November 26th, 1986 / Munich, Germany

David Bryan had lay awake for most of the night just buzzing over the conflict and commotion he had created. He could practically hear Amelia's dismayed protestations and Jon's teasing wisecracks, he only wished he could be there to witness it all.

His only other coconspirator was Tico, who'd acted as his consigliere and advisor in his maniacal plot. The pair had placed bets on the matter; David had put one hundred bucks on Jon coming out of the room looking like the cat who got the cream, having been forced to reconcile his differences with Amelia, while Tico on the other hand bet one hundred bucks on the exact opposite, swearing that if Amelia hadn't already murdered Jon during the night the pair would come out of the room even worse off than before.

Amelia was the first to rise that morning, admiring the man across from her in all his natural glory, bed head and all. She'd always been jealous of how flattering a sleeper he was. For someone that wreaked havoc during the day and prided themself on being openly obnoxious he was an annoyingly peaceful sleeper, never any traces of drool on his lips, no tossing or turning and only the most soft and genteel snores. It was unfair, everybody was supposed to be an unflattering sleeper.

Amelia slipped from his bed while he was still asleep in hopes getting an early start to her day. The band were departing that noon and she still hadn't the faintest idea where her luggage had gotten to. As for Jon, he awoke in a state of distress upon finding Amelia gone, instead replaced by a man sitting on his bedside. It wasn't at all the romantic awakening he'd dreamed of.

"Don't look too alarmed."

"David?" He sputtered upon the realization, bolting into an upright position. "What are you doing here? Where's Amelia?"

He quickly reached for his watch on the bedside wondering if he'd been late for the flight's departure.

"She's in my room. Found her luggage, she's getting dressed in there."

"Oh, right," Jon mumbled having finally caught his bearings. "What's the matter? Why are you here?"

"For a detailed account of the events that took place last night of course." David's grin was cheshire like. He snuggled himself comfortably into what had previously been Amelia's pillow and stretched his legs across Jon's bed. Jon, being David's 'brother' of sorts immediately tried to push his legs off the bed. "Oh c'mon man, get outta here. I was sleepin'."

"Well aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thank you? I thought I was gonna wake up next to a pretty lady, instead I wake up to you."

"I mean for my arrangement," David waggled his brows. "How did it go? Did she run into your arms, beg for forgiveness and make sweet sweet love to you for the remainder of the night?"

"What?"

"Last night. You and Amelia, what happened? Did you reconcile?"

"What do you mean your arrangement?" Jon asked, rubbing his head. He hated having long hair, it always knotted during his sleep.

"Well who do you think booked one less room, paid off the manager to keep quiet n' sent Richie and Amelia on some goose chase around the city last night? Surely you knew."

"You did what?"

"Exactly as I say." David showed a disturbing degree of nonchalance.

"David are you damn crazy?" Jon was yelling in whispers, fearful Amelia might hear across the hall. "What's the matter with you?"

"Oh come on, show a little gratitude. I couldn't let her go on without speaking to you."

"You're mad," Jon said. What David had done was morally bankrupt on multiple accounts. "Do you know how wrong all of that could've gone?"

"But did it?"

"If Amelia found out she'd skin you alive."

"Oh, I know. I'm beggin' you'll keep quiet about it."

"I don't know. That's crooked, David, what you did, forcin' us together like that. How did you even know she'd end up bunkin' with me? How did you know Rich would have a date, or she wouldn't go with the rest of the crew."

David tapped his nose. "I have my ways."

Jon lobbed a cushion at him as he stood up. "You're wicked."

"I had good intentions," he reasoned.

"Oh yeah? You coulda messed things up real bad, Davey." Jon started to talk faster, grew huffier as he rummaged through his suitcase for clothes. "She mighta thought I'd done it. She was pissed, David, pissed! And there were moments where I thought she was about to cry."

"Well did you comfort her? Did you kiss her better? Whisper sweet nothings in her ear?"

"Stop it. I'm being serious. That was an asshole thing to do, man."

David's cheerful demeanor deflated like a child whose mischief had been thwarted. His shoulders sagged and his perpetual smile flattened out into a mildly peeved expression. "I just wanted you two to sort your shit out."

"What, by forcing Amelia into bed with me? She nearly fainted when I told her she'd be bunkin' with me."

David used his hand to cover his smirk.

"It's not funny, Dave. She was upset, it's a messed up thing to do."

"Oh, since when did you have a moral compass?"

Jon stayed silent as he changed into some decent clothes.

"Amelia seemed in good spirits, anyway," David noted. "She actually spoke to me this morning, and she smiled. It can't have gone too bad."

"That's none of your business."

"Oh come on. I wanted to see you both work it all out. You're my brother, Jon, and I love Amelia like a little sister even if we're the same age. I don't wanna see you both hatin' each other."

