Chapter 13

A little yellow house in Red Bank

Hours had passed since Kimber listened to Jon’s side of their past.  The darkness in her house was like a comforting blanket wrapping around her and providing a cocoon against the world outside her windows.  The window seat was empty this time. Now, she was curled up on her sofa with nothing but a glass of red and her memories for company.

Jon’s revelations had opened the door that all her happy memories had been locked behind.  Now, they all came flooding back. For years, she’d never allowed herself to focus on any of the happy … only the huge argument and how she’d felt when her letter had went unanswered.  Right now, with the darkness enveloping her, she thought about the night they almost got caught when they crept onto the football field at Sayerville War Memorial High School. Jon had told her that he’d been in the marching band, and she had scoffed at him.  He’d taken her there and proceeded to march around on the field as if a whole band marched beside him. She remembered how they’d both laughed until their sides hurt.

And, how she’d wished she could’ve heard his laughter.

His boyish smile was infectious, and oh, how his eyes twinkled and crinkled when he laughed.

There had been so much laughter … so many smiles.  She remembered watching as he sat on his couch strumming on his guitar and jotting notes in a beat up old notebook.  He’d looked up at her and gave her that grin. The grin that made the whole world disappear. There had been many times when she’d wished she could hear his music, but when he’d brought up the Cochlear Implant surgery she’d forgotten all about wanting to hear it and felt like he considered her broken and in need of fixing.

She shook her head.  Now wasn’t the time for memories of that argument.  Right now, the thoughts of how much time they’d lost because his manager had been trying to ‘protect him’ overshadowed that argument.  If she could, she’d throat punch Doc McGhee and kick him in the family jewels for good measure.

The grandfather clock chimed the hour.

Was it really 4am already?

She took another sip of wine.  How many times had she and Jon laid in bed in the wee hours of the morning having made love until they could barely breathe?  So, they’d lain there making plans in the light of the candle burning for no other reason than so she could read his lips. That thought made her smile in the darkness of her living room.

The weight of a small body landing on the sofa by her feet startled her.  “Nicodemus,” she growled softly. The black cat walked up her leg to rub softly against her arm demanding his usual chin scratches.  “I swear you do that on purpose.” The cat just purred in response. She was cat sitting for Cam, but the cat had been with her now for almost 2 weeks, and she’d gotten quite attached.  Nicodemus had always seemed to merely tolerate her when she’d visited Cam’s place, but now seemed attached to her as well.

Cam.  Well, that was going to be the lecture to end all lectures when her friend came back from her vacation.  She’d cried on Cam’s shoulder many a night over Jon. Her friend hated him and would never understand why she’d agreed to listen to Jon’s side of things.

Cam would tell her that Jon was just telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.  But, Kimber had looked at this from every possible angle, and she just couldn’t see where Jon had anything to gain by bullshitting her.  Tonight, he’d been so sincere while sitting across the table from her. All he wanted was a chance to get to know his son. He had asked for her help with Frankie.  

Nothing else.

Maybe that’s what was really under her skin and keeping her from sleep tonight … well, this morning.  He wasn’t asking for her to forgive him and come back to him. Nope. He just wanted her to talk to Frankie and get him to agree to a meet up.  

But, did she really want to let him just waltz back into her life … her bed?  She’d had trust issues ever since he’d walked out of her life all those years ago.  Wait. From what he’d said tonight, he didn’t walk out. Based on what he’d told her … she had.  Well. That definitely put an entirely different spin on things didn’t it? So, here in the dark, alone in her very own living room, she could be honest.  There was no reason to lie to herself. Did she really want him back?

More than life itself.   

Chapter Twelve

Tramp’s Bar - Red Bank

The parking lot was almost full, when Jon pulled into it on a rainy Wednesday night.  After barely managing to find a parking spot, he slipped in the main entrance of the bar unnoticed.  The big wooden bar spanned most of the back wall of the room, with just the door to Kimber’s office to the right of the large bar.  There were several tall tables with bar stools scattered around a couple of pool tables in the middle of the room and booths that ran along the walls.  He slid into one of those booths in a dark corner of the room just as Tommy rang the bell and announced, “Bar’s closed.”

In a tight little black t-shirt that said, “As a matter of fact, it IS all about me” leaving a small slice of skin between it and a pair of skin tight black jeans, Kimber climbed up on the bar, her pearly whites visible even from where he sat.

She tossed her long curls back over her shoulder and smiled at the crowd.

“Back here, I do it all,

from door’s open to last call.

I’m the ‘tender and the boss.

I’ll make you a great drink,

might even make you think,

or, help you handle a loss.

Vodka, whiskey, or beer,

it’ll fill you full of cheer,

and soothe a shit ton of sins.

Brandy, Scotch, or Sherry,

or even wine from the berry

can turn losses into wins.

I can commiserate

or help you celebrate.

Just whatever you may feel.

But, black, white, yellow, or spotted

Please do me a solid.

Don’t drink and get behind the wheel.

“Bar’s open!”

Jon shook his head slightly as the smile bloomed across his face.  She could even make a PSA against drinking and driving sexy.  A wooden bowl of bar pretzels landed on the table in front of him.

“What can I get ya?” a young blonde asked him.

He guessed she was barely in her twenties and probably had no idea who he was.  Good.  “A glass of the house’s best pinot grigio, please.”

“Is that all?” she sounded distracted.

“Can you ask Kimber to bring it to me?”

She shrugged as she snapped her gum.  “Sure, I’ll ask.”  She stressed the last word as she turned to walk away.

