August 15th, 1986 / Sayreville, New Jersey

Jon arrived at the doorstep of his family home just in time for dinner. As he wiped his shoes on the doormat, he revelled in the scent of fresh herbs and spices. Jon pinned the perpetual smell of good Italian cooking as the reason he'd had such a large appetite as a boy, and the subsequent bullying he'd received regarding his weight.

He followed the scent to its source and found his mother, Carol, busying herself in the kitchen. He gave her a quick hug from behind and a kissed her cheek. "Hello Ma, whatcha cookin'?"

"Oh!" She gasped, spinning around. "Goodness Jonny, you have to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" He leaned forward in a teasing manner, flaunting his too-perfect teeth in his mother's direction.

"Scaring me like that!" She tapped his chest with the metal spatula. "Not while I'm cooking."

"Sure. What's for dinner?"

"Nothing special, just risotto. Made with love."

"Everything you make is special, Mom. You could be a chef."

Carol shrugged to herself, sprinkling a little something into the pan. Jon thanked the Lord for his Italian family each day, his mother and father were masters of their craft when it came to traditional meals. "Perhaps, but it's much more fun to cook for your family than it is to cook for the public."

Carol brought the wooden spoon to her rose-coloured lips and took a taste. Her eyes flared at the flavour.

"These recipes have been passed down for generations in mine and your father’s families, they're very special to us. And in fact, it disappoints me greatly that you haven't learned any."

Jon scratched his neck slightly, he had the good grace to blush. "I'm just not a chef, Mom, I don't have it in me."

He didn't know too many rockstar chefs and he didn't plan on becoming the first. Rockstars ate pizza and drank beer, Jon could live with that for the time being.

"Nonsense! You come from a family of chefs!" Carol rebutted. "You and your brothers are merely bone idle. How will you ever settle down with a wife if you can't cook for her? Cooking a woman a meal is the most romantic thing a man can do."

"Guess my future wife will just have to like McDonalds."

Carol's eyes narrowed into thin slits. She wore the face of a woman that'd just about had it. Saying 'McDonalds' to Carol Bongiovi was about as good as straight blaspheming.

"You will learn to cook, Jon Francis. You can't live off things like McDonalds and KFC, they're no good for you."

Jon, in all his youthful ignorance, turned his back on his mother and rolled his eyes. He'd heard it all before.

He didn't think he looked too bad, he'd been looking rather trim recently.

"Goodness knows what you eat on your tours," Carol sighed in utter dismay. "Well, never mind that. While you're here I'll make sure you're well fed."

Jon winced. He'd have to start running again in the mornings just to stay in shape with his mother feeding him. "Yeah, sure."

She spun around to pat his cheek sharply. "Now would you be a dear and set the table?"

He silently got to work laying all the plates and cutlery out.

"You're back early anyways," she noted chirpily. "I thought I'd be heating yours up for later."

"Dunno, s'been a long day. I've got that video shoot tomorrow, thought it'd be worth getting an early night."

Carol turned and pinned her son with a suspicious glare. "And what's made you so sensible all of a sudden?"

It was a teasing question meant in nothing more than light jest, and yet the events of that day had certainly had a part in the reason he'd been home so early.

Perhaps he'd planned to brood a little on his own after dinner.

"Been thinking about the single is all."

"Oh yes! Aren't you excited?"

When Carol Bongiovi smiled it ventured beyond her lips. It always illuminated her entire face, made her appear brighter, made her glow, even. She had the kind of smile that managed to raise even the dullest of spirits. In fact, Jon could feel himself beginning to smile.

"This is the big one!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," he admitted dully. "If it fails I don't know what I'll do. It's back to square one."

Or maybe even worse than square one. Maybe all the work he'd put in would be over, he knew the record company would cease to fund him if their new album was a failure. He'd be back in the clubs, and that was no way to make money as a twenty-five-year-old.

He couldn't live with his parents forever.

"Fails? Oh stop," she chided. "That record is going to be record of the year."

Jon's lip twitched. His mother's blind faith in him never wavered. Carol truly believed that her eldest son would succeed in everything he did, and she'd passed that trait down to Jon. He was optimistic in even the most hopeless of situations.

That reminded him of the real reason his mood was so flat.

"I'm hoping at least the single will do well."

One hit single was all he really needed. That's what their previous album, 7800° Fahrenheit had been sorely lacking, amongst other things.

Their new album wasn't anywhere near as lyrically depressing or conservative, they'd really branched out on Slippery.

His mom began to dish out the food, pouring a liberal amount onto each plate. "Is there something else bothering you?"

"Maybe.”

Carol stood straight, though at her small stature it didn't make much of a difference. "What?"