"Oh stop. Amelia and I could never hate each other," Jon mused, fastening his belt buckle around his hips.

"She gave you the silent treatment for two weeks!"

"Because I was an asshole, Dave. I deserved it."

"That's not what you were sayin' yesterday. Has she forgiven you now? Is that it?"

Jon threw his suitcase on the bed. "Sure," he said heavily, throwing his War and Peace book amongst his clothes.

"I wanted to help, Jon. I really did."

"Did you?" Jon looked at his pianist sharply. "Or did you just want entertainment."

"No entertainment is worth this. When did you become so serious? You're so, god, I don't know, broody all the time. You hardly ever smile."

"You put me in a bed with a woman I once swore would be my wife," Jon snapped coldly. "Did you think that it'd be fun for me? Easy?"

Admittedly David hadn't thought of any of that. Dave had never experienced a romantic love so deep as Jon and Amelia had; his attractions were mostly fleeting and sexual in nature, he hadn't contemplated the complications that might arise by forcing them into close proximity.

Now he felt like a dick. "I'm sorry man. I wanted to help, I wasn't really thinkin'."

Jon shook his head and zipped the suitcase tight shut, standing still.

"Is Amelia alright?" David asked quietly. She'd seemed alright that morning but they both knew Amelia had a knack for concealing her emotions. "Did she confide in you at all? I mean, is she happy on tour? I've been so worried about her."

David could be daft as a brush sometimes, he could do foolish things and make infuriating mistakes but Jon knew better than anybody that his heart was always in the right place. He couldn't be mad at his friend when such concern boiled beneath his words.

"I think so," he said. "But it's hard for the both of us. Amelia might appear to have a heart of stone but deep down she's as loving and sentimental as any woman. We were our first everything, I don't think she's had another love since. If I'm strugglin' then I'm not naïve enough to think she isn't too."

"Being in a bed together probably didn't help, then."

"No, it didn't," Jon confirmed. "But it wasn't all bad. She stopped trying to bite my head off after a little while."

Jon lay back on the bed and kicked his suitcase away. His hands rested on his belly, rising and falling with each troubled breath.

"Five years, Davey. Five years together. First everythin', first date, first love, first sex, first.. well, first heartbreak."

"First sex?" David propped himself up in a state of alarm. The man always knew how to lower the tone. "What? How old were you?"

Oh, that was right, Jon had never mentioned the details of his first sexual encounter to his band for many reasons, namely embarrassment.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Seventeen."

"Seventeen!? My god you were practically a monk."

"Oh stop. Seventeen is a perfectly average age. I lost it to the woman I loved, what's so wrong about that?"

"You romantic prude. Seventeen?"

Jon pictured members of his own band and others like Mötley Crüe laughing and calling him a prude pretty boy or something equally heinous. He was trying his hardest to beat the allegations that he was 'too nice for rock n' roll', his looks weren't helping, he was anything but sleazy.

"Yup. Seventeen."

Despite the painful admission he wouldn't change the fact for the world. His first time with Amelia had been wonderful and intimate, even if it embarrassed him to think of how amateurish he'd been.

"Unbelievable," David uttered in true awe, as if Jon was some strange specimen to be admired.

"Well what about you?" Jon shot back. "When did you lose yours, Don Juan."

"Eight."

"No shot." He had seen an article in the papers that'd stated as such, he'd scoffed at it and immediately discredited the rest of the magazine. "Don't bullshit me Davey."

"It's not bullshit, it's true. I lost it to my neighbour when my parents were downstairs."

Jon contemplated that sentence in silence for maybe ten seconds.

"You're vile," he concluded. "That's the sort of thing I'd expect to hear from Richie, not you."

His grin communicated that he was a little too impressed with himself for such a distusting feat.

"You can't have enjoyed it at that age."

"No, I didn't understand it," he admitted. "It was just so weird."

"I wonder why. Eight, Dave, god. That's what you need, god."

"You mean to tell me that you were a virgin when I met you?"

"Yeah, I was. N' I'm glad I lost my virginity to the woman I loved at an appropriate age instead of the neighbour's daughter as an eight year old. People like you are the reason parents are scared to leave their little girls alone with boys."

He seemed to take that as quite the compliment, giggling most girlishly to himself. Jon shook his head at the man.

"Anyhow, I'm gonna go check on Amelia, make sure she's not too traumatized after last night."

"Yeah, you better. See you later man."

"Bye Davey." Jon stopped in the doorway.
"Oh, and by the way. That guy that you paid off? The manager? He's a scumbag, I'd want my money back if I were you."

"What, why?"

"He propositioned Amelia last night in the lobby, offered to take her to his room."

David, admittedly, seemed extremely regretful. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."

"You say she's in your room?"

"Yeah, or at least she was."

Jon nodded. "A'right. See you soon."

