October 3rd, 1986 / Giants Stadium, New Jersey

Amelia had never really known how big of an operation the Bon Jovi band truly was. Or at least, it was now after the release of their new album.

Many a time had she sat in the cheap seats of Giants Stadium while her father forced her to watch the football. Now her brother was headlining the place, and she was stranded backstage.

There must've been thirty or forty crew members employed by the band. She couldn't imagine there being so many workers when they first started; Richie had told her there were days when they couldn't afford to eat. Despite their newbie status, they operated like a well-oiled machine, each component carrying out their job with maximum efficiency.

Richie had left her unattended for near twenty minutes and she was beginning to wonder if he’d forgotten her. It wouldn’t surprise her, what with all the booze that was likely knocking about. Oh, and the surplus women. Trust him to practically drag her there and then forget about her, what was she to do?

She could only hope someone decent would rear their head and return her to him.

Three figures rounded the corner at the end of the hallway, their bodies intertwined. They staggard through the hallway in a sort of drunken tumble, a male in the middle with his arms slung around two scantily clad ladies.

Not the decent folk Amelia had been holding out for. She stayed seated on her bench with her eyes turned to the ground.

Throughout her life she’d fought against the allegations of prudishness levied at her; in this instance she embraced the title proudly. Sex was something to be kept between two people perhaps a couple more consensual additions, but not something to be paraded around in front of strangers. But that was just her prudish opinion, not something that mattered much in the world of rockstars and debauchery.

The three characters continued their approach, filling the hall with bouncing laughter and flirtatious giggling. That was the first alarm bell.

It couldn’t be. Amelia must’ve been overheated and bored to the point that she was entertaining delusions, hallucinating even. That laugh could have been anybody’s.

But as they neared, it became harder to claim it as a mistaken visage. The man had long hair obscuring his face but he was unmistakable. A hyperbolic laugh paired with a slick smirk, attire that only a courageous and ridiculously attractive man could get away with. His identity could hardly have been clearer.

There, Jon Bon Jovi was tightly sandwiched between two well-endowed females, alternating his affections between them with a shamelessness that would shock even the greediest street vender. There was arrogance in each step as he strutted along with them, his cowboy boots somehow managing to be louder than either of the women's stiletto heels.

As if Amelia’s opinion on him wasn’t tainted enough, any redeeming qualities had gone straight out of a fourth-story window.

He dropped a sloppy kiss to one of the women's chins, after which she erupted into another fit of girlish giggles.

A reunion between Amelia and Jon had been inevitable, Richie’s position in the band had assured that. But this was not what she’d pictured, or at least wouldn’t be what she’d pictured if she’d pictured anything at all.

She'd wondered how fame might have changed him, whether he still cared much for her, what his hair might look like after all these years. Seeing him necking on with two separate women at once was not what she had in mind.

Jon's boots, the only part of him she could see in her downturned gaze, came to a cartoonish halt. The women each let out small gasps of surprise before continuing to laugh with him. Apparently everything he did was funny.

He’d spotted her, morbid curiosity ensured she looked back.

The sight she was met with wasn’t at all how he appeared on television. On television he was calm, collected, cute and charming. Girls swooned over every twitch of his lip, scratch of his beard – the littlest laugh left them in a pool of hormones on the floor.

None of that charm was present now, though. His normally sultry eyes were wide with horror, grinning mouth now hanging open like a fish. She took some pleasure in it.

“Amelia,” he said. That was it, words failed him beyond that.

He had the good grace to blush, though it wasn't a very graceful blush at all. His whole face went beet red, even his forehead.

"Oh, are you joining us?" one of the women asked.

The sweet tone of her voice didn't at all match with the outfit she wore. A tight bodice that had her breasts practically spilling out, only marginally more modest than the other lady whose nipples were visible through the fishnet material of her jumpsuit.

"You know her?" The other asked. She leaned closer until her nose grazed Jon’s cheek.

Enough speechless gawping. He gathered what remained of his crumbling bravado and levelled his shoulders.

Gently, he placed a hand on each of the girl's backs and pushed them forward. "Go on ahead ladies, first and only door to your left. I'll be with you in a moment."

He distantly and unwittingly admired their backsides as they stalked off.

Oh, he was loving being Jon Bon Jovi. Well, at least he would have been if it weren’t for Amelia, now standing at her full height.

Richie hadn’t spoken of her since she received her results. That was weeks ago now, and there’d been no mention of her presence at the show. Alas there she stood, flesh and bone, absolutely pissed.

“Amelia,” he repeated with just as much shock as before, “I didn’t know you were home yet, what are you doing here?”

She was just as beautiful as the day he left her. More than that, actually. Her face had transformed from girl to woman, what she’d lost in teenage fullness had been gained in elsewhere in a chiselled and refined bone structure.

Her attitude hadn't changed much though, he could tell from that fiery stink eye.

"Didn't Richie tell you I was coming?"