A rowdy group of friends shooting pool at a nearby table caught Jon’s attention, and he was still smiling at their fun when a long stemmed wine glass slid across the table in front of him.  His eyes landed on Kimber as she slipped into the booth across from him.  His eyebrows rose in surprise.

“What?” she asked with a defiant tilt to her chin.  “Did you think I was too chicken shit to bring it myself?”

“You may be a lot of things,” he said softly, leaning across the table so she could hear him, “but chicken shit isn’t one of them.”

Her smile was tight and forced, and the fingernail of her index finger tapped the table in agitation.  “What do you want, Jon?”   And, quickly before he could answer, she almost growled, “And if you say ‘you’, I’m outta here.”

He held his hands up in surrender.  “Truce?”

“Hardly.” She growled.  “Just get to the point, Rock Star.”

“I got your letter yesterday.”

For a brief millisecond, the question flitted through her lovely eyes before understanding dawned.  “I know the mail is slow, but…”  She shook her head and shrugged one shoulder.  The left corner of her lovely lips tugged upwards in a smart ass smirk.

Jon recognized her sarcasm for what it was.  Disbelief.  “My former manager never gave it to me.  He had it stashed away in some box with similar letters, stored God only knows where.”

The snort was soft as it floated across the table, but spoke volumes.  She doubted every word he spoke.  

“He thought he was protecting me.”  Jon began to explain, but decided to just throw it all out there.  “Fuck it all.  Protecting me is questionable.  He probably thought there’d be some way to make money off of it later.  It was always about the money to Doc.”

“What did you mean by ‘similar letters’?” she asked softly.

“Back in the day, letters claiming I was the father of some young woman’s child arrived more often than I’d like to think about.  Women I never even met, much less slept with.”  He paused, then added, “Or so Doc claims.”

Seconds ticked by while she just stared at him.  Then anger slowly drifted across her face.  It was a subtle change, but her lips tightened, her eyes narrowed, and one eyebrow lifted.  Golden fire sparked in the center of her eyes.  “I know what this is.  You met Frankie, and now you’re hoping you can hand me a bullshit story and I’ll put in a good word for you with our son.”

Two words. That’s all it had taken to make him suck in a deep breath and made a smile flirt with the corners of his mouth. Our son. He moved quickly, his hand snaking across the table to grab hers. “Kimber, please.” She looked down at their joined hands on the table. How had he known she was about to panic and run. And, she could be honest with herself, even if she couldn’t be honest with him. She had been about to run. “What do you want from me, Jon?” He ignored how her voice broke, before she got herself under control again. “I just want you to listen to me. For fuck’s sake, Kimber, we had something once. For the sake of what we once had, please just listen to me.” The pain in those beautiful blue eyes made her resolve falter. “Okay. I’ll listen.”

Chapter Eleven

A Little Yellow House in Redbank

The full moon illuminated her face as she sat in the window seat, half empty wine glass in her hand.  She had been staring up at the stars wondering if he was doing the same.  Way too many years had passed by without hearing a peep from him, then out of nowhere he knocked on her door and his kids adorably shouted, “Trick or treat.”  Those adorably precocious boys that looked so much like their father.  Seeing little miniature versions of Jon that he was raising while he’d left her to find her own way with their son had cut her like a knife.  Those boys that he’d had with another woman.  That was what hurt the most.  

Then, he’d shown up at her bar.

And, he’d been angry.

Where the hell did he get off?  If anyone had the right to be pissed off in this scenario it was her.  He’d abandoned her while she was pregnant with his son.  

His son.

Frankie had told her that Jon had shown up at one of his performances.  Her son had described in detail their encounter.  He wasn’t happy about meeting his “sperm donor”.  That’s what her son insisted on calling his biological father.  She’d had a relatively happy life with Joey.  It wasn’t the fiery passion that she’d experienced with Jon, but it was comfortable and stable.  The difference between a bright comet that blazed across the sky, disappearing way too soon and looking up at the face of the full moon that stayed steady and true.  Frankie worshipped Joey.

There had been a lot of things lacking in her marriage, but honesty had never been one of them.  Joey knew all about her relationship with Jon.  She’d felt like it was his right to know, given that he was going to be raising the other man’s son.  Last year, after a long battle with cancer, Joey had left them.  Late one night, while she’d been sitting by his hospital bed, he’d told her what he wanted most for Frankie and for her once he was gone.

Joey had insisted that he wanted Frankie to meet and get to know his biological father.  Her husband had actually met Jon several years ago.  Of course, Jon didn’t know who the other man was, but that wasn’t what was important.  Joey had always been curious about the kind of person the musician was.  How the man could just walk away from a woman like Kimber and their unborn child.  Her husband had confessed all of this to her that night in his hospital room.  He’d met Jon at a charity function.  Joey had done some internet research on the other man.  Her husband had told her that he honestly believed that Jon was a good person.  He’d insisted that something had to have gone wrong all those years ago; he didn’t believe that Jon had abandoned her and Frankie.

She’d scoffed at the time, sure her husband was a fool.  But now?  Thinking about the look on Jon’s face, the hurt hidden behind the anger?  Yeah, maybe there was something to Joey’s theory.  But she’d be damned if she was going to be the one to ask the questions, or provide answers for that matter.

She took another sip of her wine.  How could the wounds still hurt so damn bad?  It had been years.  Why hadn’t the cuts on her still bandaged heart healed by now?

Here in the dark, with the moon her only witness, she could admit to the hours spent on youtube watching concert footage and interviews.  Over the years, she’d watched as he aged more gracefully than any man should ever be allowed to do.  He still had the finest ass in all of creation.  She’d wished for a potbelly and a receding hairline, but Fate was not her friend.  Apparently.