Jon knocked on David's door only to get no reply. At first glance the room seemed empty, but upon further inspection Jon could hear the melodious sound of Amelia's singing behind the door to the ensuite bathroom.

He stood pensively and listened to the sound. Amelia was certainly no Olivia Newton John, but her voice had a wonderful and quaint charm to it that always lulled Jon into the most lucid trance, like a siren bewitching a sailor.

He listened contently on the bed wishing he had a guitar to hand so he could add accompaniment to the ever graceful melodies. She was singing Elvis; Jon always appreciated a woman with superior taste.

He chuckled to himself when the previously perfectly annunciated phrases became muffled hums and wails; she must've been brushing her teeth. Jon took that as his opportunity to introduce himself, he knocked politely on the door.

The humming came to an abrupt halt. Silence ensued, not an answer, not a word.

He knocked again.

"Who is it?"

"It's just Jonny. Can I come in?"

When she opened the door he was surprised by the sight. She had her hair wrapped up the towel sitting atop of her head; on her face was a strange, gooey greeny substance that Jon only new as a 'beauty mask', and with a quick glance downward he found her to have traded his baggy sweatpants for a loose pair of booty shorts.

"What's wrong?" She asked, spitting out her toothpaste into the basin.

He leaned himself against the doorframe, taking immense pleasure in the way her eyes lingered on it still-exposed chest. "I wanted to check up on you, you made yourself pretty scarce this morning. You could've showered in my room."

"Well, I had to find my luggage first. Can you believe it? David had it."

Jon could very well believe it.

"And you were still asleep, I didn't want to wake you by showering."

"And singin'?"

His smirk fell at the first sight of Amelia's death glare. "I wasn't singing. Well, I was, but not properly!"

He shouldered himself off the doorframe and approached her, taking a seat on the edge of the bath. "Sounded pretty good to me, darlin'."

Amelia blushed, both at his assessment and the way his arms folded across his chest. His muscles had certainly become more prominent since they'd parted.

"Well, I suppose you're the expert," she muttered. She unravelled her hair and let it loose, shaking it around in the mirror. Jon found the movement to be both mystifying and seriously majestic.

"Well, if I'm the expert then I say you're pretty good! You've got a lovely alto voice, dear, though my advice would be to stick to a around middle C and the octaves either way, when you exceed that you start to sound like a wailing coyote that's just had its leg bitten off."

"You always were charming, Jon. Where on earth do you get it from? Surely your lovely mother."

"Perhaps." His teasing response was followed by a shiver. "Brrhh, god it's cold in here. Why doesn't David have the heater on?"

"Probably because David's not silly enough to sleep without a shirt on in winter."

"Touché dear. And I was generous enough to lend you my bed-shirt."

She was still wearing it, a baggy yellow Slippery t-shirt that was so worn it had multiple holes along the seam. He admired the way it hung on her body, particularly when she was bra-less.

"Oh don't try and pull that. You weren't wearing it when Rich and I got there last night."

"You're right, I sleep in the nude, always."

She turned around and gazed at him narrowly. Jon found the sight utterly seductive, even with her silly mask on. "I think you're getting a little too comfortable."

"I'm an open book, love."

Amelia shook her head at his endearments. Darling, love, dear, she couldn't have him calling her those, she swooned each time the words fell from his pretty lips. Curse him, why did he have to be so darned attractive?

"Do you mind?" She asked. "I'd like to get changed. Then you can have your shirt back."

"Oh no, you keep it. Suits you better than me."

Jon stood before she could begin to argue. "Oh, and by the way," he added before closing the door. "I'll leave some leaflets on Davey's bed outside. Housing leaflets, I want you to get me some appointments for any you can, preferably by winter or February break. That okay?"

"Yes, fine," she said, peeling that mask thing off her face. "Goodbye."

Well, she certainly seemed more agreeable than the past few weeks. Perhaps Jon and Amelia were finally getting off on the right foot.

†††

"Yes, that would be perfect thank you. I'll forward the details to my employer right away."

Amelia always found herself holding her breath during the professional phonecalls she made to people on Jon's behalf, when she put the phone down she often felt grateful for the newfound repose.

"You have such a funny professional voice."

"I do not," Amelia denied. She sent a glare flying at Spankie.

"It's a little bit British, so delicate and polite. 'Oh, thank you Sir! That would be most agreeable!"

She whacked one of the leaflets on Spankie's elbow. Often the things that offended Amelia were the most true. "You try spending two years in a country without picking up any of their dialect."

"No, I think it's cute! It's the perfect voice for an assistant, better than mine that's for sure."

"Oh yeah. That's because you can hardly string two sentences together without swearing."

"What can I say sweetie? You and I were brought up in two completely different parts of Jersey. From what I hear of your parents if you so much as said the word damm you'd go to bed without supper for a week."

