May 6th, 1987 / Rumson New Jersey

Amelia hurried out to her father’s brand-new Mercedes. She couldn’t deny that she was on the brink of nervous breakdown. What exactly could have caused Jon to go home without giving her a call? He would never have left Richie alone and drunk like that with no cause.

“Are you alright?” her father asked as he started driving. “You seem vacant.”

She tapped her finger on the metal door handle. “Yes. Worried is all.”

“What has you worrying?”

“Just everything,” she groaned, rubbing her face, “I just want everybody to get along, all this discordance is tearing me apart. I want Richie to see how much I love Jon, it’s all my fault that they’re feuding.”

“No, sweetheart,” Adam sighed, “It’s my fault.”

Amelia turned her head. Her father’s face was shrouded in darkness, she could barely make out the small quiver of his lip.

“I should have put a stop to all of this long ago. I should have listened to you, you’re infinitely more logical than I am, I should have known that you’d never be with a man you knew was no good for you. Perhaps deep down I did know, and I just wasn’t ready to let you go.”

Amelia’s heart brimmed with sweet sorrow. Why was it always that the most catastrophic mistakes were made with the loveliest intentions.

“You know,” he continued, “Your mother was the belle of the ball in our day, it was impossible not to fall in love with her. I don’t know what she saw in me but it must have been something worthwhile. You know that your grandfather was a farmer, I had nothing to offer her financially, the rest of her suitors came from old southern money, vastly wealthy, but for some reason she chose me. I can’t for the life of me understand why, I often wonder if she regrets her decision. I was young and foolish once just like your brother, I ran away with your mother on numerous occasions; her father was furious, threatened to have me locked up. I’m sure you’ve wonder sometimes why you never see your grandparents.”

Amelia couldn’t believe her ears.

“I remember one night, a terrible night, that your grandfather tossed your mother out into the rain. He gave her an unthinkable ultimatum; to marry a man called Francis Robinson, a suitable uptown lawyer that’d been pestering for her hand, or never step foot in their house again.”

“And she chose you,” Amelia whispered.

She’d never known her parents to be romantics. To know that they’d had their own Shakespearian tale of woe, that’d they were as crazy about each other as any young couple; the knowledge had thrown Amelia for a loop. She saw her father in a light never before seen.

“Your poor mother was just seventeen. She walked some ten miles out to my father’s farm in just her sandals and her dress. She caught a terrible influenza from the walk in the rain, I didn’t even have enough money to see a doctor. She recovered, of course, though it took a month of bed rest. After that I decided that I needed to get my act together. I got an education, served in the armed forces. That changed me, I think. When I came back I was hardened, not at all the jovial young man I’d once been. Your mother noticed the difference, I knew. I wasn’t the man that she’d fallen in love with. She didn’t have the heart to leave me after everything I’d been through knowing it was all for her. I got myself a good job, married her, provided for her, and yet I’m sure she often wonders what it’d be like if I’d stayed a farmer. Maybe even Francis Robinson would’ve been a better husband.”

Amelia wondered at what point in her life she’d become so sentimental. Tears brimmed at her eyes from her parents sloppy love story. She’d often lamented over her father’s stoicism but never stopped to question why he was that way. She’d thought it was just a product of his time.

“That isn’t true, Daddy,” she whispered. “Mom loves you.”

“She does,” he smiled sadly, “But you’re smart enough to know the difference between loving somebody and being in love with them.”

“She’s in love with you, Daddy!” Amelia exclaimed. “I’m sure she just wishes you were a little more in tune with your emotions. By the sounds of it, you used to be.”

“Yes,” he smiled wistfully, “I was infatuated. When Jon looks at you.. it reminds me of what that love used to be like. When you look at him I see your mother’s eyes the first time she told me that she loved me. When you told me everything today… I couldn’t take it, sweetheart, I needed a moment. I never thought that I could become your mother’s father, but the way you looked at me as you spoke, you beheld the same scorn I displayed so openly for him. Your mother and I swore to ourselves we would be better parents that our own; I would have more money and prospects than my own father, and neither of us would ever treat our children the way your grandpa treated your mother. I failed, Amelia.”

“You aren’t like him, Papa,” she assured softly, “You were wrong, but not like him. You could never be him.”