"Amelia's coming home to New Jersey."

"She is?! Oh, good heavens, finally! I've missed that girl far too much."

But Jon didn’t look a fraction pleased.

"You aren't happy?"

"I haven't spoken to her in three years. She'll have moved on."

Carol remained quiet, pursing her lips as she pondered on her next words.

"Well, Jon. Perhaps you should've taken my advice all these years and called her, a woman doesn't like to be left hanging. I love you dearly but you're not entirely blameless."

"I know that, Mom," he snapped. He didn't need anyone to remind him. "It's not my fault she took off to England."

"Don't you take that tone with me." She held up a stern index finger. "If she's only just finishing a two-year course then that means she stuck around for you. Don't you shift the blame and consequences of your own actions onto her, just because you're angry with yourself doesn't mean you're free of responsibility."

Jon tossed the remaining cutlery onto the table. He didn't need his own damn mother to chide him about mistakes that kept him awake at night. He was harsh enough on himself.

"I warned you not to lose your head in all this rock and roll business," Carol muttered, "That girl was the best thing that ever happened to you, and what did you do? You traded her for the vices of touring. Instead of fooling around with scantily clad Japanese women you could've been calling her."

"That ain't fair Mom, and you know it ain't." Jon raised his voice a little. "We were broken up. Sure I shoulda called her but I didn't trade her. I made a lot of mistakes that I don't need you telling me about, but don't you dare say I traded her."

Carol looked at her son with knitted brows. "You might not want to hear it, but you had a simple choice between calling her and not calling her. You chose to not, ask yourself why? And I'll say no more."

"It's more complicated than that,” he argued. Didn’t she realise that? Work dragged many couples apart from each other, some things couldn’t be helped. “Richie's my guitarist now, what did you expect me to say? 'Oh yeah, by the way I'm the guy your sister’s been secretly dating, the one you never approved of’? Time zones in Japan are whack. And to top it off, yeah, I was a coward! And I was excited to be surrounded by pretty girls but that novelty wore off pretty damn quick. What the hell was I meant to do if she'd moved on? What if I called her and some guy picked up?"

Carol looked at him pointedly.

"Sweetheart, ask yourself who you're arguing with."

Jon turned away. As if he didn't have enough regrets without his own mom shoving them in his face.

"I know it was a difficult relationship," Carol said softly, "Adam, Joan, and even Richie made it very hard for you both. A part of me was surprised that the two of you even made it as far as you did, it seemed for a moment the whole world was against you."

Adam and Joan he could understand, at least partly. They were raised in a different time, but Richie? Richie was a rockstar himself, how could he look down on others of his kind. How could he try to enforce his parent's ideals onto Amelia? That she should be dating a lawyer's son, or a doctor's assistant.

He aided in Amelia's imprisonment just as much as Adam had.

"Richie made my life hell."

"I've met the boy," Carol said, "I don't doubt that he's done bad things. The way he treated you without even knowing him was wrong, but he can't help the way he was raised. He's a sweet boy-"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jon snapped.

Carol didn't chide him for his tone this time, the man was only hurting.

"All I'm saying is that perhaps you should direct your anger towards their father instead."

The day that Jon met Richie's parents was peculiar. For so many years he'd resented them for their protectiveness over Amelia. He'd labelled them as lousy parents, unable to see what was best for their daughter and her happiness, yet when he met them they were wonderful to him.

He wondered why they could accept him as their son's boss but not their daughter's boyfriend.

Jon looked at his pale canvas in the mirror. For so long they had refused to allow Adam, Joan, and Richie to affect their relationship. What was it all worth? The pair were estranged. And despite his arguing, Jon wasn't naive enough to think his lack of contact wasn't the final straw.

Carol brushed a lock of curly hair behind his ear. "What are you thinking, honey?"

He wasn't sure what to say.

"Do you think she found somebody else?"

Carol smirked. Men, jealous creatures always wishing to mark their territory.

"I suppose you’ll find out in the coming weeks. I'm sure Amelia was far too busy studying to bother with any male antics."

Speaking of studying, "She got an A-star.”

"Of course she got an A-star. And if I know that girl it would've been a near-perfect grade. When you see her you must tell her how proud I am of her."

"When I see her?" Jon’s eyebrow piqued.

"I'm sure your paths will cross," she winked, "Perhaps Richie's addition to the band isn't so bad after all."

"I never said it was bad. Just difficult."

He wouldn't trade Richie even if he had made his life a living hell; Jon had grown to love the guy.

"Do you think she can forgive me?" He asked plainly and painfully.