When he’d stormed in her office that night, there had been pain in those beautiful blue eyes.  Hurt had laced his words when he’d asked about her getting the Cochlear implant.  She knew why.  He wanted to know why she’d done it, when she hadn’t been willing to get it for him.  She’d had the surgery years ago, so that she could hear Frankie play guitar and sing.  She’d been so very proud of her son.  Still was.  So, she knew exactly what had prodded Jon into introducing himself to Frankie.  If she’d been in his shoes, she’d have done the same thing.

Frankie was not happy.  He’d inherited his father’s temper right along with his glacial blue eyes.  She had asked her son to give Jon a chance, to maybe meet him for coffee and hear him out.  She’d tried to do what Joey had asked of her with his dying breath.  But, Frankie wasn’t having it.  Kimber understood; he thought it would be disloyal to Joey to have any kind of a relationship with Jon.

Because, she felt disloyal too.

Chapter Ten

The BJM office was buzzing with activity when he breezed in the door.  Flashing a smile and nodding at the receptionist as he passed her desk, Jon hurried toward his office.  If he was lucky, Cheryl wouldn’t be at her desk.  On paper, he was the boss, but Cheryl really ran things.  She kept all his many calendars collated and organized.  She made sure that he was at an appearance on time, smiled for the camera, and still made it to his kid’s play.  He’d never seen anyone as organized as the little brunette.  She made his life a hell of a lot easier and made him look good.  But, she ruled with an iron hand.

 Cheryl terrified him.

 The grin of relief at not seeing his assistant at her desk had barely started to form when her voice sliced through the air from somewhere over his left shoulder.

 “Good morning, JB.”

 How could a simple good morning sound like a death knell to his entire day?

 “G’morning, Cheryl.”  Cheer was forced, as he reached to open the door to his office.

 Tinkling laughter followed his words.  How could such a dragon sound like such a sweet fairy?  At five foot nothing in heels and probably not even a hundred pounds soaking wet, Cheryl was just a little slip of a woman, but she was a force to be reckoned with.  A fleeting grimace and the barest of winces were quickly shuffled behind the door of his work facade, the deadbolt thrown for good measure, before he turned back to face her.  “What’s worthy of a dragon lady giggle, this morning?”

 “Your tone of voice with that ‘g’morning’ was most definitely worthy of a giggle,” she said with a grin.  “The tone most certainly did not match the sentiment.  So what the fuck has your balls in a bunch this morning?”

 The slightest bit of a southern drawl still lingered in her voice even after twenty years in The Big Apple, but her way with words and the occasional Deep South turn of phrase would never leave her.  You can take the girl out of the South …

 He shrugged.  Honesty was always the best policy.  “I was trying to dodge you today.”

 “Busted,” she said with a tinkling laugh.  She didn’t have to ask why he was dodging her.  “So, you wanted to play hooky today, and thought I’d throw something from your calendar atcha?”

 “Yeah, sorta,” he groaned.

 “Jon, you do realize you’re the boss here, right?”

 “That’s a fucking lie,” he said with a smile that made his blue eyes sparkle.

 She didn’t even blink.  “If you were trying to dodge me, why the hell did you come into the office today?”

 “I needed to pick up something.”  He’d made it to his desk at this point and was scanning it’s dark surface for the ‘something’ in question.

 “You mean the letter Mr. Scuzbucket dropped off?” she said, fanning herself with an envelope slowly back and forth like she was standing on a porch in Atlanta on the hottest day in August.

 Scuzbucket?  A genuine smile stretched his lips, even Cheryl who had never met Doc before now had him pegged.  To paraphrase A Knight’s Tale, in Cheryl’s eyes Doc had been weighed, he had been measured, and he had been found wanting.  “Thank you, Cheryl,” he said softly as he reached for the envelope in her hand.

 “As always, I’m just here to serve,” the small woman said as she handed over the letter.

 When she turned to leave his office, he grinned and tossed out, “And to catch a glimpse of my ass.”

 Her tinkling laughter floated back to him.  “Well, it is an exceptional ass.” 

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

 Jonny,

 I’ve been a complete idiot.  I was wrong …. And I love you too.  I’m sorry for being such a bitch, and I’m not even saying that because I’m now in need of ‘rescuing’.  There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just spit it out.  Jon, I’m pregnant.  I just hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  I’ve been working on a cruise ship.  I’ll be home for two weeks, then be shipping out for six more, but then I’ll be back home again.  Come see me, please.  I’m forever yours.

 I’ll understand if I don’t hear from you.  I’ll take that as a hint that you’ve gone on with your life and have no desire to see me or your child.

 But, know that I do still love you,
Kimber.

 The words on the paper had blurred as the memories of them together had clouded his mind.  The years they’d lost mocked him now as he sat in the dark of his apartment, a half empty wine glass in his hand.  If he’d seen this letter all those years ago, what would their life look like today?  He hadn’t been able to let go of the piece of paper since Cheryl had handed it to him earlier.  It had been crumbled in hands that were at first angry, then it had been smoothed out again on his desk by loving hands that cherished her words.  “I’m forever yours.”  There were some spots that had since dried, but tears at what could have been had splashed down on her words at some point during the day.

 How many times had he read it?

 He couldn’t say.  Hell, he couldn’t even be angry at Doc.  This was really nobody’s fault, except perhaps his pride.

 Pride had kept him from going back to that apartment.  Pride had kept him from looking for her.  Pride had cost him more than he could even begin to comprehend.

 But, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t get it all back.

Somehow.