“Couldn’t I? I told myself all those years that if a poor man wanted to date you, he could do what I did and make something of himself. Your grandparents kicked your mother out; I caused you to run away. The difference is negligible.”

“The difference is that I know you love me,” Amelia said emphatically, “Yes, you were an ignorant, bigoted, pious, all-round asshole, but I knew that everything you were doing was through your warped view of what was best for me. I knew that no matter how hard I rebelled you would never abandon me. I knew in my heart that someday, whenever it may be, that you would come to love Jon as I do.”

“And I do, sweetheart. I do. I see it all now. I see how short-sighted I’ve been. I can’t take it all back.”

“There’s still time, Daddy,” she smiled, reaching for his dormant hand. “You could always… lighten up again?”

“Lighten up?” he frowned, as though she were speaking an ancient dialect.

“Yes,” she laughed, “You know.. stop being so grumpy, broody and manly all the time. You could smile a little more.”

“I’ll try to, sweetheart,” he promised.

“And perhaps you could speak to Richie..? Maybe he’ll understand more hearing it from you.”

“I’ll be having words with him, don’t fret.”

As Amelia directed her father through the dark Jersey roads, she reflected on all that’d been revealed to her. Her father, a romantic? A farmer? A Romeo? Had she fallen asleep during the long wait for Richie’s return? Was this all merely a dream?

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I think that you should take Momma on a date. She’d like that.”

“A date?” he questioned as though it were ludicrous.

“Yes, you know, like you used to. Dress up all nice for her, take her to a nice restaurant, tell her how beautiful she is, how much you love her.”

“I’m not sure that it’ll make much difference, Amelia, at our age-“

“She’ll love it, Daddy,” Amelia interrupted firmly, “It’ll mean the world to her. And not just once. Every week, take her out somewhere nice even if it’s just for a stroll along the beach. I promise you that she’ll love it.”

Adam’s face tinted red, he started to stammer.

“Lia, It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date, I’m not so sure that-“

“Daddy,” Amelia said pointedly. “You said you wanted to be better. This is a start. Remind her of the reason she chose you; why she walked away from her family and everything she’d ever known to be with you.”

Adam looked at Amelia with a pensive expression she seldom saw.

“Alright. I’ll take your mother on a date.”

“Dates.”

“Dates,” he agreed.

The rest of the drive was spent in comfortable, relaxing silence. Adam was too stunned to speak upon witnessing the sheer size of Jon’s estate. He climbed out of the car and gazed up to the heavens, something which the three-story building still managed to block.

“Good gracious,” he muttered, “And to think I used to worry he wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”

Amelia rushed up to the porch. The conversation with her dad had managed to take her mind off the situation at hand, but her worries were now back in full force.

He didn’t answer when she knocked, nor when she rang the doorbell multiple times.

“Jon!” she shouted. Even with the curtains closed she could see that the light was on. “Jon Francis, you open this door right now!”

What the hell? There was no chance he’d just gone home and fallen asleep without calling her.

Her fist rapped incessantly on the old oak door until her demands were granted.

“Oh my God!” she cried. She fell back a few steps and bumped into her father who stabilised her.

“Good heavens,” her father seconded.

“Hello, Amelia.”

He was a dreadful sight.

Not an inch of the mid-triad of Jon’s face had been spared from the bruising. Each eye bore its separate ring of purple tenderness, crusted blood had formed beneath his nostrils. He was standing there so.. so nonchalantly! Not a hint of expression on his face- only a slight quirk of the brow as though to say, ‘see why I didn’t open the door’.

Amelia was lost for words. Her lip quivered as though it were to speak, only fell shut again.

“Evening Mr. S,” Jon nodded politely.

“Dear Lord, did Richard do this to you?”

Jon dared not speak.

“Did he?” Amelia demanded, distraught.

“He was drunk, Millie. And angry.”

“So what on earth did he do to you? Throw a shotput at your face?”

Jon’s lip twitched drily.

“Headbutted me in the nose.”

“WHAT!?” she screamed. “Daddy- !“

“I know, Amelia, I know,” Adam sighed. The poor man was at a loss.

Amelia finally got the courage to take a few steps closer to Jon. The damage was even worse up close, she could almost see the ruptured blood vessels beneath the discoloured skin. It was a frightening sight, his bright eyes looked almost unnerving when surrounded by such a deep indigo.