"A week? Try a month." Amelia shook her head; she loved her parents dearly and held an especially close affection to her mother, but she most certainly abhorred a great deal of their parenting techniques growing up. "Saying damm was as good as straight blaspheming. That slackened a little as we got older."

"Jesus. And I used to think it was unfair when my parents sent me to my room for throwing tantrums. How did they manage to cope knowing they had a rockstar son?"

"Well they didn't, for a while," Amelia sighed. "There was a maybe three month period in which they didn't speak."

"What, not at all?"

"Not at all. Richie was forced to cook his own meals, he didn't eat with the family. Most days he left early each morning with his guitar and returned past my bedtime. I was so young at the time, I missed him dearly."

"God. That's horrible."

"It was." Amelia couldn't understand it, having a child and not being able to accept them for who they were. She knew without a doubt that her parents loved her and her brother more than anything in the world; she couldn't blame them for the strict and radical beliefs they been brought up in but there were many worse things that their son could've turned out to be than a rockstar. "And then I started to rebel too. A little, and much more discreetly than my brother, but I certainly rebelled. By that point they'd accepted Richie back into their good graces and started to come round to the idea of him becoming a musician so long as he was happy."

"You? A rebel? I can't imagine it," Spankie teased. She lay on her front on the bed and rested her chin in both palms. "You're too pristine for that."

"Well maybe I'm not a rebel by your standards but by my Catholic parents standards I was crazy. Or at least I would've been had they known more about it."

"Well what type of shit did you get up to? Drugs? Heroin? Cocaine?"

"No, nothing of the sort. I've never so much as smoked weed."

"You are square."

"Shut it Spankie, it was a traumatic upbringing, alright?"

Both girls giggled.

"Anyway. My idea of rebellion was simply having a boyfriend, much more one who wasn't let's say, traditional. He was no doctor or lawyer or any kind of respectable profession, my parents would have fainted had they known. I'd have been locked up."

"Ooh, forbidden love." Spankie whistled. "Pray, tell me more."

"Forbidden indeed." Amelia's words were grave. "For five years I snuck around with him, well into my twenties."

She debated how much to divulge.

"Oh, a highschool romance?"

"Well, it began that way, yes. He was this, punk I should say. Long hair, sunglasses, the whole lot."

"Oh he was a rockstar! How convenient that you now find yourself in a profession surrounded by rockstars."

"And how inconvenient that my own brother is in the center of them all. He's only marginally better than my parents when it comes to that sort of thing, and oftentimes he can be even worse."

"Richie? Surely not."

"It's true, Spankie. I think Richie would faint if I introduced him to a malefriend. I think a part of him forever sees me as his baby sister."

"I could never have guessed Rich would be like that."

"Well, he certainly is. The grief he gave me over having a boyfriend back then was immeasurable! I took to great lengths to hide him from Richie, I feared Rich might hurt him for no other reason than the fact that he dated me."

Spankie's expression took a turn for the worse. "But that's horrible."

"Yes, it was, and is. My brother has changed. I doubt he'd be quite so protective any more, although if he found me to be dating a rockstar I'm sure he'd go ballistic, particularly if it were someone he was already acquainted with."

"But who was this mysterious rockstar then? Your Romeo."

"Nothing more than a highschool friend."

"What was his name?"

"Mark," she said. An old alias she'd used to disguise Jon in the past. When Richie had finally coaxed it out of her that she was in fact dating somebody she'd kept Jon's anonymity and always referred to him as Mark. It was perhaps unnecessary, but it was easier that way.

"Not a very sexy name," Spankie muttered beneath her breath.

"Do you mind? We were in love, you know."

Referring to him as Mark also took the personal aspect out of it. It was easier to disregard 'Mark', or make up stories about him and disguise it as a silly fling. After all, who was Mark?

"Sorry. Did he corrupt you?"

"Oh, he most definitely corrupted me," Amelia laughed to herself. "I was nothing more than a strict Catholic girl at the time. I was pretending to be cooler than that, I wore all sorts of horrendous outfits and often got into fights at school but realistically I lived the life of a nun. He seduced me and led me astray, if you will, though he was in an odd way responsible. If I'd have suggested to him we tried drugs or something equally stupid I think he'd have taken me over the knee and spanked me."

"Ooh, kinky."

"No, not kinky at all. He was very straight in fact, although sometimes I think that was just for my benefit. I merely mean that drugs was always a hard no for him, he was sensible, really. I think if my parents would've been able to look past his exterior they would've seen he really was a good man."

"He sounds perfect for you," Spankie giggled. "A little rebellious but largely still sensible."

"Yes. If only more rockstars were like him," Amelia sighed. "Less of them would be dead, for starters."

