throw up with the disgust coursing through her.

 

When the sickness passed, she dragged herself to her feet, looking at the shower.  Needing to shower.  But she needed something else, so she went back to the bedroom to call down to room service for scotch, feeling another surge of bile when she saw the blood on the bed, knowing it was her blood.  She spoke quickly with room service, then realised that her shower would have to wait until they’d brought what she’d asked for - a quick shower just wouldn’t be enough to wash this away.  Another stumbling trip to the bathroom got her a robe, and as she pulled it on carefully, using just her right hand since her left arm was aching from the armlock, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her eyes widening at the clear bruises on her breasts and belly, the eight red clawmarks from his fingernails, four on each hip.  She turned around, holding the robe clear, seeing the harsh red stripes on her ass from the belt, and she was fighting back tears as she dropped the robe over herself again.

 

She’d just exited the bathroom when she heard a soft knock at the door.  Thank God.  Scotch - enough scotch - would numb everything.  Trying to compose herself, she forced her back straight and went to the door, pulling it open to let room service in.

 

Standing outside the door, though, with a broad smile which faded swiftly as he saw her so pale, was Richie.

Chapter 27

Her face flushed with chagrin, Dot turned away from Jon, raising a trembling hand to her lips.  What had she just done?  Dammit, for something like twenty years she’d kept her own infidelity from him, and now she just blurts it out?  Nice going, Dorothea.  There was a deadly silence behind her, and she’d known him long enough to know that was a bad sign.  Slowly, wishing she could snatch the words back out of the air, she turned around to face him again.

 

Jon was still staring at her.  Staring at the woman he’d loved - in spite of his own occasional ‘slips’ with other women - most of his life.  The woman whose love had been the one thing he could always rely on, no matter what.  The woman he’d believed - no, assumed - would be ever faithful to him.

 

“What are you telling me, Dorothea?”  He asked quietly. 

 

“What am I telling you?”  She echoed, but the anger was still there, putting unnecessary venom into her words.  “Nothing quite so bad as what you’re telling me, John Francis.”

 

Jon winced.  Okay, he’d deserved that.  After all, this whole conversation stemmed from his admission of not just infidelity - which he was certain she knew had happened over the years of their marriage - but of infidelity to the point of producing a child.  And producing that child before the children she’d borne him.  Sighing, he buried his head in his hands.  This wasn’t going well.  When he looked up again, Dot had disappeared, and he blinked in surprise.  Moments later, though, she appeared from the direction of the kitchen, carrying the open bottle of wine.  She poured herself another glass, then just laid the bottle down.  He wanted more, he could pour his own.

 

Grimacing, Jon picked up the bottle and refilled his own glass, watching Dot walk aimlessly around the living room, seeing the tension rippling off her in waves as she tried to process both what he’d told her and also what she’d inadvertently told him.  Finally she turned to face him again, leaning against the ornate fireplace as she toyed with her wineglass.  From the look on her face, Jon wasn’t certain she wasn’t having thoughts of smashing it into his face.

 

“Okay, let’s back up a little.”  Dot said, trying to sound civil.  Or at least civilised.  “Jay - that’s his name, right?”  When Jon nodded, she continued.  “Jay is your son?  You’re sure of that?  His mother isn’t trying to…….”  She paused.  Trying to what?

 

“No.”  Jon said softly.  “She doesn’t want anything from me.  Hell, she tried to talk me out of telling you.”

 

“Why?!”  That shocked Dot.  Couldn’t be many women who’d find themselves with a rockstar’s child and not want something out of him.

 

“Because she didn’t want to wreck my - our - marriage.”  Jon shrugged.  “She’s known who I was since before he was born - since the Oscar ceremony for Blaze - but she stayed away, because by that time she was heavily pregnant, and she also found out I was married.  She raised him alone.  Never asked me for a damned thing.  Never intended me to find out.”

 

“So she let him play for your team?  And thought you’d not find out?”

 

“It was more that he signed up for the tryouts, and she couldn’t figure out a realistic reason to ask him not to.  I only met him after Coach selected him.  That’s when I knew.”  Jon’s voice trailed away as the shock of that first meeting hit him again.  The shock of seeing that old, fading photograph of himself and Billie, and hearing from such familiar lips that the woman was the kid’s mother.  The almost instant calculation of years bringing him to the only logical conclusion.

 

“And he doesn’t know?”