"No, he didn't.” He hoped that speaking slightly louder might draw her eyes to him more. He started to smile, it dawned on him that he'd just heard her voice for the first time in three years. "I thought you were still in England."

His excitement to see her was not reciprocated, and he had enough social sense to realise his previous display might've had something to do with it. Among other things.

“Evidently not.”

Cold.

"You here to watch the show?"

"Yes." Finally she met his eyes though they were not all he expected. They lacked the warmth he'd been accustomed to seeing when looking at her, instead they were a hue of contempt. "Though I seem to have stumbled upon a different show entirely. I'm sorry to have interrupted you."

Jon shrunk back and tried to hide the shame colouring his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were back from England, otherwise I wouldn't have.. y'know."

Amelia shook her head. "It's none of my business."

Business or no business, the last thing he wanted to do was piss her off. Or upset her; this stoicism was a new one. Again, he didn’t need to question why.

“Regardless,” he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home, I wouldn’t have wanted that to be your first introduction to backstage.”

Wouldn’t have wanted her to see that at all, actually.

“It doesn’t matter.”

For something that didn’t matter, she seemed awfully perturbed by the whole ordeal.

“You sure you’re okay?” Jon asked.

"Yes, I’m fine,” she said, releasing the tensions in her shoulder and neck. "I’m jet-lagged and a little disorientated after Richie abandoned me in this place.”

“Jetlag’s a sucker,” Jon smiled. As for Richie, he didn’t know. “But I was talking more about the groupies.”

Mainly, did she need a shrink to help her prudish self work through the trauma of what she’d just witnessed?

“It was just a shock, is all. I wasn't expecting such a parade of debauchery in the middle of an open corridor."

Jon had to laugh a little. "Yeah, well once they latch onto you they're pretty hard to get rid of. They're just groupies, y'know, it's only for show."

Amelia smiled dryly. She wasn't naïve enough to believe Jon's words, in fact she was sure the number of women he'd slept with in the recent years would be astronomical. But all rockstars were like that including her own brother, why wouldn't Jon be the same? With his pretty face he might even have become the most admired rockstar of the decade.

"Some show, huh," she mumbled.

Jon seemed to deflate. For all his wit and charm he was smart enough to know he couldn't wriggle himself out of this one. There was no escaping what Amelia had just seen.

"Yeah. I'll take you to the guys." He gestured in the direction the two women had just left, slowing his pace to match Amelia’s.

He straightened his posture, fluffed up his hair and walked with his hands behind his back, daring a couple quick and sparing glances at her. "Richie tells me you finished college with an A-star.”

"I did," she nodded slowly. Jon nodded too, fiddling with the belt loop of his jeans. His sweaty fingers seemed to slip right through.

"Well, I'm happy for you." He attempted a cheerful timbre. "I always knew you'd do great."

She wasn’t keen to grant the attention he so desperately desired, no matter how puppyish he looked. Even if she knew he was sincere in this instance, she didn’t want to talk to him at all, not after the stunt she’d just seen.

"And I always knew you'd become a rockstar."

She kept her voice down and looked around surreptitiously for prying ears. Better no one knew they were acquainted.

Jon mustered a bittersweet smile. "Yeah, a rockstar," he muttered. "Anyhow, how long are you here for? Richie says you’ll tour with us.”

“Richie was always burdened with a sense of overconfidence,” Amelia smirked, “I said no such thing, in fact I doubt it highly. I’m supposed to make my decision after the show.”

She wasn't inclined to the idea of moving countries every week, she liked to be settled and comfortable.

Besides, she would be lonely. From what she'd seen there wasn't a single woman in these parts. Well, aside from groupies and prostitutes.

“And what will that decision be based on?” Jon asked, grinning a little.

“I don’t know, not much I suppose. Living out of a suitcase seems so tiresome, I’ve never been much of a traveller.”

"C'mon, you need a little adventure in your life." His elbow jammed into her waist, earning him a scowl as she stepped away from him.

“I’m content here in New Jersey.”

Content she may be, happy she certainly was not. Laughing at Amelia when she was clearly mad at him was not a good idea, but Jon could hardly help it. She was so mopey, moody, entirely absent of even the smallest smile. If he didn’t tease her he’d be allowing her to bring his own mood down, and that simply wouldn’t do. She may not be happy to see him, but boy was he glad to see her. Not even her volatile glances could lessen that truth.

"You look well," he said sincerely. "Aside from the perpetual scowl of course."

Amelia glared at him, quickly realizing that that didn't help her case.

"So do you," she said softly.

Jon, who usually excelled in conversation with womenfolk, was struggling. He flashed an awkward yet sincere smile in her direction. "You've changed your hair."

"So have you.”

His hair had resembled a curly poodle's 'do when they split in ’83, now it was a fully-fledged lion's mane.

"Oh yeah, you like it?" He asked, fluffing it up a little.

She used it as an excuse to look at him. It wasn't a bad sight at all, it framed his face wonderfully.