"Well, I think we got pretty lucky with our boys," Spankie said much more jovially. "They're pretty sensible as far as rockstars go. I mean, sure Tico drinks a little n' Alec's done some real crazy shit, but Dave, Rich n' Jonny seem pretty straight forward. Boss man himself won't so much as touch weed, he gets teased for it but I think it's good of him."

"What need would Jon have for weed?" Amelia wondered. "He doesn't need that high, he has the high of the stage every night."

"And the low too don't forget. But he's got a good head on him, he doesn't mess with drugs, even the simple stuff."

"Smart man." Amelia would always give credit where it were due.

"Anyway, where's this Mark guy now? You still see him?"

"No, no." She looked down into her lap. "Our aspirations were so different. He wanted to become a musician and I wanted to become.. well, I don't know what I wanted to be, but I didn't want to be a housewife stuck at home while he travelled the country with his music. We made a mutual decision to call it off, I don't know what happened to him."

"Oh how romantic. Would you rekindle with him? If you could find him."

"No, I don't think so."

"But why?"

"Well, it took me so long to move on. It could never work out. If he were to have become a rockstar then women are a part of his job, and leaving is part of his job. There's an immense amount of trust involved, and I'd be so lonely so often."

"I guess I understand, but surely love could conquer all. Did you love him?"

Amelia smirked. "Oh, with all my heart. I still do in a way, I don't know of a girl that doesn't think of her first love every once in a while. But those feelings are small and buried deep."

"We'll have to get you a new man around here." Spankie grinned as if it were a grand undertaking; she had a lovely toothy smile that stretched from ear to ear.

"And what about you? You don't have a boyfriend."

"No, and I like to keep it that way. I can't be bothered to deal with men and their antics just yet."

"Well I hate to say it Spankie but your whole job seems to be dealing with men and their antics."

Spankie sighed. "Too right, too right. Anyway, we gotta get on with your job or the boss'll be complainin'."

Amelia rather enjoyed her job. She loathed the idea of sitting in an office all day and making polite phone calls; laying on her bed with Spankie, surrounded by leaflets and trying to stave off giggling with each other was much more enjoyable.

"These houses are crazy," she muttered. "Can Jon really afford them?"

"Let's see," Amelia muttered, laying on her front and examining the leaflets again. "Down payment on this one is $150,000. There's a chance he'll pay it outright."

"What?" Spankie's eyes seemed to burst out of their sockets. "There's no way he can afford all that."

"Believe it. He's a rich man now."

"It's a lovely house," Spankie meditated. "But so big for one person, I think I'd be lonely."

"Well maybe he doesn't intend to live in it with one person. He told me he was looking for a house he wanted to be in for a long while, maybe he's taking a wife and kids into consideration."

Spankie started laughing. "Can you imagine the boss with kids?"

"Maybe one day. Not now, heaven forbid."

"Oh look at the pool," Spankie giggled. "Oh, now I want to go house shopping! But I'm not rich like the boss. Imagine lounging around in that pool all day under the scorching sun."

"I'm more interested in the five bedrooms and seven bathrooms." The house was classy, not at all modern, white on the exterior and wooden on the interior. It was homely, Amelia thought it would be one of his favorites when he visited them.

"Oh, and look at that balcony. I never saw Jon as the type to want such a grand house, I always thought he was more humble than that. Not in a bad way, but I can't imagine him livin' in such a big place, y'know? He always spoke of wanting a beach home or something, small and cozy."

"I know what you mean," Amelia muttered. "But here are the beach homes. They're much smaller, he even spoke of the possibility of getting a bigger house as a main home and a beach house as a holiday home."

"A holiday home in New Jersey? What on earth could a man need two houses for, he's hardly ever home to begin with."

"I know Spank, you tell him. I tried to explain all that to him."

"Men with money lose their heads so often, let's do our best to keep him grounded."

"Oh yes, keep him grounded. Now excuse me while I call the owner of this million dollar home and book him a viewing appointment."

Spankie grabbed the leaflet and rolled over in a small bout of snickers. "We'll have to find him a Jersey girl. A good ol' fashioned Jersey girl'll keep him in check, smack him round when his head gets too big for his shoulders."

"Well, I rather hope it won't get to that point. Now pass me the phone before Jon finds out I've done no work."

†††

Amelia had been enjoying Bon Jovi's week long Christmas break at home with her parents. Christmas had always been a rather ornate holiday in her home with her parents being strict catholics, now it was even more embellished with the new flood of income to their household.

The tree almost scraped the top of their nine-foot tall ceiling and was decorated with ample amounts of shimmering tinsel and glittering baubles. Each surface in the home was littered with an array of candles and tea lights, and on the mantle piece, the pride and center of the room, was the small nativity figurine set that'd been passed down for generations.

By that point in time Amelia had little of the Christian faith left in her, but on Christmas day she could pretend.

"Those managers and what not are working those boys bone dry!" Joan, Amelia's mother, exclaimed.