Chapter Eight

It had been two nights since Richie told him that his son's name was Frankie and he was a freshman at NYU.  A music major.  Richie had even managed to snap a picture of the boy with his cell phone.  The guitarist hadn't lied; the boy looked just like him, same square chin, same high cheekbones, same mouth.  Hell, the boy even had his smirk down.

The only reason he'd come to this show was because the man he was looking for wouldn't have seen him at his office.  The two of them had not parted company on as good a terms as they'd both led the public to believe.  Jon had agreed not to press charges for the money Doc had stolen, if Doc agreed not to let on that there had been any hard feelings between them and to continue to keep the 'Brotherhood' secrets that Doc had been privy to .  When the statute of limitations had ran out, Jon had added the promise of financial ruin.  Funny how their situations were completely reversed now.  Before, Doc had been the one with the knowledge, money and the power.  Now, the shoe was on the other foot.  If given the provocation Jon could and would squash the slimy little man like a bug.

Once Crooked X had taken the stage, Jon headed toward the side entrance.  The security guard there was more than happy to let him backstage, even giving him directions to the media room where he'd find Doc.  When he walked through the door, he let his gaze scan the room, while he tried to avoid the camera flashes and the microphones.  He spotted Doc almost immediately; he was right where Jon expected him to be - where the most media people were gathered.  Two words came to mind.  Leopard.  Spots.

Jon braved the cameras, risking a picture making the gossip rags of the two of them together.  At this point, he didn't care.  He saw the look of surprise and fear in Doc's eyes before he even said a word.

"I need to speak with you," Jon said softly, menacingly.

Doc nodded.  "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen.  I need to have a few minutes alone with an old friend."

Jon almost laughed out loud at the term.  Friend?  Not hardly.  

Doc led Jon out into the hall.  With his hands stuck into his pockets, the shorter, stockier man rocked back on his heels then forward onto the balls of his feet.  "Long time, no see, Jonny boy.  To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

"I need information that only you can give me," Jon answered.  He knew if he wanted to find out what this greasy little man knew he'd have to pretend that a) it wasn't all that important to him if he found out or not, and b) that he didn't hold Doc responsible for any of it.

"I'm always happy to be of service to you, Jonny," Doc replied.

Jon tried really hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  "I'm sure you are.  Right before the European leg of the New Jersey Tour, I met a woman.  When I left to go out on the road again, I gave her the address and phone number of McGhee Management to be able to get in contact with me.  I want to know if she ever used that information."

Doc shrugged casually.  "That was a long time ago, Jonny.  I can't remember what I had for breakfast."

"The letter would've said something about her being pregnant.  Her name was Kimber Cartwright, the letter would've been received in the fall of '88," Jon tried to keep his voice even and light.  "I already know there was a letter.  I just need you to confirm it."

"Jon, do you know how many letters like that you got back in the day?  I protected you and the others from all of those kinds of claims," Doc replied, his voice indignant, defensive.

Jon's stomach roiled.  Biting back the urge to grab Doc by the neck and choke him until he turned blue, Jon forced a smile.  "I know you protected us.  I also know that you would've kept any of them that had a grain of plausibility.  I'd be willing to put money on the fact that you've got them all filed in neat little boxes with each of our names on them," he tried to sound teasing, but barely pulled it off without it coming across with a sneer.

"How much money?" Doc asked, with just barely a note of eagerness.

"You mean you don't have them filed that way?" Jon asked, just a touch of astonishment entering his tone.

"Naaa," Doc shook his head, "there's the boxes with your name and Rich's, but then just one other box with all the rest thrown in."

"I need to get my hands on that letter," Jon said, knowing how much this was going to cost him.  He barely flinched when he threw his pride and dignity out the window.  "I'll owe ya."  Jon reluctantly handed over a card.  "Have someone call me if and when you find it."  He hated giving this greasy little man a way to contact him, even after all these years, but for the sake of a son he'd never had the opportunity to get to know, Jon would do anything.

"I'll see what I can do, and let ya know," Doc answered with a smirk.  It was worth any amount of trouble to have this man owe him a favor.

"Thanks," Jon replied, almost choking on the word.  "I'll be waiting to hear from you."

He turned on his heel and walked away, although every fiber of his being demanded he just beat the man until he found out what he wanted to know.  Jon kept his clenched fists in the pockets of his jeans to keep from turning around and doing just that.  He could feel Doc's beady little eyes on his back, and knew the wheels in the man's head were already turning.

He left the venue, driving toward a little hole in the wall place that the investigator he'd had follow Frankie had told him about.  Jon was anxious to see if what he'd been told was true.  Although all of his children showed signs of having inherited his artistic and creative qualities, none of them had shown an interest in his true passion.  Music.  Until now.

Pulling on a baseball cap, he climbed out of the car.  He was careful in the dark and smoky room, moving to a corner booth.  The young waitress didn't show any signs of recognition, and that was just fine with him.  He sent her off with an order for the best bottle of white the place had.

Before she came back, Jon's breath caught in his throat when a young man that looked so much like him that it hurt took the stage.  The young man's light brown hair was shaggy and hung down to his shoulders.  Jon smiled when he recognized the guitar hanging around the boy's shoulders.  A gorgeous Takamine.  The boy even had his taste in guitars.  

When he started playing, his fingers were strong and sure as they danced across the strings.  Jon was sure that Frankie could give Richie a run for his money.  But then, he opened his mouth to sing.  His voice was clear and powerful, with a depth and clarity that had Jon smiling with pride.

He was good.  Damn good.

Chapter Nine

The plan had been so simple.   He was just going to sit in a corner booth and watch Frankie perform, to be able to see if the boy truly shared his passion for music, then to just leave the bar and try to talk to Kimber again before approaching Frankie, before trying to get to know his son.  Jon blamed his pride in his son for not sticking to the plan.