"A little too blond for my taste, I preferred your natural brunet," she declared. His frown was, admittedly, very cute.

"You think?" He tried to get a glimpse in any reflective surface as they walked. "I thought I'd toned down the highlights."

In truth, some of the hairstyles she'd seen him sport since the split were diabolical. Often he appeared to have been struck by lightning with the excessive poof, and the makeup was far too feminine for him. He looked far better now.

Jon was a beautiful man, no one could deny that. What need did he have for makeup? His skin was perfect and his lips certainly didn't need any more colour. He'd always had his feminine touch, that was what Amelia pinpointed as the reason he was so beautiful, but the additional makeup ventured into diminishing returns.

"Well, I recall you being brunet. Now you are far closer to some sort of flaxen. Are you wearing makeup?"

He seemed to take it as a major offense. "What? No. What makes you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know. I saw you on TV a couple of times. You always seemed dolled up."

More dolled up than she ever made the effort to be.

"Yeah, well they practically tied me down for that," he muttered spitefully. "Never again am I letting anyone put that shit on my face. I don't wanna promote my music by lookin' pretty. I looked like my sister! If I had one."

Amelia tried to keep her smirk at bay. How Jon had despised her calling him pretty in the past, he'd thrown tantrums over the word.

"Are you sure you don't have powder on?"

All this teasing was sure to bring his ego down a notch; he needed it with these groupies around.

"Powder?" He scoffed. "Get outta here, you're pulling my leg."

"Your skin looks awfully smooth."

"Well, I'll take the compliment but it's all natural baby." He leaned closer to her, flaunting his pore-less skin.

The years they’d spent apart had been kind to him. She'd seen him on television a couple of times in England, once to perform his song 'Silent Night' which had admittedly sent her into such a frenzy she couldn't attend University for three days afterwards. She'd seen all the cheesy music videos, all the photos on the album covers and inner sleeves, but nothing could've really prepared her for what Jon looked like all these years later.

He was a little stockier, back in ’83 he’d been so lanky. Maturity had struck his features, any previous pockets of youthful fat had dissipated revealing a well-crafted bone structure.

And to think of how different he'd looked when she'd first met him.

"I'll take your word for it," Amelia finished. There was a small silence.

The door to the boy’s dressing room was approaching, Jon knew. So much to say in such little time, and how to remedy it.

Firstly, he slowed. "It's good to see you again. We should catch up, maybe go for a drink sometime."

"I'm not much of a drinker.”

"Now that's bullshit, what happened to the rebel in you?"

"It's not bullshit. Being in England's changed me."

"England?? They're the worst for drinkin'! I'm surprised you didn't come back an alcoholic."

She had to laugh. Her university peers had been fond of drinking to the early hours, but booze wasn't so fun when you were alone. She hadn't drunk a drop over there, earning her the label of 'silly lightweight American'.

"Alright, a coffee then," he proposed. "Just to catch up, y'know? As friends."

It was just as she'd feared: Jon had fallen back into natural rapport with her. She couldn't understand how after waltzing in with two strippers attached at the hip he'd managed to steer the conversation back in his favour.

"Maybe, as friends," she replied neutrally. "But I'm not going to forget what I saw."

"Huh?"

"The strippers, Jon."

"Oh, God," he dragged a hand over his blushing face, a rare display of embarrassment for the man. "Don’t look into it too much. They're nothing, alright? I mean they're nice enough girls but it's kind of a pain in the ass to have them follow you around and worship the ground you walk on."

Amelia couldn't fathom living a life like that.

Thankfully they seemed to finally be coming up on the dressing room. Jon stopped just short of the door, bracing himself as Amelia read the signs.

On the door was a plaque that read ‘BAND ONLY’. Beneath it, written in manly scrawl was ‘FEMALES WANTED’.

“That’s Richie’s doing,” Jon explained. “There’s an embossed plaque with the same thing on the outside of the tour bus thanks to him.”

“Richie has never been charming,” Amelia revealed, “Not even as a boy.”

Somehow, Jon didn’t find that hard to believe.

“Stick around after the show, alright? I'll try to get somewhere private where we can catch up."

She tried not to respond to that. It wasn’t polite to refuse a kind offer like that, but there were things she’d rather be doing. People she’d rather be seeing, like David for example.

Jon still hadn't opened the door, instead he was standing with his hand resting lightly on the handle and some odd look in his eyes.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Nothing," he shook his head, a smile spreading across his face, "It's real good to see you, Amelia."

Before she could respond, he opened the door slightly and peeked through. "They're all decent. Come on through."

"Amelia! Where have you been! I was lookin' for ya!"

Typical Richie, distracted by booze.

“Like hell you were,” Amelia responded snappily. “You were looking for me in your dressing room? The one that says ‘BAND ONLY’ on the door?”

"Slight detour," he assured. “I see you met Jon."

"Briefly, but – “ Her sentence was cut short when she spotted those two prostitutes again, they’d already started to crawl over Jon. Ugh. “But I’m not going to forget the fact that you abandoned me in this place. I mean seriously Richie, I thought you wanted me here.”