Richie had not yet risen by ten o'clock, and already Joan was beginning to prepare the dinner.

"I mean, a one week break? For Christmas? It's outrageous!" She continued. "You haven't been home since the tour started. Poor Richard looks exhausted."

"They all are," Amelia admitted gravely, assisting her mother in cutting some of the potatoes. "Jon especially, his voice is completely shot."

"Oh I don't doubt it," Joan muttered, shaking her head in utter dismay. "They're using that poor boy like a puppet! He's nothing more than a money making machine to them, the face of their operations."

Amelia had been trying to tell Jon as such only no matter how much concern she put into her pleas for him to slow down and take a break he ignored her. To him, the tour dates and schedules were set in stone, he could have a deathly fever and still go up and perform. Amelia marvelled at his audacity to call her stubborn.

She hadn't spoken to him much as of late, his recent schedule had been gruelling and demanding leading up to the Christmas break.

"I'm sure that Carol is looking after him," Joan nodded to herself in her own little frenzy. "He should be taking lots of honey and lemon water for his voice."

"I'm sure he is," Amelia assured. At least she hoped he was, thus far he hadn't taken great care of his voice, it was falling apart.

Richard arose at the ungodly hour of one o'clock in the afternoon. He stumbled down the stairs in an almost drunken state of exhaustion, tumbling into the arms of his most beloved sister. "Morning, Millie. Merry Christmas," he yawned, swivelling to his mother to greet her with the same flourish of affection.

"You can hardly call it morning, Richie," Amelia huffed, her arms folding across her chest. "The sun was fully risen maybe six hours ago."

"Take a seat, dear. I'll fix you up some breakfast." Joan pushed her son's shoulders down into the wooden kitchen chair. She couldn't leave without pressing a loud, smacking kiss to her eldest's cheek. Amelia could only roll her eyes, even into his late twenties Richie was babied by their mother.

Amelia spent most of her Christmas day sitting on the back porch and watching the snow fall. Occasionally her brother or father would pop out and attempt a spark of conversation, but her dismissals and vague reponses quickly drove them away. The truth was, Amelia liked peace. Though it was seldom good for her, she enjoyed being left to her own thoughts and devices to contemplate life's most recent hurdles.

Richie and their father worried for the girl. Lately, she was a woman of few words and even fewer smiles. Their father in particular felt that something in their relationship was irreparable, that somewhere along the line he had made a most fatal error. He had watched her grow further from him, their phone calls less frequent and in-person visits almost completely eradicated.

If Amelia was a woman of few words, then her father was practically mute. His upbringing had taught him to be stoic and stale, during Amelia's upbringing he'd seldom been present emotionally. He was an empty figure to her, she loved him dearly but at the same time felt she hardly knew him.

He sat at the head of the table during the Christmas dinner, Amelia and Richie on either side of him. He led them through prayers, during which Amelia clasped her hands tightly and closed her eyes, drifting off into an unrelated daydream.

"Now then." The bold and raucous voice of Adam Sambora addressed itself to the room. "Now that you have thanked god for your food, you may thank your mother for preparing it."

Amelia and Richie's eyes locked in what could only be described as an invisible eye roll.

"Thank you, Mom," they each said. Amelia would gladly thank her mother for the food because in Amelia's mind her mother was the only person she should be thanking for the food. She failed to understand how this mysterious all-seeing and all-powerful god had much to do with the food on her plate.

Her faith dwindled by the day. If there was a god like everybody claimed, he was surely far too self-righteous for Amelia's taste. What kind of an all-benevolent god would enslave the entire human race into a lifetime of thankfulness and servitude?

No, Amelia did believe in a god. There had to be something, but she knew that the 'real' god could be nothing like what they told you in churches. She was sure a 'real' god would lament his name being used in so many hateful fashions.

"You're welcome, dears," their mother spoke with an eternal softness. "Now eat, you must be hungry."

Amelia certainly was hungry having spent most of her morning in the kitchen being tantalised by the attractive scents. She was all too excited to dig into the plump and delectable turkey, or the crispy and delightful Yorkshire puddings, something which Amelia had brought over from England.

She was thankful that the atmosphere seemed to pick up as they ate. The four of them pulled christmas crackers and read out the heinous jokes included with them, burying their faces in their hands in second hand embarrassment upon hearing them.

Amelia half-stood and reached over to place a red paper crown on her father's head.

"Oh, stop," he said, attempting to waft away the delicate accessory.

"Come on Papa, lighten up!" Amelia laughed. She stood up and kissed the older man's forehead, cementing the hat on his head as firmly as possible.

He looked at his daughter and her pleading eyes, her lip pouted as though she were six years old again. "Oh, alright." His chuckle was low and gravelly. "If you insist."