“I’ll be alright, Mills,” he sighed, shouldering himself off the doorjamb. “I’ve been beaten up before.”

“Like this?” she whispered, touching his tender cheek. “My own brother, Jonny-“

“Don’t be too hard on him.”

“Why are you defending him? What he’s done is barbaric! He could have broken your nose.”

Amelia delicately traced the bridge of his nose, testing for any fractures.

“Agh,” Jon winced, flinching away from her.

“Sorry,” she said. It seemed unbroken.
She dared to wrap her arms around him.

“C’mon darlin’, you can hug me better than that, I’m not gonna break.”

“He didn’t hurt you anywhere else?”

“No.”

Amelia’s arms tightened like a noose.
He wanted to smile but the stupid black eyes wouldn’t allow for it. What he ended up with was more of a happy grimace, not his usual beaming mega-watt smile.

“Are you coming in, Mr. S? I can fix up a guest room for you.”

“No thank you, Jon,” he said politely, “I’ll be getting back home now. I’ve got to give my drunk son a seeing to.”

Amelia hopped down the porch step and bounded into her father’s arms. “Goodbye Daddy,” she kissed his cheek, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

She grabbed her bags from the car and made her way back to Jon.

“C’mon, it’s cold out.” He ushered her inside.

“Now that my father’s gone I can say what’s really on my mind.”

Jon braced himself.

“What in the world did he do to you!?” she asked again, throwing her arms around in disbelief. “You look like you’ve been thrown in the ring between Mike Tyson and a rhinoceros. Was Richie trying to kill you?!”

“Calm down, ‘Melia,” he reasoned with two hands up, “I’m alright. Just a scratch.”

“A scratch!?” Even the walls felt her shriek. “I don’t know what on earth your reason for defending him is but I certainly will not participate. You have a storm brewing on your face! Look at you, I’ve never seen something so ridiculous, I only see fights like that on television.”

“Amelia,” he sighed.

She held up a stern finger. “No. Quiet, Jon. You’re completely unrecognizable, it’s hideous. Did you provoke him?”

“No!” he denied. “No, Amelia. You know how guys can be sometimes.”

“Not all of them. Not you, I hope.”

She had so much more to say, but where was it getting her? She was ranting to the gods and the gods alone.

“For goodness’ sakes. Have you iced it yet?”

“No.”

“You idiot,” she sighed, dragging him by the shirt to the kitchen. “Sit.”

Jon gingerly took a seat on one of the barstools. Amelia rummaged around for antiseptics, ice, bowls, and wash cloths.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re mad at me?”

“Mad?” Amelia turned around and took a seat beside him. “I’m not mad, baby. Well, not at you anyways. It’s just… you’re hardly recognisable, it isn’t nice seeing somebody that you love like that.”

“I’m alright,” he whispered adorably.
Amelia’s hands cupped each side of his cheeks.

“Does it hurt to touch?”

“Eh, it’s not too bad,” he shrugged. “My cheeks aren’t too bad. My nose is pretty damn sore, I thought he’d broken it at first.”

“If he’d managed that then I’d have personally castrated him.”

Nimble fingers traced over the bruises, earning the occasional wince. “You poor thing,” she cooed. “How about these?”
Her thumb glided over his lower lip, thankfully free of any injury.

“Those?” Jon grinned. “Those are good to go.”

“But what about your nose?”

“Are you implying that my nose is so big I can’t kiss you without it being in the way?”

“No,” she bit her lip bashfully, “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You gentle thing. C’mon, kiss me better.”

Amelia didn’t have to be asked again. When their noses brushed against each other’s she pulled back in fright. Jon secured her in her spot.

“Don’t be so delicate,” he murmured, hand on the small of her back. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

Not any more than Richie already had, anyway. Somehow, when Amelia pulled away she found herself in Jon’s lap.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do that again.”

“Why? Did I hurt you?” Amelia panicked.

“No. You made me smile, and that hurts like a bitch.”

“Oh,” Amelia trailed off bashfully. “Then perhaps I should feign grumpy for the remainder of the night, that way you’ll have no reason to smile.”

That wouldn’t work. Not for Jon, anyway. He always had a reason to smile when she was around, no matter her sour moods.

He couldn’t stand the look of pity in her eyes each time she beheld him. It wasn’t like the bruises wouldn’t heal, he wasn’t concussed, or dizzied, or broken-boned.