“I do!” he exclaimed. “I just got sidetracked, we’ve got a show to put on round here.”

“Sure. Distracted by alcohol and those groupies more like. You really do lack any semblance of self-restraint - “

Again she lost her train of thought, only this time it wasn’t because of those lousy groupies.

“Davey??”

The blond keyboardist looked over in confusion. Davey? Nobody called him Davey, not if they wanted to live anyway.

Well, except for…

"Amelia! What are you doing here?"

He rushed to embrace her in a warm and welcoming hug.

"Well, apparently my brother didn't tell anyone I was coming. I'm here to see you all perform.” Her arms tightened around his torso. David was much taller than her, she couldn't reach his neck or shoulders comfortably.

“About time,” he grinned, “Trust you to scamper of to England without telling a soul. I missed you, you didn’t even give me a goodbye kiss!”

“Well, perhaps this will make up for it.”

She grabbed his face and kissed each cheek with vigour, unable to tame her wild grin. Anita had been a great friend in England, a study-buddy and someone to keep the loneliness at bay. But David was a lifelong friend, fiercely loyal and funnier than anyone she knew.

“Eh, just about. You look different! Well, the same but different, you look great.”

"So do you, Rockstar. Look at all this hair!” She dug her fist into the nest of teased hair sitting atop his head and laughed. This was what she’d meant with Jon, the electrocuted look. Somehow it suited David better than him. “Whatever happened to your curls?”

“The Jew-fro you mean? Wasn’t rock n’ roll enough, decided I needed to get my look together.”

Richie watched them with a bewildered expression.

“You didn’t tell me you knew my sister.”

David had told him he knew of an Amelia Sambora when he first met him, that they’d both attended the Sayreville Memorial High together. He’d then said their interaction had been minimal and shrugged it off.

This was more than a mere ‘minimal’ acquaintance, it was a deep-rooted friendship!

“We went to school together,” Amelia explained. Yes, his sister had failed to mention anything of him either. But his sister failed to mention much of anything. “We sat next to each other in science. It wasn’t much, but Davey managed to get me through that class with his constant jokes. More than a few times we got sent to the principal’s office together.”

“Yeah, and I always seemed to take the brunt of it,” Dave muttered. “Somethin’ about her havin’ perfect grades.”

David hadn't aged a day since high school, he still had that giddy schoolboy grin and those bright eyes.

"Amelia was top of every class. She used to help me write my English papers."

“I used to help a lot of people write their English papers.”

“Yeah,” Jon peeled a groupie off him to come and join the conversation. How courteous. “I think she mighta helped me a couple times too.”

“You as well?” Richie blinked.

“Did I?” Amelia said. “I don’t recall, I did so many.”

“Yeah. One time I got an A and nearly got expelled for it, the teachers knew it couldn’t have been mine.”

Amelia shrugged. She’d probably done a hundred assignments for him in their final year, having had nothing better to do when her parents wouldn’t let her out of the house. Richie didn’t need to know that, though.

"Small world, huh," Richie said nonchalantly. “Guess I’m late to the party.”

He left them to their little reunion and busied himself with a can of hairspray, teasing his already adequately teased hair.

"Awh, c'mon man, don't use it all," Amelia heard Jon groan in distant earshot. "That's my best spray!"

She might've cracked a small smile.

David led her to a quieter part of the room.

"How have you been? Are you gonna tour with us? You went to England without telling me!" He swatted her arm playfully.

"I didn't tell anyone. I hardly even gave Richie notice, I was gone by the time he got back.”

"Yeah, well you always were unpredictable. It's good to see you. You look well," he said sincerely. That was the second person to say that today, it must’ve been at least somewhat true.

“Thanks Davey. So do you.”

He cracked open a can of beer and took a sip.

"Drinking on the job? You’re as bad as Richie.”

"You know me, Amelia." He flashed a charming wink. "It’s good for adrenaline as long as you don’t have too much. We’ve gotta go on in a few minutes, we'll have to catch up sometime, alright? Me you and Jonny."

"Yes, maybe."

"He'll be thrilled to see you. I am too. If you don’t come touring with us we’ll have to go out one night this week together, celebrate your homecoming."

"It's good to see both of you doing well," she smiled, grasping her friend's hand. "You've built quite the names for yourselves, I’m very proud."

David waved his hand. "Eh, we're just the same as we always were, only difference is the scale. Nicer hotel rooms, bigger stadiums, more food on our plates, that kinda stuff. And now we can afford to take more people with us."

He looked at her meaningfully, a gaze which Amelia squirmed beneath.

"Those days are gone, Davey," she whispered hoarsely. "I no longer yearn to tour with you, I've moved on. It’s all different now. Like it never happened."

"Like it never happened?" he sat up straighter. "It was a huge part of your life whether you like it or not. You can't pretend it didn't happen, it was five years."