"Is there Christmas pudding, Mom?" Amelia asked as soon as she was seated again. Her father placed a rough hand over the top of hers.

"Patience. Finish your dinner first, eat some more vegetables," he muttered amusingly.

"Yeah, have a sprout!" Her brother dropped a sprout from his own plate onto hers.

"Ew, I hate sprouts!" She exclaimed, flicking it off the plate so that it rolled across the table and back to her brother. Admittedly a childish display.

Before their mother could scold the pair for behaving so irresponsibly, the doorbell sounded.

"Amelia dear, would you get that?"

Amelia thought better than to argue. It seemed that as the youngest child things like that were just her responsibility.

"Are we expecting anybody?" She asked as she pulled on a cardigan.

"No, I'm sure it's just the carol singers."

Amelia nearly cried out in despair. Carol singers! During her Christmas dinner no less.

Well, at least the money would go to charity.

She opened the door and braced herself for the onslaught of overly-joyous melodies, but was instead met with silence. She was so taken aback by the sight that she stumbled a step backwards, letting out a small and involuntary exclamation of surprise.

There was a man at her door standing far closer than she'd anticipated. Half of his face was concealed by a thick woollen scarf, one that Amelia could discern was home-knitted from the tiny frayed edges. On his head he donned a black cowboy hat, tipped forward so to hide his eyes, and the rest of his body was wrapped up in a large, beige colored coat that Amelia could bet cost more than a pretty penny. In his arms were four small presents wrapped haphazardly in golden wrapping paper.

"Jon?"

His voice came back muffled by the scarf. "Merry Christmas Amelia."

"Who is it dear?" Called Joan.

"It's Jon!"

"Jon?!" The woman exclaimed, followed by the harsh shriek of her chair. She came to the door, just melting when she set eyes on the man she considered to be a second son. "Jon! Oh how lovely to see you dear, Merry Christmas."

She pushed past Amelia and enveloped the taller man into her arms, pulling his scarf away from his face so she could kiss his cheeks. "Come in, come in! Will you have Christmas pudding with us?"

Jon scraped his snow-covered boots on the bristled welcome mat. "Oh, I probably shouldn't Mrs S," he declined all too politely. "I've eaten two full plates of my mother's christmas dinner."

"No matter!" Joan exclaimed with renewed excitement, her short legs already carrying her back to the kitchen. "There's always room for desert. You've gone skinny, we'll have to fatten you up."

Jon let out a slightly awkward laugh and glanced down at his admittedly thin body. Amelia, being trained in basic hospitality, took Jon's coat for him and hung it up on the stairs. "Thank you," he muttered humbly. He placed the four gifts on the bottom of the stairs and followed Amelia through to the dining room.

"Evening Jon," came Adam's voice first.

"Evening Mr S. Merry Christmas."

The older man smiled in approval, he often wished his own son was quite so polite as Jon.

"Jonny!" Shouted Richie, proving all of his father's sentiments to be true. The man jetted up and over to his friend, encompassing him in a big brotherly hug. "Merry Christmas man, you didn't tell me you were coming."

"Well truthfully I'm only dropping by," Jon shrugged. "Thought I'd come give you all your presents and say hello."

"Naturally my wife has insisted you eat something," Adam chuckled to himself, taking a little more turkey off the bone.

"Of course. I should have anticipated."

Richie nodded. "Mothers, eh?"

"Yeah, mothers." Jon released a contented sigh.

Joan soon came out holding multiple plates of pudding. "Oh, sit, Jon!" She ordered lovingly. "Sit down next to Amelia, I'll get you a nice warm drink."

"Thank you Ma'am." He rubbed each of his hands together and took a seat on the wooden chair. Amelia hesitated to sit beside him. He flashed a smile and wink her way. "Nice hat."

Her face quickly turned the same color as the red paper crown on her head. She'd forgotten all about it.

"Here." She pulled a cracker with him.

"I win!" He peered inside the cardboard contraption, looting the contents of it. "Oh, fantastic, a sticker."

While Jon busied himself sticking the sticker to his jacket and reading the terrible joke inside, Amelia took the cowboy hat from his head and instead replaced it with a green paper crown.

"Perfect!" She announced, hanging his hat up on the back of the chair.

Joan came back in and complemented his new attire. "A nice hot chocolate to warm your hands and your insides," she said, setting the mug in his spot. "And christmas pudding to keep you healthy."

"Thank you," Jon smiled, earning a wink from the older woman. She placed a plate in front of every one else and finally sat herself down.

"Well, bon appetit."

Jon was not the biggest lover of christmas pudding but he ate it to appease his hosts.

"Have you been enjoying your break, Jon? How are your brothers?"