Frankie had played only one set consisting of several covers and a few original songs.  Jon admired the young man's choice of songs; he had great taste in music.  And, he wasn't half bad as a writer either.  Several times during the performance, Jon had to fight the urge to stand up and shout, "That's my boy!"

Jon watched the young man go up to the bar after his set.  Frankie spoke with the bartender, with some laughter and back slapping going on.  It was quite apparent that Frankie was friends with several members of the staff.  He joked and teased with the bartender and a few of the waitress for at least an hour.  Then, he picked up his guitar case and walked out the door, calling out that he'd see everyone next week.  Standing up, Jon motioned to his waitress and threw some bills on the table.   Pulling the bill of his baseball cap down a little more, he hurried out the door.  He scanned the sidewalk until he caught sight of Frankie, then hurried to catch up with him. 

He was only a few feet away from the young man when he called out to him.  "Frankie."

The young man spun around to narrow suspicious blue eyes on Jon.  "Yeah?  Whaddya want?"

"Can we talk?"  Jon couldn't disquise the hopeful quality of his voice.

"No," Frankie answered quickly, angrily.  He turned away from Jon and started to walk away.

"Frankie.  I'm Jon..."

The young man spun back to face him.  Jon's 'brothers' had told him many times that his icy glares could freeze someone in their tracks.  He'd always laughed and told them that he wasn't that bad, but now, he had no doubts as to the voracity of their claims.  Now that his own glacial glare was turned on him.  "I know exactly who the fuck you are.  Do you think my mom hasn't told me about you?"

Jon frowned at the boy.  A man that cared about nothing more than he cared about family couldn't comprehend the young man's anger.  "But, I'm your...."

Again the young man interrupted him.  "My sperm donor.  That's what you are.  Don't you dare call yourself anything else.  My father, the man who raised me, died last year."

Jon's mouth began to work, but no sound came out.  There weren't too many things that could leave him speechless, but this young man's animosity had.  Frankie took the time to turn and jog away.  Jon let him go, unsure what he would have said even if he'd been able to catch him.  He kicked himself in the ass all the way back to his apartment.

He should have just stuck to the plan.


Two days later
Soho, New York

Jon stepped off the treadmill and grabbed a towel and the bottle of water on the counter.  With the towel around his neck, and the bottle gripped firmly in his hand, he walked down the hall to check his messages before he got in the shower.  He listened to one from Cheryl, his personal assistant, a reminder about a red carpet event he was supposed to attend later that night.  He had meant to have her cancel for him, but had forgotten.  He'd been too wrapped up with this shit with Kimber and Frankie.

Doc's voice pulled him back out of the fog.  "Jonny, I found what you were looking for.  Want me to drop it by your apartment, or the BJM offices?  Or do you wanna meet me somewhere?  Gimme a call, bro."

An involuntary shiver raced down Jon's spine, and the use of 'bro' almost made him physically ill, but he squared his shoulders and picked up the phone.  Five minutes and a very distasteful phone conversation later, Jon owed Doc a favor, but the man had agreed to drop the letter off at the BJM offices.  At least, he wouldn't have to come into contact with the slime ball again, at least not until the man called in the favor.  Jon was just hoping it was something he could do without having to actually see Doc again.

As soon as he had the letter in his possession, he intended to go back to Tramp's and talk to Kimber.  He just needed to know what was in that letter.  Exactly.  Word for word.

Had she said she still loved him?  Or had she just told him about the baby and asked for his help?  Jon shrugged; either way he was fucked.  He just hoped that he could control the fall out, even if just a little.  Jon knew his pride was going to take a huge blow, but he was just going to have to suck it up and deal.  God, how he hated that phrase.  Suck up and deal.  Oh, well.  He was the one at fault here, and he needed to just face the music. 

He knew it would be one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

Chapter Seven

Sayerville, New Jersey

Fall, 1988

It had been a whirlwind romance that spanned a fantastic summer, but had ended tragically.  Shakespeare couldn't have written it more tragically.  Now, he had to go back out on the road.  He'd been to her apartment a hundred times, hoping to catch her there.  He knew she hadn't moved out, but she was never there.  This time was the last time he'd try to see her.  He'd made up his mind that it was time to get his dignity back, but he couldn't resist leaving a note, just in case she ever wanted or needed to contact him.

As with all the other times he'd been there, she didn't answer the door.  Where was she?  Why was she never there?  He knew she wasn't just avoiding him.  He'd sat outside watching her building for way too long and for too many times to know that she wasn't there.  However, he'd talked to her landlord and knew that she hadn't moved out.

Silently, he slid the note under her door.  The note had a simple message, no flowery phrases or sentimental bullshit.  Just a simple, "I still love you and want to see you.  Let me know if you ever change your mind, or need anything.  Jon."  He'd written an address and phone number on the paper, knowing that if she was to use the number she'd have to have a hearing person call it for her.  He left her building that day, hoping that she'd make that contact, but sure that she wouldn't.

Two weeks later...

Kimber came dragging into her apartment exhausted and ready to throw up.  This last month and a half had been extremely hard on her.  She'd thought taking the job on the cruise ship would have not only gotten her away from Jon, but she'd been hoping that the old saying 'out of sight, out of mind' would apply.  It didn't.

For six weeks she'd busted her ass, serving drinks to women who were looking for romance and men who were looking for a quick lay.  She'd decided it mirrored her own life too closely.  She'd spent the whole time sicker than a dog, throwing up everything that she tried to eat or drink.  She was just skin and bones now.  The first couple of weeks, she'd convinced herself with the help of those around her, that she just needed to get her sea legs.  But, after awhile, she knew she couldn't keep lying to herself.  She'd seen the ship's doctor, and he'd confirmed it.  She was pregnant.