"Almost, and no," she admitted, "But I can leave them behind me. I've moved on, I'm happy, I really am. It was difficult and it took a long time, but I'm happy. I don't want to interfere with it."

David sighed. "Well, I guess that's all I can ask for." He then narrowed his eyes, a teasing smirk spreading across his face. "Did you find some macho guy in England? Is that it? Are us Americans not good enough for you now?"

"Oh stop," she giggled, whacking his arm lightly. "Of course not. Enough about that anyway, I see no point in talking about the past when you've all made such a bright future for yourselves. How are you? How's touring?"

David graciously accepted her attempt to move on from the conversation. "You can't explain touring to someone, you have to live it," David told her. Was that another gentle nudge to try and get her to tour with them? "Lotta hard work, all five of us slavin' our asses off each night. All for this."

He held his arms up and looked around.

"It's hard work, good work if you can get it, but hard."

"I can imagine.”

Jon used to be exhausted even when playing the clubs at night. He was never happier than when he was on stage, but each night as soon as he got home he slept like a baby. Well, at least until he had to wake up three hours later for school.

She couldn't imagine what doing a three-hour set could do to him. He must’ve crashed after the adrenaline drop.

"You should try it, touring," David began carefully. "You and Jonny.. it wouldn't have to be like that, but you can tour with us. See the world, come to Paris and Tokyo and Venice and, well, anywhere you could ever want to go. All free of charge on the company, baby. Richie said you were gonna come."

Amelia laughed. "My brother says a lot of things. As far as I can recollect I've repeatedly denied his invitations to tour with you all. You know me Dave, I'm a homebody. I've never travelled before."

"Well how can you know you won't like it if you've never tried it? C'mon, you'll love it. It's a once in a lifetime experience."

"I'll see how the night goes," she said.

Tagging along with them sounded like a fun idea in the best of times but an absolute nightmare in the worst. Jon, Richie, David, Tico, Alec and all the other crew members would essentially be her roommates. She hadn’t even met Tico and Alec yet, never mind the crew members. She'd be in constantly semi-close quarters with close to forty different people, and they were all men.

No, she quite liked the sound of her cosy childhood bedroom. She'd figure something out for a job and she'd get her life together earning a steady wage.

"Oh, you haven't seen one of our shows yet," David realized, a sudden surge of excitement propelling him upright in his seat. "Holy shit. Amelia, you haven't seen us play!"

"No, I haven't," she laughed.

"God, we're good ya know. You're gonna be blown away."

She grinned teasingly. "You and Jon always were conceited."

"Not conceited," he shook his head. "Just objective. Playing live is what we do and we're good at it. We're a live band."

"Well, I'll take your word for it."

"No need, you'll see for yourself in a couple minutes. What's your favourite on the album?"

Amelia said nothing.

"What's the matter?"

"I might not have gotten round to listening to your album yet," she admitted sheepishly. "I've been so busy moving, it just escaped my mind."

"But you must've at least heard Bad Name and Prayer."

"Livin’ On A Prayer? Oh yes, that’s probably my favourite.”

“Haven’t you heard Never Say Goodbye?”

She shook her head.

"Hm. He wrote it for you. Listen to the lyrics tonight, they're lovely. They remind me of old and simpler times."

He’d written her a song? By the sounds of the title, a ballad even.

She thought Silent Night was closure to that old chapter, did he really have nothing better to write about than an old teenage relationship? Hadn’t he gained experience to write about on the road? If anything, she thought You Give Love a Bad Name was about her.

David took her hand and clasped it between each of his. "For what it's worth, I won’t tell anyone about you and Jonny."

Amelia stood and hugged him again. "Thanks Davey."

Before then she hadn't realized how much she'd missed the man, but he'd become like a brother to her in those years following high school. He was around at Jon's house almost as often as she was, and in times where Amelia couldn't confide in her own brother she'd turned to David.

She trusted David with her life, she knew he'd keep his word.

Across the room she noticed the two ladies from before crawling all over Jon again, attempting to do his hair for him or adjust his clothing.

This time, he was trying his best to evade their advances.

†††

Amelia had never been to a Bon Jovi show before, and nor could she have ever imagined the atmosphere.

She had seen AC/DC live. In London she had seen Iron Maiden. She'd seen Def Leppard, she'd seen Mötley Crüe, and yet somehow none of them came close to Bon Jovi in Giants Stadium. No crowd had screamed as loud, no energy had been quite so immense. Certainly none of them had set up a full-length catwalk over the stadium, and not one of them had their frontman take flight in a harness across the audience.

Amelia couldn't believe it. Richie was her brother, was that really him playing so brilliantly that people attempted to breach security and crawl on stage? Likewise, she'd always known that Jon could sing and had a knack for controlling crowds, but did she know his energy was so charismatic? Had she known he could hold an entire crowd of eighty thousand people in the palm of his hand just as he had done? Not exactly.

And she had a front row ticket to witnessing the sheer brilliance of it all.