"They're doin' good. Matty's enjoying school, Tony's getting to the age where he's probably gonna start workin' for us soon." Jon spoke with a great pride when the conversation pertained to his brothers, particularly Matthew. He'd always had a soft spot for the little boy that'd looked up to his eldest brother with complete infatuation and admiration.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Joan smiled. "And your parents? Has your mother been looking after you? Has she been giving you honey and lemon water for your voice? You need to look after it you know."

Jon let out a moderately awkward chuckle, stuffing his face with pudding to stall his answer. "Yes, she's been giving me plenty of honey but I feel great, there's no need for worry."

All four Samboras shared a look of what could only be described as doubt with a tinge of pity. Even now as he spoke Jon's voice sounded like a brick being scraped across stone, gravelly, harsh and most importantly sore.

"Well, drink that hot chocolate," Joan coaxed softly. "It'll do you good."

Jon put his lips to the mug and drank.

"Will you stay for long?" Mr Sambora asked.

"Oh, no. I was only stopping by, my mother will be wondering where I am soon."

Adam nodded. As soon as dessert was finished Amelia and Richie were commissioned to help with the dishes. Jon took off his paper hat and returned to his cowboy regalia, fixing the hat on his head and zipping up his winter coat.

Amelia, conscious of the fact that she'd hardly said a word to him slipped away from the kitchen and found him in the hallway as he was about to leave.

"Are you alright?" She asked. "Will you be safe walking? It's slippery out there, not to mention hazy."

"I'll be alright darlin', don't worry about me."

She was dubious, the winds were picking up and the snow made it difficult to see anything. It was a white winter out there.

"Will you make sure your family get their presents?" He asked, nodding toward the bottom of the stairs. She picked the four gifts up and placed them on the side cabinet. Her fingertips grazed the largest one, in Jon's ever-illegible handwriting it read Amelia, underlined with a graceful swirl.

"Open it," he said, wrapping the scarf around his neck.

It wasn't difficult to open Jon's untidy wrapping, after all the corners were hardly even covered with paper. Inside the wrapping lay a book, an utterly beautiful book, leather bound with a gold trim and sprayed edges to match. Embroidered on the cover were the words,

War and Peace,
Leo Tolstoy

Amelia flicked it open to find the words written in the most beautiful and ornate font paired with delicate illustrations that Amelia could only describe as breathtaking.

"What is this?" She whispered, feeling hardly worthy of touching the book.

"It's a book," Jon replied, and in his taut words she detected an element of nervousness. Nervousness for what? Surely he couldn't be considering the possibility that she didn't like it.

"Well yes." Her fingertips grazing the smooth pages. "But I've never seen anything like it. Where on earth did you get it?"

"In Hamburg," he responded. "They had this copy and a version in German. I couldn't not get it for you but I figured I should probably save it for christmas or you might kill me for spending money on you."

"I might yet still," she breathed. "How much was it?"

"That I can't tell you."

"Oh yes you will. How much?"

"I don't remember," he said. "I bought lots of things from that bookstore, I don't know how much it cost."

"Probably for the better." Amelia closed the book shut and gazed at it for a moment. "Did you ever finish it? Your copy of War and Peace?"

"I did." His grin contained an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. "I enjoyed it. When we get back on tour you'll have to recommend me some other books."

"Yes." Amelia was still too taken aback by the beauty of the book, but even more so the thoughtfulness of the man who'd gifted it to her. She'd expected his present might be a box of chocolates; he didn't owe her anything, he'd already done enough for her and yet he'd bought her such a meaningful present that'd no doubt cost him a fortune.

She turned to him in a slightly emotional state. "Thank you," she said, wrapping her arms around the man.

Jon wished he could be closer to her, the padded coat he wore acted as an unwanted barrier between the pair. He wanted to feel her arms around him, feel the soft and gentle embrace of the woman he'd always held so dear to him. Instead the only warmth he felt from the embrace came from the fur lining of his clothes. "You're welcome," he replied thickly, figuring he could get away with a small kiss to her cheek. "Merry Christmas Amelia."

"Merry Christmas Jon," she murmured, releasing him from her grip. "Tell your family I give them my love."

He pursed his lips and nodded. "I will." For a moment there was silence, both with nowhere to look but each other. It was as if Jon wanted to say more.

"Amelia!" Her mother's voice called. "Dishes!"

Jon's face broke out into a little grin. "Best go get to work, right."

"Yes, I'd better," she muttered. "I'll see you next week."

"Yeah. Goodnight, look after yourself Millie."

She continued to give him thanks and well wishes until he was gone from the porch and had disappeared into the mist of wind and snow.

It occurred to her that that had been her first ever Christmas with him.

---

I can never escape writing a Christmas chapter 😭 and it always happens in summer.

Sorry this is slightly late, I'm back to school now so it's been difficult finding time to write, but nonetheless here we are and as I keep saying I've got plenty of ideas 😁

As always, leave your thoughts in the comments and remember to vote 💗💗