She saw the envelope in the floor, but didn't pick it up until after she'd gotten her bags put away.  She picked up the white envelope with her name scrawled across the front of it on her way to the kitchen area of her apartment.  Recognizing his handwriting, she almost didn't open it, but she was hoping for a way to contact him.

Her conscience demanded that she notify him of the consequences of their actions that would be arriving in a few months.  His child.  She was having a hard time not being all sentimental and mushy about it, but it was just the hormones talking.  That's what she kept telling herself.  

His words on the piece of paper made her heart soar.  Maybe he did really love her.  Maybe he hadn't just wanted to get in the poor deaf girl's pants.  Maybe he hadn't wanted or needed to fix her.  She wasn't willing to go through the TDD relay and have this personal conversation with an interpreter knowing all of their private business, so she wrote him a letter.  It was as simple as his note had been, but she signed it with 'I'll understand if I don't hear from you.  I'll take that as a hint that you've gone on with your life and have no desire to see me or your child.  But know that I do still love you, Kimber."

She put the letter in the mail the next day.  The two weeks she was off work flew by, and before she knew it, it was time to ship out again.  Without any word from Jon.  Six weeks later, she was back at home still no word from Jon.  That was the pattern for a few months.  She tried to tell herself that he was on the road, traveling from country to country.  That it would take awhile to get a letter from him.  But, she finally had to face reality.  

She wasn't ever going to hear from him.

Joey had told her that he didn't care that he wasn't the baby's father, that he would be happy to marry her and raise the child as his own.  She finally gave in to Joey's wishes and her father's demands.  Her son had been born just three months after the wedding.  She'd named him Joseph Francis after the father that had agreed to raise him, and the father that had not.  With light brown hair and blue eyes, he'd been a charmer from the day he'd been born.  He preferred to be called Frankie and at the young age of five, she'd seen his father in him.  He was creative, smart and very good looking.  It was plain to see that her son would be able to charm the panties off a nun....If he ever had a mind to try.

Present Day,

Red Bank, New Jersey

Tramp's parking lot

Jon stood staring at Richie like he'd grown a second head.  The young man looked like him?  But that would mean....

"What did you just say?" he demanded from his friend.

"I said that he looked a lot like you," Richie repeated.  "And if you're interested, and I'm sure you are...I asked around.  I know his name and where he goes to school."

Jon just stood there giving Richie a blank stare.

After several moments of silence, Richie grinned.  "Are you sure you don't want to tell me what happened 20 years ago?"

"I would think you could figure it out," Jon said dryly, "but if you need a lesson in biology, I can explain."

Chapter Six

Jon sat at the bar with his mouth open as she climbed down off the bar.  Kiss her ass?  Yeah, he'd like to do that and more.  His eyes freely roamed her curves.  What was it about this woman that had always made his brain take a vacation while his dick took full control?  While the brain's away the dick will play.

His eyes took in her every move, while he nursed his jack and coke, until Richie slapped him on the back.

"Wow, is this deja vu or what?" Richie teased, as he took the bar stool next to Jon.

"Yeah.  I guess it is," Jon answered, looking down at the drink in his hand.

Richie had known Jon for too many years.  He could feel Jon's pain as if it was his own.  Jon had never told him what happened between him and the little bartender.  All his friend had ever told him was that she'd left him.  It had seemed weird to Richie that Jon hadn't ever talked about it with him; Jon told him everything.  After hearing Kimber's poem though, Richie was sure the story was worth hearing.

"Ready to tell me what happened yet?" Richie asked.

"Nope," Jon replied quickly.

"C'mon Kidd, ya know ya wanna talk about it," the guitarist tried again.

"Drop it, Swingman," Jon ordered tersely.

Richie didn't take offense at Jon's tone.  There was a truly deep and abiding brotherly love between the two men.  It would take a lot more than a few hard words or harsh tone to change that.  The guitarist just smiled, the corners of his full lips lifting just the slightest bit.  Jon might not want to talk about it now, but he would.

Into the silence, Jon tried to change the subject.  "How long ya been here?"

"Long enough to see the young man that dropped her off," Richie answered.

"Young man?"  Jon asked.

"Yeah," Richie nodded.  "Nice lookin' too.  Maybe she's into younger men now."

"How young?" Jon questioned, although he didn't really care.  He was willing to discuss anything except what had happened 20 years ago.

Kimber stopped Richie from answering when she walked up to the two of them.  "Hello Rich."  She motioned to the glass in the guitarist's hand.  "Can I get ya a refill?"

"Sure thing, sweets," Richie answered, using the old nickname out of habit.  "Coke straight up if ya please.  Maybe just a little ice," he added grinning, sliding his glass across the bar towards her.

Kimber raised an eyebrow at the order, but didn't question the fact that after two decades the axeman wasn't drinking anything stronger than Coke.  She refilled his glass and carefully slid it across the bar to him.  It took every ounce of willpower she had not to let her eyes drift over to Jon, but somehow she managed.  "Let Tommy know if ya need anything else," she said softly.

Turning on her heel she strode quickly away from them.  The two men heard her call out to Tommy as she marched away that she was taking a break, then watched her disappear through a door on the other side of the bar.  Jon jerked his head toward Tommy, and immediately Richie read his mind.  The guitarist quickly set out to distract the bartender so that Jon could sneak through the door that was clearly labled 'Employees Only'.