It hit her like a truck. Bon Jovi were going to be the next big thing, and they were there to stay.

A tall and buff-looking security guard escorted Amelia backstage to the band again. She watched from afar as they celebrated, relishing in the sounds of eighty thousand people cheering for them.

They high-fived together, filled to the brim with buzzing energy while simultaneously being exhausted. Richie had told Amelia that sometimes being on stage was like drugs. The high of the concert, thousands of people screaming at you only for you to come off stage and get hit with the fall. For now, they were all still high as a kite, Jon most of all. He was crying, or at least there were small tears of exhaustion brimming in his eyes.

Amelia couldn't understand how he was still upright. He hadn't stopped running, jumping, singing or flying for the past three hours. He must've been incredibly fit.

David spotted her standing alone and whistled her over. "Amelia! C'mere!"

Richie poked his head up and beckoned her over with a lazy arm. She was pulled into a tight, sweaty hug with all five of them, feeling awkward in the presence of Tico and Alec whom she'd never met.

Her brother was still regaining his breath. Flattened hair was sopping with sweat, beads of it making their way down his temples and cheeks. Suddenly she was filled with an overwhelming sense of pride.

"You did it!" She shouted at him, and she didn't really know what 'it' was. To her it was like a fairy tale. Her brother had made it big, bigger than he could've ever hoped to be.

"I told ya." He grinned ear to ear and wrapped his free arm around his little sister. She hugged him tighter than she had done since they were small children. The stickiness and the stench of sweat glossed over her, she was blinded with pride.

"You.. you-" she searched for the words, laughing at her own idiocy. "You were incredible, all of you! You're the real thing."

They each laughed, but Amelia focused particularly on Jon. With his hands behind his back he looked to his feet with a surprising demeanour. Humble?

With eighty thousand people out there screaming his name, Jon was showing humility. Perhaps even embarrassment?

"Absolutely!" Richie grinned with more than enough hubris for the both of them. "Listen to that, Mills. Eighty thousand. Eighty thousand people in a sold-out show, can you believe it?"

She shoved his arm away teasingly, putting an end to his shameless gloating. "Well don't get too big headed about it will you? You won't be able to fit through the door."

Her brother laughed. The five of them simmered down as the ants remaining in their pants dispersed. Moments ago they’d been jumping around the place like a gang of loons trying to expel their last dregs of adrenaline, though the smiles on their faces still held excessive energy.

"You need to get in the shower," she told Richie, taking a step back. In fact, after hugging him twice she couldn't wait to get into a shower of her own. She'd just been embraced in a group hug with five big, sweaty men.

"Good call." Amelia recognised Tico as the speaker. He was the shortest of the group and yet seemed the most intimidating. Muscular, tanned, seemingly of Mexican or Puerto Rican descent, with a deep gravelly voice. He slung a muscled arm around Jon's shoulder and began dragging him away from the group. Slowly the others followed suit, Richie pulling Amelia along by the wrist.

“Will you be alright in our dressing room? We won’t be long.”

“I think so,” Amelia replied, “Nobody else will be in there, right?”

“No, but a little human interaction would do you good,” he teased, “I’ll introduce you to the guys after we’ve showered. Make yourself at home, there should be drinks knocking about.”

The dressing room had a totally different energy when the boys were absent. It was quiet, eerily so.

Who was she kidding? She was too thrilled to care about the dubious atmosphere. Jon, Richie, David, Alec, and Tico were all going to be superstars. In fact, it seemed they already were!

A previously naïve Amelia had been dubious of Richie's latest financial investments. She'd thought all the guitars and clothes were excessive and his spending had been frivolous, but with eighty thousand people coming to his shows, what did it matter?

She pitied her uncertain reflection. She'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't tour with them, but that show had changed everything.

Well, not everything. She'd still be lonely on tour, and unemployed and living out of a suitcase which she'd sworn she'd never do, but experiencing that energy every night almost made the prior listings seem unimportant.

Almost. Amelia prided herself on being a realist and critical thinker. She couldn't change her opinion on touring with them after watching one three-hour show. She couldn't go off gallivanting around the world, living off her brother's paycheck all because she'd enjoyed herself.

No, her outlook on touring remained the same as it was prior, not to mention the added fact of Jon being there.

True to their word, the band were quick showering. The five of them seemed to be winding down, each had beers in their hands and to her surprise there were no groupies in sight. She wondered if it was merely out of courtesy to her.

"So Amelia, what did you think?" David asked.

She looked around the room at the five exhausted men, all of them awaiting eagerly for her verdict.

"It was the best live show I've ever been to. I never would've expected something like that."

"It's nice to know that you still underestimate me," Richie smirked, grabbing the hair dryer off Jon.

Amelia looked at her brother lovingly. "Well, I've learned my lesson, I'll expect the very best from you from now on."

"And I hope to deliver! Does that mean you'll come with us?"

Five pairs of eyes stared at her, even Jon who'd been previously turned away. It was a rather pressurising position.