 

“No.  We will tell him, but Billie insisted that I tell you first.”

 

“Big of her.”

 

“Hey, now!”  Jon protested.  “It took a while to get through my thick skull, but she’s spent the last couple decades trying to protect me - us - from my mistake.  Cut her some slack.”

 

Dot sighed, gulping the last of her wine.  Maybe this was right.  Maybe fate had decided to give her the push she needed, to make the hardest decision of her life.

 

“I want a divorce.”

 

“What?!”  Jon leapt to his feet, his wineglass hitting the table and shattering, the dark red liquid spilling over the floor.  “Dot, I’m sorry!  I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you!  Please, baby!”

 

“It’s not…….”  Turning, Dot laid her wineglass on the mantel, the base clattering as her hand shook.  “It’s not that - not this, Jonny.  I…….I’ve been thinking about it for months.  I just didn’t know how to ask you……how to tell you….”

 

Jon frowned, flipping from hurt to anger.  “Who is he?”

 

“Nobody you know.”

 

“Who, dammit?!  Who are you leaving me for?  I want to know, Dorothea!”

 

“Fuck you, Jon!  Don’t try to act holier-than-thou with me!  I’ve known you too damned long.”

 

“Shit.”  Jon’s anger fled as fast as it had risen, his shoulders slumping fractionally as his brain scrambled to keep up with this.  “Sorry.  Who is he?”  His voice was conciliatory, no longer a demand but a simple question.

 

“He’s someone I’ve known a long time, Jon.  Someone you’ve never met.”

 

“How long?”  His eyes narrowed.  “How long have you been seeing him?”

 

Dot chewed on her lip as she tried to decide whether to tell him the whole truth.  Why not?  She decided.  She could feel it between them.  Their marriage was over.

 

“I met him when you were gone.”  She said, choosing her words carefully.

 

“Gone when?  On tour?  This last tour?  One before?”  How could he have missed it?  Surely there’d been some kind of sign?  Some clue that his wife was cheating?  How could he…….

 

“When you were gone on the bike.”  Dot whispered.

 

“When I was……….?”  Jon stumbled backward, slicing his bare foot open on a shard of broken glass and not even feeling it as he fell onto the couch again.  “After ‘Jersey’?  When you sent me off and when I met Billie?  Twenty fucking years, Dot?  You’ve been cheating on me for twenty years?”

 

“Yes.”  An almost inaudible whisper, then she turned away, unable to bear the hurt in his face.  It was certainly true that he’d cheated on her over the years - they both knew it - but she also knew his pain was from the fact that she’d not had a string of one night stands, but a long-term ongoing affair for almost their entire marriage.  “I’m sorry, Jon.”

 

“Me too.”  He said dully.  Twenty fucking years?  Or twenty years fucking.  Fucking someone that wasn’t him.  “Was it only when I was away?”

 

“No.”  If her voice got any fainter he’d not hear her at all.

 

Jon could feel tears burning his eyes, and he didn’t know if they were from sadness or rage - his brain couldn’t decide which emotion was winning right now.  He fought it all back.  Fought back the urge to scream, to throw things.  Fought back the need to find this nameless guy and beat the living shit out of him.

 

“No?”

 

“No.”  Dot’s voice strengthened a fraction as she forced herself to answer him.  “We’ve done a lot of talking the last week or so, and we’d finally gotten to the point where we knew I needed to tell you.  Knew I needed to leave, because snatching time when we can just isn’t enough.  Life’s too short.”

 

“Nice to know you were talking about me when……….”  Jon’s head snapped up.  “Wait.  Talking the last week or so?  Was he in Europe with you?  Don’t lie to me.”

 

“Yes, he was.  And, no, before you ask, Stephanie didn’t - doesn’t - know about him.  None of the children have even met him.”

 

“Oh, that’s a relief.”  He said sarcastically, then forced it away.  “Sorry.”

 

Dot eyed him cautiously, but she could see that the businessman was taking over from the wronged husband, Jon letting it happen because it eased the rage and let him think rationally.  Seeing the shift in his face, she walked across to the couches, sitting down across from him, their eyes meeting, slow acceptance in each gaze.  She’d hoped this would happen.  Well, okay, not hoped that her husband would find out this way, or that it would accompany his own admission of a bastard son, but she’d hoped that they’d be fairly adult about this.  A twenty year marriage did tend to ease from lust and passion into a more enduring love, and very often - as with them - into a comfortable arrangement which neither party was willing to disturb.  She still loved the handsome man sitting across from her, and probably always would, but she wasn’t ‘in love’ with him any more.  Hadn’t been, really, for a few years now. 