Knowing he wouldn't receive a warm welcome, Jon didn't bother to knock on the oak door.  He stepped through the door to find Kimber kicked back behind a big desk, with her back to him.  Thoughts of Sam's office on Cheers flashed through his mind.  He knew she could hear him, so he didn't wait until she turned to face him to speak.  "We need to talk."

"Naaaa, I don't think we do," she answered, without turning around.

"Where did you disappear to back then?" he asked, ignoring her obvious desire for him to leave her alone.

"None of your business," she replied, her voice hard and cold.

"None of my business?" he demanded.  "Where the fuck do you get off?  I was in love with you."

"You had a funny way of showing it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's not dig up old bones, and get into the whole broken-fix argument again."

"You weren't broke, and I didn't want to fix you," he said angrily, quickly crossing the room to the desk.

"You couldn't've proven it by me."

She still hadn't turned to face him, so he spun the chair around so that she was looking up at him.  Leaning over her, he clenched his jaw to keep from screaming his rage at her.  "If having the implant surgery was so repugnant to you, why did you have it done?"

"None of your damn business," she answered.

Jon knew that he wouldn't get any where with her by using force.  With a hand on each chair arm, he caged her in.  He leaned down close to her, his breath ghosting across her skin and tickling the shell of her ear.  "All I ever wanted was you," he whispered in her ear.  "I loved you.  You were my everything."

Kimber shivered at more than his words.  His nearness was affecting her a lot more than she was willing to admit.  "Then why did you leave me alone.  Why didn't you come for me when I asked you?"

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"As if you didn't know," she quipped. 

"I don't.  But, I can promise you this....I will."  He turned and strode from the room.  One way or the other he would find out what went on 20 years ago, with or without her help.

He marched out into the bar and quickly crossed to the entrance.  Richie saw him leaving and ran to catch up with him.  "Kidd, wait up," he called out.

In the parking lot, Jon finally stopped and spun to face his friend.  "I'm not in the mood for any smart ass shit, Rich."

"Smart ass?  Me?  Never."  Richie grinned at him with amusement twinkling in his brown eyes.  "To answer your question from earlier....I'd say he was about 19.  Brown over blue.  Amazingly enough, he looked a hell of a lot like you, bro."

Chapter Five

Present Day
Soho, New York

Behind the huge mahogany desk, Jon sat in the darkness of his study, his chair turned to face the picture window behind the desk. The lights of the city twinkled inside the frame of the window. The silence in the apartment was deafening. It was always like this when the kids weren't there. And the silence usually led him to those dark places he went to sometimes, but not tonight.

Tonight his mind was racing with questions. Questions he'd been asking himself for a week. A whole week. Even with the number of staff members he had working on the puzzle, he still didn't have any answers. It had been seven whole days since he'd seen her standing on that porch in Red Bank, and still he wondered where she'd been the last twenty years.

There had been many times over the two decades since he'd last held her that she'd crossed his mind. Mostly, it was the night that they'd argued that haunted him. He'd been doing research on what he'd considered a handicap, and he'd found out about an implant that would in essence make her able to hear again. It had been a little complicated for him to understand, but basically it would've had a receiver in her brain that would've translated signals sent to it from a transmitter behind her ear and the signal would be sent and interpreted by nerves and she would be able to understand sounds. He'd been completely astonished when she'd blown up. She'd railed at him about how she wasn't broken, that there was no need to 'fix' her. She'd told him through tears that there was no way she'd allow a doctor to cut on her with a knife just to satisfy him.

The argument had gotten very heated, with him trying to convince her that he didn't see her as 'broken', but still wanted her to be able to hear. She had railed and cried, demanding to know why he didn't think she was good enough like she was. He'd finally stormed out of her apartment in frustration, and when he'd went back the next day to try and talk to her again, she'd been gone. No note, no forwarding address, nothing. He'd tried to look for her, but that's when he'd realized that even though she'd allowed him to make love to her, she'd never really let him into her life. He had met Cam, but didn't know where to find the woman, other than the theater. That had turned out to be a dead end. Everyone there had pretended ignorance when he'd visited there. They hadn't just pretended not to know Cam; they'd pretended not to understand him.

Although, he knew how she smelled, could see every slope and plain of her body when he closed his eyes, knew what made her laugh, and what made her cry, he realized that he didn't really know anything about her. At least nothing important. Nothing that would've helped him find her.

He'd finally given up, moved on with his life, and settled down with his high school sweetheart, but green eyes with that strange yellow starburst in the center still haunted his dreams.

Jon wanted to go to the house where he'd found her again, barge up into the damn place and demand the answers he sought, demand that she love him, like she had back then. Unconditionally. She'd told him that she'd never let him go. She'd lied.

And it had damn near killed him.

He had just wanted her to be able to hear him sing a love song to her. A song he'd written for her. How had that translated into her being 'broken'? He'd said that he wanted to give her the moon and the stars. She'd argued that she just wanted him and the moon and stars could stay in the sky. He'd been fascinated that when she lost her temper, she not only railed at him with her voice but her hands and arms had spoke as well. Her emotions caused her to use sign language even with someone like him who didn't understand a lot of it. He'd learned a few things.

He'd been able to tell her he loved her in sign.

It had meant the world to her that he'd cared enough to learn how to tell her in her language. He could still see her eyes pooling with unshed tears as she kissed his face all over saying those three words back to him. Over and over and over.

He took another sip of his wine. It was going to be a long night. Just him and his memories. He'd spent a lot of nights like this. How many more would he have to spend reliving moments better left buried?



Two nights later, Jon caught a break. Funny thing that it should be Richie that discovered something about Kimber, when his axeman didn't even know that he was trying to find out information about her. The call on his cell phone came just as he was getting in the shower, but knowing it was Rich from the ringtone, he'd jerked it up anyway.