"Well, I didn't say that.”

"Oh come on Amelia, why not?" Richie whined.

"I've told you this, Richie.” Why did he always have to make a scene? "Living out of a suitcase is not my thing. I don't know anybody here, I'd be lonely, never mind unemployed, I can't just travel the world."

"What are you talkin' about? What do you mean you don't know anybody?"

"Well aside from you and David, I don't," she argued. "It's largely an all-male crew Richie, I wouldn't have any friends. I don't know your band or your team. I would hardly see you, you'd be busy working."

"You'd make friends easy," Richie scoffed. "Look, you know the guys. Teek, Al, Dave, Jonny, what else do you need?"

She looked around awkwardly, trying to lower her voice. "I don't know them, Richie. You five are a family, I'm -"

"You're my sister! What, are you tryna tell me you have more friends at home? You've got none, Amelia. Don't you see it'd be good for you to meet new people here?"

"C'mon Rich, leave her be."

Amelia did everything she could to keep from burying her face in her hands.

"Look, Jonny here's sticking up for you," Richie said, jamming a thumb back in Jon's direction. "C'mon. The crew's a family, when someone tours with us they become family. Brothers- and sisters," he added quickly.

She turned away. It was cruel of Richie to have this conversation in a room with the band, she hated him sometimes.

"Look, c'mere," he spoke much softer, holding out his hand. She took it hesitantly and he pulled her into a stand. "I'll formally introduce you. This is Alec, or Al, our bass player. Alec, this is my sister Amelia."

The older man smiled at her, momentarily removing his cigarette from his mouth. "Well how do you do, Amelia? Richie's told me a lot about you."

Alec seemed to have the strongest accent of all of them. A real New York accent.

"Oh really?" She smiled best she could, her social skills had deteriorated over the years. In England she'd rarely been with company, even then the manners and conversation were vastly different to American talk. She'd forgotten how to simply speak to people without making a fool out of herself. "All good things I hope."

"Always." Tico snatched her hand from Alec and gave her a kind, oddly charming smile. It seemed both Alec and Tico each had a cigarette permanently fixed between their lips. "You should listen to your brother, there's always room for another pretty lady to tour with us."

Amelia felt herself immediately redden, half from embarrassment and half from the unexpectedness of it. Two hands steered her away by the shoulders. "Yeah, yeah alright man," Richie smirked, "That's my sister."

She came face to face with Jon wrapped in a blanket, his hair still wet from the shower.

"Jon, our singer.”

Jon held out his hand to shake. When she took it, he instead brought it to his lips for a kiss.

Someone behind them whistled, she wasn't sure who. He flashed her his most charming wink.

"Pleased to be of your acquaintance.”

"See?" Richie shrugged. "You'd get to know them fast enough. They're good guys, we're all family here."

Sometimes Amelia wondered if he even knew her at all.

"I just got my degree, Richie," she said quietly. "I need to find myself a job and get working in America again."

"This is an organisation. You really think we can't get you a job if you want one?" He turned back to Jon.  "Hey Jonny, weren't you just saying you were looking for an assistant."

Amelia spun round. She glowered at his sickeningly wide opportunistic smirk. "Actually, I was."

"See? Sorted. Jonny can employ you. Simple."

She looked at Richie flatly. "I meant a job that'd put my degree to use. I spent thousands on that, you know."

"Dad spend thousands on that. You can get that money back working for Jon," he shrugged. "Then I dunno, you can use that money to fund your other shit. Write a book or whatever you do with an English degree."

She rolled her eyes.

"What, you're telling me you'd rather work in an office job for a piss-poor wage? You'd get good money here and you'd be part of a big family. You don't know what you're missing."

"I'll think about it, alright?"

She couldn't take Jon's job offer, that was for certain. The idea itself was ludicrous.

The band remained in their dressing room for another hour, during which Amelia talked more at length with David.

“Richie can be so pressurising sometimes,” she complained, “I mean, he outwardly told everyone I’m a loner. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.”

“He just wants you to come with us,” David reasoned, “Sure, I can think of better ways to convince ya, but he means well.”

“I know, but he’s so embarrassing!”

David chuckled. “My sister would say the same. It’s an older brother thing.”

“I guess.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it – it’d be way more fun with you on the road.”

“Me? Fun? Are you sure you’re talking to the right person.”

“Yes,” he thwacked her shoulder. “Promise?”

“Sure, but later. I don’t want to think about it at all right now, I want you to tell me all about these past two years.”

“Alright!” he smiled. Maybe this’d be a good chance to sell touring to her. “Well, what do you want to know?”

Amelia was no good interviewer. She pondered for a moment.

“Today when Jon introduced you all to the crowd, he called you David Bryan. Is that what you go by now? What happened to Rashbaum?”

David groaned, “Really? That’s the best you’ve got? People couldn’t pronounce the damn thing. I got called all kinds of names, Bushman, Rashbalm. Straw that broke the camels back was some guy in Kentucky called me David Bumrash, and I started going by Bryan the next day.”