"I think a sincere apology can go a long way. That girl loved you to death. We were practically family, I'm sure she misses everybody. Treat her as you always have done and I'm certain you'll find a way back into her heart."

Jon beheld his mother for a moment. He admired her optimistic all-too-happy outlook on everything, even in bleak situations. He himself had been like that once, yet nowadays nothing seemed to generate that buoyancy in him. Even music, which he'd always considered to be his one true love, seemed unfulfilling.

Even if him and Amelia were to rekindle, they'd face the same problems they always had.

"Maybe." He had his fair share of doubts. She couldn't have left a more overt message in leaving the continent.

"You two were in love," Carol reminded him. "And not just love, but head over heels in love. She may be angry at you and you can hardly blame her, but those feelings are hard to effectively banish. This is what you've wanted for years, try to think positively about it."

Jon considered the possibility and smiled.

"See, there." Carol pointed at his mouth. Wait and see what happens. Talk with her when she comes back, ask her out, bring her for dinner! But don't overthink everything just yet, I'm sure it'll all work out."

"Alright," he sighed.

"Be patient, you're the same man as you always have been. If she loved you then then she can love you now and vice versa. It may just take you both some time."

"Yeah. Maybe."

"Bring her over sometime, even as just a friend. I've missed that girl, I never even got to say goodbye to her." She whacked her son with a towel. "Give her a kiss from me and tell her how proud I am of her for her degree."

"I will.” Though he wasn't as naïve as his mother. Finding a way back into Amelia's good graces was going to be tough, certainly no task for a weak man.

"Now, go and tell your father and brothers that dinner is ready."

†††

Jon twirled the microphone stand around in his hand, trying for the life of him to listen to the directions that Wayne Isham, the Bon Jovi music video director, was giving him.

To him, all the waffle went through one ear and straight out of the other. He was a singer, a songwriter, and a musician. He wasn't an actor. Listening to directions for a music video seemed ridiculous to him, it was one of the parts of his job that he just hated.

But he liked Wayne. Wayne had produced the first music video that hadn't made Jon want to gouge his eyes out, unlike the likes of Runaway, She Don't Know Me, Only Lonely, and Silent Night.

He was surprised his career had continued after all those, especially Runaway. He hadn't worn a pair of purple pants since.

"Alright, I want you centre stage with the mic, and then I want you to walk slowly toward me with a cool, subtle kind of swagger, y'know? We're gonna take some shots from different angles and we're gonna try do it in one take, we'll have some pyro stuff goin' on in the background."

"You just want me to walk? And look at the centre camera?"

"Yep, just walk. Your looks'll do the rest of the work."

Jon glared at the director, shoving him away in only a half-teasing manner. Wayne laughed and hopped off the stage.

Jon hated his looks being brought up in relation to his work. He hated the way people discredited his hard work and talents because of them, he hated that his face got more attention than his music, and most of all he hated being called pretty.

What could he do, scar his face? He failed to see what all the fuss was about anyway.

"What emotion do you want from me?" he asked Wayne once he'd finished sulking.

"It's up to you. Don't think about it too much, don't try too hard to be cool. Subtlety, alright? We don't want this to be like any of your other music videos."

Jon concurred. No pretty pouts or duck lips.

"Alright. You ready?!"

He nodded.

"Action!"

The music of Livin' on a Prayer started playing. Wayne beckoned Jon forward, looking like an excited schoolboy as he saw all his directorial visions come to fruition. Colourful flashes of advanced pyrotechnics sparked in the corners of his eyes. He kept his head steady and straight on, resisting the urge to look back.

"And cut! Perfect!" Wayne's words echoed in the empty concert hall.

Jon hopped off the stage over to Wayne's camera equipment, watching back some of the film with intrigue. To his amazement, Wayne was even on track to outdo the video he'd made for Bad Name.

As Jon reviewed the footage, a man came running in from the side door. "Jonny!" He yelled, almost tripping on the abundance of wiring. It was Doc, his manager.

"What?" He panicked, jogging over to the shorter man. "What's wrong?"

It's just... Well, Jon had never seen Doc McGhee run before.

"Wrong?" Doc cackled. He clapped the younger man on his back, using him as a crutch to steady himself. "Nothing’s wrong, Kidd. Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

Doc laughed. “You son of a gun, you’ve done it! We’re rich! The single’s shot off to the moon.”

Jon stood in silence. If it was some cruel trick then he would surely kill Doc, but he knew his manager would never joke about such a thing. When money was involved he didn't play around, he was a serious businessman after all.

"The video's all over the place, all my contacts say it'll hit number one by the end of the week, if not sooner."

He toppled over into Jon's side, shaking him vigorously. "For god's sake man! Pull yourself together! You're famous, Kidd, you're famous!"