"Yeah, man. What's up?"

"What? No, hello Rich, how ya been?" the guitarist laughed.

"Fuck you, Rich. I was about to get a shower. Can we break this down into just a couple of sentences?"

"You mean you're naked? Shit man, call me back when you have clothes on. I certainly don't want that image burned in my brain."

"Damn it, Rich, what in the hell did you call for?"

"Remember the little bartender from the eighties that you had it so bad for? You'll never guess what she's doing now," Richie replied. "But if ya wanna know, c'mon down to a place called Tramp's. It's on Oak Street in Red Bank."

"What the fuck are you doing down there?" Jon asked.

"Came down here to play with some friends. You wanna see her, you better get that narrow ass of yours in gear, man."

"I'll be right there," Jon told him as he hung up the phone.

He hadn't taken a shower that fast since those after show showers in the eighties. When he'd grabbed his keys and left the apartment his hair was still wet and just combed back out of his face. He didn't want to waste a single second, hoping to catch her before she left the bar.



It was another hopping night behind the bar at Tramp's. Kimber had owned this bar for five years now. She'd been so damned happy to get sole custody of the place, along with the return of her maiden name when the divorce had been finalized. The judge had seen it as fitting justice considering she'd saved up the money to buy the place working on that cruise ship, even if she hadn't bought the place until after she'd married Joey.

Joey had been her next door neighbor growing up. He'd always been the one her dad wanted her to marry. So, when Jon broke her heart, she'd ran off and taken the bartending job on the cruise ship that she'd been offered. Joey was working on the ship and had put in a good word for her. They'd worked together for several months before she finally gave in to her father's wishes and married Joey. She should've known it wouldn't last forever though, because her dad loved Joey way more than she did. Joey was like the son he'd never had.

She'd seen Richie when he walked in the door. Hell, he was still hard to miss, even after all these years. The dark headed guitarist was still the hottest man in the place. That is until his best friend walked through the door. Kimber was kicking herself in the ass for not disappearing once she'd seen Richie. She should've known that Jon wouldn't be too far behind.

He'd walked in the door scanning the place with that million watt smile on his face, and she wanted to run, but she'd be damned if she let him run her out of her own fucking bar! Doing her best to ignore him, she kept right on working, making a pina colada for a lady in pink, then moving on to grab a long neck from the barrel of ice by the bottom, twirling it around and across the back of her hand so that she held the bottle right side up and slammed it down on the bar in front of a mountain of a man in a tight black t-shirt. But, she watched Jon out of the corner of her eye the whole time. He still looked good. His hair was shorter now, and even with the leather jacket he had on, she could tell he had a lot more muscle on him now. His blue eyes still twinkled with a devilish glint every time he smiled. And that ass. Damn, it should be against the law to wear jeans that tight if you had an ass like that.

Jon scanned the room as he walked in the door, nodding at Richie when his eyes met his friend's, then moved on until they came to rest on Kimber behind the bar. He calmly walked up and took the only remaining stool at her end of the gleaming mahogany surface.

She still looked good. Long chocolate brown tresses hung down her back, tight denim clung to the curves of her ass, and her t-shirt said 'You're funny, but looks aren't everything'. He smiled; she was the same old Kimber. Then he noticed her feet. She had on tennis shoes. Odd. She'd always worked barefoot before.

He had to give her credit. She could've avoided him altogether and sent someone else to wait on him, but she didn't.

"What'll you have, rock star?" she asked. There was something different about her voice. He'd noticed it on Halloween, but he still couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong about it.

"You," he answered softly.

"I see you're still using the same old bullshit lines," she told him. "Wonder what your wife'd say about that."

"She really can't say too much, since we're divorced," he told her.

"Oh, so she got tired of your tired lines too, huh?"

"Not exactly," he answered.

"What'll you have to drink?" she asked, stressing the last two words, and not wanting to get into the facts of his love life with him.

"A jack and coke, on the rocks," he replied, careful to make sure she was looking at him when he spoke.

Jon watched her twirl the bottle of Jack Daniels around her hand then throw it behind her back catching it with her other hand at her still slender waist before bringing it around to splash some in a glass, then with equal flair she added two fingers of Coke and slid the glass towards him.

"How've you been?" he asked before she could walk away.

"Just peachy," she answered, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist before she could make a clean getaway. She spun back to face him, but didn't say anything just glared at his fingers wrapped around her wrists.

"Still don't like to have your space invaded I see," he said softly.

"Especially not by the likes of you," she quipped frostily.

Jon reluctantly released her. It was only once she was several feet away from him making a margarita for a plump woman in a red sweater that he realized she hadn't been looking at him when he'd spoke to her, but she'd still been able to answer him. What the hell?

Recognizing Tommy when he stepped up to the bar and rang a huge bell, Jon smiled. It must be show time.

"Bar's closed," Tommy announced into the silence that remained after the bell quit clanging.

Then the man took Kimber's hand and helped her climb up on the bar. Blue eyes met green across the crowd, the yellow starbursts seeming bigger as she gave him an evil grin. Aw, fuck.

"He came waltzing in
with that big old grin
like he owned the damn place."

She waved her hand in Jon's direction, and he knew he was in trouble.

"He expected me
to fall at his feet
with a big ol' smile on my face.

I'll have to show the jerk
that's not how I work
even though we've been there before.

He can spend hours
just sending me flowers
and jewelry and chocolates galore.

But I just have to say
it's not a very lucky day
for this blast from my past.

So, please move over
so I can bend over,
and he can just kiss my ass.

Bar's Open!"