 

“So what now?”  Jon asked softly, his eyes clear and open as he gazed at her.

 

“I don’t know.  I guess we……..”  Dot’s eyes widened when her gaze dropped.  “Jon - you’re bleeding!”

 

“I am?”  He looked down, seeing the brighter red of his own blood against the dark stain of wine.  “Shit.  So I am.”

 

Reaching down, he plucked the shard of glass from his foot, blood running more freely as the wound opened.

 

“Shit.”  He said again, twisting his foot to look.  Didn’t look too bad - just gravity making the blood flow more readily.

 

“Here.”  Dot gave him a handful of tissue.  “I’ll get a band-aid.  Stay there.”

 

Once she’d done her Florence Nightingale bit, wiping the blood and sticking the dressing onto his foot, they sat on the same couch, facing each other.

 

“So……”  Jon said gently.

 

 

All the drama had taken place a few hours before, and now Jon sat alone in the living room, his injured foot propped on the coffee table to try to ease the throbbing pain.  He and Dot had talked for hours, discussing the mechanics of ending their long marriage, and they’d finally reached the agreement that they would separate, living apart for however long the statute said they must in New York.  They thought it was three years, or maybe two, but it wasn’t exactly something they’d ever investigated before, so it was agreed that they’d contact lawyers the next day to formalise things.  The discussion had ended, not really surprisingly, with a long hug, then Dot had headed to the bedroom to take a long bath.  By silent agreement, they’d not discussed either his new-found son or her long-term ‘friend’, but had kept to topics where they could avoid anger.

 

Jon sipped coffee - they’d moved off the wine pretty quickly - and toyed with his phone.  A glance at the clock told him it was just after nine o’clock, and he flipped the phone open.  At least these days he could be certain of finding Richie, since they were on the same time zone for a change.  He hit the speed-dial marked ‘Dean’ and waited while it rang.

 

Richie was still sitting in the hotel restaurant.  Billie had abandoned him maybe a half hour before, her abrupt departure still confusing him, but he sat nursing another cup of coffee, comfortable in the dim restaurant and not inclined to move just yet.  When his phone rang - the ringtone telling him who it was - he answered quickly, knowing Jon had intended telling Dot today.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey, Rich.  You busy?”

 

“Nah.  Just drinking coffee.  How’d it go?  You’re still alive, at least.”

 

“Yeah.  Alive about covers it.”  Jon sighed, but he knew he needed to say it.  Needed to get used to saying it.  “We’re getting a divorce.”

 

“What?!  Jesus, Jonny!  Did she take it that badly?”

 

“Not exactly.”  Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, the subject still raw enough to roughen his voice.  “Dot’s been seeing someone else for a while, and I guess this just gave her the push she needed to make up her mind.”

 

“Fuck!”  Richie couldn’t believe Jon’s wife had been cheating.  Oh, yeah, he reminded himself, because you knew your own wife was cheating!

 

The conversation was brief, Richie just assuring Jon that - as always - he had his back, and they arranged to meet next day to talk.  Jon told him that the divorce would be on separation, so joked painfully that he’d be moving back to Jersey, unless of course Richie wanted a roomie.  Richie laughed, telling him he’d had enough of sharing rooms with him, thanks. 

 

He was reassured by Jon’s voice, though, and as the call ended he looked at his phone speculatively.  He had told Billie he’d call her if - when - he heard anything.  Scrolling through the address book, he found Billie’s number and dialled.  Moments later, he heard it ringing - but heard it from two sources - through his own phone and also from the other side of the table.

 

“Huh?”  He stood, peering across the table, seeing the flashing phone lying at the back of the seat and remembering how she’d carelessly dropped it into her purse.  Looked like she’d missed.

 

Richie ended the call and reached to pick up Billie’s phone, holding it thoughtfully.  When he’d met her here that first day, he’d caught a glance of her room-key card, and the number had stuck in his head, since it was his own birthday - at least in European style, where they put the day before the month.  He hesitated briefly, but he was a man given to swift decisions and he dropped a few bills on the table before leaving the restaurant, heading for the stairs to return the phone and pass on the news.