“Do you think it’ll hurt if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon raised a brow, a motion he was finding to be increasingly painful.
“Shall we find out?”

Amelia contemplated it. Her lips landed in the centre of his cheek, so light he wondered if he’d been kissed by a feather. “How’s that?”

“I think I need a little more of that kinda medicine.”

Amelia dotted kisses over every unblemished area of his face. “I think what you need is ice.”

He groaned. “Ice? I’d much rather have your kisses.”

Amelia was already wrapping an ice block into a cloth. “This may hurt a little.”

She held the ice to his bruised nose.

“Ow,” he muttered, jutting away.

“I know sweetheart,” she sighed, squeezing his shoulder. “But it’ll help the swelling. Hold that there.”

Jon reluctantly did so.

“I haven’t looked after you like this since you got into that fight with Sammy Greenwood.” She dipped a washcloth into a bowl and started to wipe away beneath his bloodied nose.

“Oh yeah, Sammy,” he scoffed contemptuously. “What a fuckin’ asshole.”

“What did he do again?” Amelia smirked.

“I don’t wanna repeat what he said. Some pretty vulgar shit about you, darlin’.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Amelia smiled, pressing another cold washcloth beneath his swollen eye. “You ran in like the hero you were and got your ass beat.”

“Hey, it wasn’t exactly a fair fight- he brought his goons in with him."

“Oh yes. What were their names? Todd and Riley?”

“Yeah, those guys,” Jon scoffed, tilting his chin up in superiority. “I got Todd real good though. Got suspended for a week for breaking his nose.”

“You men are incapable of solving things without the use of brute force,” Amelia tutted fondly. “You came home to me like a beat-up ragdoll.”

“Yeah.. I think Mom wanted to give me a beating of her own for the stunt I pulled. But I wouldn’t have changed it, even if I got humiliated in the middle of the school courtyard. You stitched me up real good afterward.”

“I was horrified.”

“Yeah, I thought you might break up with me. I was more worried about that than any broken ribs and noses.”

Amelia looked away coyly. “Now that, would have been a catastrophic error. Although, I must admit that I prefer you in one piece.”

Having cleaned any bloodied smears from his nostrils and upper lip, she discarded the old washcloth. “Now here, let me see you.”

She tugged at the wrist holding the ice block to his nose and sighed.

“Well, how do I look?”

Jon had always had a stellar smile, but against his purpling flesh it had almost enough watts to power an entire street.
“Still punched. Like somebody gave you birthday digs to the face.”

“Huh. More ice then?”

“I think I’ll be holding it to your face all night. It’s barbaric. How could somebody do this to your handsome face? My own brother no less.”

“It’ll heal, Mills. What’s worse? Richie or Sammy?”

“Well Richie’s certainly done a number on your face, I’ve never seen anything bruise so violently in the span of a few hours. But you looked like a peach after Sammy was through with you, or some fruit that somebody decided to play football with.”

Even with one third of his face purple, his handsome looks were instantly recognizable. The purple only complimented the blue in his eyes, even if that blue was marginally tainted with red blood from burst capillaries. His kindness shone through the scars of brutality, sweet eyes and splendid smile only made even brighter.

“How can I ever forgive Richie for hurting you?”

“Same way Richie will eventually forgive me for fucking you.”

“Fucking me?” Amelia gagged. “You didn’t fuck me, Jon. You made love to me. Fucking sounds so vulgar, what we do isn’t purely for sexual gratification, it’s for intimacy.”

“True,” Jon granted, his fingernails drawing light circles on the small of her back. “But I’m not sure Richie’s on board with that distinction.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever look at him again. I never dreamed he could stoop to violence, I always hoped they were empty threats.”

Jon picked up her chin. Poor doe eyes were filled with such dejection, his heart loathed to see her absent of a smile.
“It’s only a bruise,” he reminded her.

“But it isn’t,” she argued. Amelia could feel her logic, emotions and rationality in heated battle with each other. “He could have broken your nose, or worse left you concussed. He could have really hurt you.”

“Yeah, a broken nose,” Jon chuckled, tapping the very tip. “What would we do then, huh? The teenage girls would never have me on their walls.”