Jon collapsed into the nearest seat with a laugh of disbelief. He was surely dreaming. He laughed with relief, excitement, thrill, adrenaline. He clutched onto Doc with a strength he'd never felt before, he felt like he could fly! Without the need of a harness at that.

"Number one?" He sputtered breathlessly. That was what he said, wasn't it? By the end of the week it'd be number one?

"Guaranteed!" Doc nodded, squeezing Jon's shoulder. "It's already top ten. First day Kidd, you have no idea what this means for us, for you. We've hit it big."

Jon sat silently, too shocked to leap for joy and too speechless to yell out in happiness. He felt silly for ever questioning how well the album would do, he'd known it was a damn good record and yet he'd let his fears eat him up for weeks.

But he didn't want to celebrate prematurely. The single might do well but they still had the album to go.

"I mean.. you'll be bigger than Crüe if the album does anywhere near as well as the single. You guys might be the band of the year!"

Jon tried to keep himself grounded. He wanted to focus on the success of the now; the single. He didn't want to think about the album or band of the year or Mötley Crüe.

"Oh Jesus," Doc muttered to himself. He turned to Jon, giving his shoulders one last final shake. "Get back to work, Jonny, finish the shoot. Get the boys together for tonight, we're goin' for drinks on me."

†††

Amelia had expected her landing in New Jersey to be a more momentous occasion. Instead, she felt hardly any different, Jersey was the same as always.

It had taken a month for her to gather all her certificates and documents and finally move out of the place she'd rented.

She was surprised to find how much her parents had changed within the two years she'd been away. Her mother was now fully grey, and her use of glasses had extended from merely reading to full-time-usage. Her father too had grown more wrinkled and slower in his movements.

Both were overjoyed to have her back home and settled in her old bedroom. She relished in all of the comforts absent during her two years away, including her parents. She'd missed her their cooking and constant company more than she liked to admit.

Within a week Amelia was seeing the results of Richie's growing fame. At the airport they'd received strange glances from groups of women across the room. His wardrobe had expanded too. It seemed every day he would come home with another sparkly full-length coat to wear on stage, or a new pair of Spandex pants with tassels all along the sides. And of course who could forget the numerous guitars he'd acquired, each more extravagant and expensive than the last.

The number of new items he'd purchased only put into perspective how well his new album was doing. Amelia found some of his expenditures irresponsible, though she at least acknowledged that they were for his impending tour. The impending tour that he was trying his hardest to convince her to come on.

"Come on Amelia," he whined again at the dinner table. The conversation had become a daily back and forth always ending in a stalemate. "It's not like you're doing anything. You're unemployed."

"Exactly. I can't afford to go off around the world with you. I've just got my degree and I'm taking some time to figure out what I'd like to do with it,” she responded plainly.

"Well, figure it out on tour," Richie said, shoving a forkful of food into his mouth. "You don't have to pay to come with us."

"Richie-"

"C'mon!" He argued, beginning the inevitable escalation. Their parents sat silently beside each of them, stealing glances between their two children. "You haven't seen me in two years. You haven't seen our shows! You haven't seen us tour, you haven't met the band or the crew. This is my life now, I want you to see it at least once. Come with us for a couple months, we can bring you back if you really don't like it."

"I haven't seen Mom or Dad either," she returned. "It's not that I don't want to go, it's just a lot. I've only just come back. I was never much of a traveller. I'd be on my own, too."

"What are you talkin' about, you'd have me."

"No I won't. You'll be working, and even when you're not you'll be with other company."

"What, so you'd have more company here?"

Amelia scowled at the low comment.

"I'd be comfortable here. And I’d have Mom and Dad," she finished.

"Well what about the band? You'd get along with them. I've told Jon all about you, you'd get along with him. He's the loner of the group."

Amelia took a small drink to counter the sudden dryness in her mouth.

“Richard, let her settle,” Adam intervened calmly. “Your mother and I would be glad to spend a little more time with her before she inevitably finds company better suited to her.”

Amelia smiled at her father. She had her unresolved issues with him, but it was in times like this that she appreciated his ability to have the final word.

Richie sighed, resting his chin in his palm. She hated when he looked at her like that, sometimes she thought of him as nothing but on overgrown child. He wore the same pouty, defeated expression as he might've done when she refused to play chess with him as a kid, puppy eyes and all.

"Well, you'll at least come to Giants Stadium," he said. "And maybe if you like it there you'll want to tour with us."

"Maybe," she muttered. She didn't want to shut all his hopes down too soon. After all, maybe she really would tour with him.

Maybe. She supposed it would all depend on what happened when she met the band.

And when she saw Jon again.