Amelia hadn’t laughed so much in years. “Bumrash?? Surely they were mocking you purposefully.”

“I don’t know, it’s like they read it back to front.”

“It’s even funnier if you consider the British meaning of the word.”

“Yeah,” David muttered grimly, “Good thing is nobody mispronounces Bryan.”

He told her more about the tribulations of touring, his relationship with the band and the songs he loved most. Every once in a while he would slip in an allusion to her touring with them, grinning each time she looked at him reprovingly.

At eleven o’clock the band started to pile out of the dressing room. Jon singled her out on the walk to the exit, discretely falling back with her.

"So what do you think, huh?" He asked with cautious excitement. "About the job."

Amelia let out a small laugh. "I don't think I'm quite cut out to be your assistant." She wanted a polite and succinct way to turn him down, leaving no openings for debate.

"C'mon, it's easy work. I pay good money."

Amelia looked to her feet as she walked. She hated to admit it but yes, she did need the money. And earning a liveable wage while also having food and travel on the company bill was a damn good deal.

“I’m sure you do, but come on Jon. I’m no suitable candidate,”

“Well how do you know? You could tour with us, spend some time travelling the world with a steady income and no bills. Meanwhile you figure out what you wanna do in the long-term.”

Only her stubbornness prevented her from admitting how nifty of an arrangement it was. Well, stubbornness and the fact the fact it was Jon. Was that doubly stubborn?

"What does it entail?"

"I dunno really, I hadn’t figured it all out yet. Our manager does a lot of the important stuff, so I guess the stuff he never gets round to. Paperwork, scheduling smaller events etcetera.”

She looked at him with her best poker face.

"It's a good wage," he repeated earnestly. "For what you'll be doing. You'll live comfortably."

"How much?"

"I don’t know. Name your price."

"I can't-"

"C’mon, name your price," he repeated. She huffed at him, how could he expect her to do that? She didn't know the first thing about personal assistant's rates. Her currency was all out of it too after living in England.

"I don't know, ten dollars? An hour?"

Jon's face contorted in the strangest expression. "Ten bucks?"

She blushed, was that too much? Quite likely if the work was as easy as he made it out to be. "I don't know, what were you going to suggest?"

"Well a heck of a lot more than ten bucks, that's for sure," he laughed. By now the rest of the guys were miles ahead of them. "Tell you what, why don't we start at thirty bucks. If you want more then it's easy enough done, but let's see how you like the job first."

Amelia was brought to a standstill. "Thirty bucks? An hour??"

"I said I pay well," he smirked. "It's an easy job, you won't be rushed off your feet. You'll be able to relax and enjoy the tour."

He was going to pay her thirty dollars an hour to relax and enjoy the tour? It was silly. Ridiculous even. Ten dollars had seemed like a perfectly adequate wage, a good wage even.

"Are you trying to pay me just so I'll go on tour?" She asked, slowly beginning to walk again. "Did Richie put you up to this?"

"I'll admit that it'll be nice to see you again, but no. I'm trying to get myself an assistant, all the crew earn a good wage, thirty is average."

"How is that sustainable?" She blurted. "Thirty an hour for your crew?"

Jon turned and smiled at her. "We can afford that now. The record company is willing to invest in us big time."

She shook her head. She couldn't take the offer, though it would kill her to turn down such a wage.

She'd been disinclined to even see him, and now here she was contemplating working for him. She couldn't do that, it'd go against everything she'd told herself in the past month or so.

"I don't know. I’ll think about it.”

Jon sagged. Of course, it couldn’t have been that easy. Most likely he could’ve offered her one thousand dollars an hour and her answer would’ve been all the same.

“Okay,” he said, “Well, my number hasn’t changed over the years. Call me if you make a decision.”

They made eye contact for the first time that night. The first time in three years actually. Back then he could’ve gazed into them for an eternity, now she only allowed him a small glimpse before turning away.

"I'll see you soon, I hope,” he spoke sincerely, “It was good to see you again."

She nodded hazily and watched him jog ahead.

God, what was she doing? Turning down thirty bucks an hour.

By the time she caught up with the others, David, Tico, Alec and Jon all seemed to have left.

"What took you so long?" Richie asked, slightly peeved.

"I was just talking to Jon." She climbed into the taxi beside him and fastened her seatbelt.

"You taking the job?"

"Maybe.”

“Think about it,” Richie patted her leg. “Jon’s a good guy, he’ll look after you. We all will, better than some corporate sleazebag would anywho.”

He was right. A chance to travel the world with free meals and a free bed, plus thirty dollars an hour was something an ordinary person could never dream up. Even herself a mere two weeks ago would’ve laughed at the thought, and now it was being openly presented to her. Shoved down her throat, even.

And what was standing in her way? Jon? The ever-cordial Jon?

She’d have to be a fool not to take it, and her brittle pride could never allow her to venture to such lows.