“You’d have me to love you,” Amelia declared, wrapping her arms solidly around his torso. “I’d love you no matter what. Whether you had a crooked nose or if you could never sing again, or, God forbid, you fell from your harness and became paralysed. I’d love you till the day I day, and afterward.”

“Forever and a day, huh.”

“Forever and a day,” Amelia repeated with a nod. “Hey, that sounds like a song lyric.”

“I’ll write you a love song, sweetheart. Now that this tour’s done I’m gonna write a whole album full of love songs for you. And I’ll sing ‘em out to the crowd each night so they know how much I love you.”

Amelia wished she could make a grand gesture like that; she was no song writer. She couldn’t serenade him with the piano or draw a pretty picture. She was no great cook, her special abilities were very limited in that sense.

But she’d find a way to express her love someday. She’d find her love song.

“Don’t worry about Richie,” Jon said, “Nothing could ruin my happiness today, not after your parents showed me so much kindness.”

“It’s hard not to let Richie overshadow it when your face is black and blue.”

“Yeah, guess we’re like Romeo and Juliet in 1987. Fucked around and found out.”

“Well, let’s hope our story doesn’t end like Romeo and Juliet’s hm?”

“Oh, believe me darlin’. If you find me in some death-like sleep, that aint no potion, that’s Richie Sambora.”

“He kind of reminds me of Tybalt- just a little,” Amelia smirked, “Always interfering with everybody else’s business.”

“Huh, I guess. At least your parents came round in the end.”

“Yes. I was half expecting my father to yell ‘Hang thee young baggage!’ Disobedient wretch.’”

“Oh, he said quite the opposite to me, darlin’.”

“Why? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” he palmed her cheek, “He was very gracious to me.”

“What did he want to talk to you about alone?”

Jon brought Amelia close. Over her head he had a view of the garden, moonlight shimmering on the small pond. Peace, that’s what he felt in the moment.

“He gave me permission to marry you.”

Amelia ceased to breathe in his arms. She peered up, brown eyes quizzing him as to the truth of his statement.

“You asked him if you could marry me?”

“No,” he said, “He asked me if I was going to ask for your hand. I said someday, and he granted me permission.”

“You aren't joking?” she blinked.

“You know I’m no good at jokes, ‘Melia.”

She pressed the side of her face to his chest, listening to the quiet thumps of his beating heart.

“Then he really does approve…”

“Seems like it. Two outta three baby, we only got Rich left.”

“Somehow I feel like he’ll be the trickiest one to convince. And then eventually we’ll have to convince your fans that I’m not just some money-hungry hag. What is it they say? ‘The course of true love never did run smooth’?”

“Who says that?” Jon frowned.

“Shakespeare.”

“Huh. Shakespeare woulda had a field day with our love story. You should write a book about it someday, my darlin’.”

“Maybe that’s how I’ll convince your crazy teenage fans that I love you.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to try too hard to win their hearts over, baby. You’re beautiful, the people will love you. The press’ll lose their minds when they find out I’m dating Richie’s sister.”

“You really think?”

“I think people would have a hard time not loving you.”

Her heart melted again when he kissed her. When she pulled back she expected to see his handsome face smiling away at her; she’d almost forgotten about the bruising.

“We should get you to bed,” she sighed, patting the uninjured part of his cheek. “It’s late.”

“I aint tired. You think you could handle an ugly beast like me makin’ love to you for the night?”

She flattened a brow. “Are you sure that you’re really well enough for sex?”

“Sex is the best medicine! N’ you could always go reverse cowgirl on me if all this is too much of a turn-off,” he gestured to his face. Amelia’s heart nearly broke at the silly comment.

“Don’t be silly, your face could never be a turn-off for me no matter how mashed up it gets. I just don’t want to hurt you, I usually grab you during sex, sometimes kiss you every few seconds, and you make funny faces all the time. Won’t it all hurt?”

“Funny faces?” His jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”

Amelia stifled a giggle.

“Sex faces, you know? We all do them.”

“Sex faces are supposed to be sexy, not funny.”

“Sure, rockstar. Are you sure it won’t all hurt.”

“Sure it will baby,” he wrapped his arms around her waist and grinned, “But it’ll hurt oh so good.”

***

Amelia spent most of the night watching Jon sleep, examining every little blemish on his beat-up face.

Truth be told, she was heartbroken. She adored her brother, she already experienced ample guilt knowing she’d betrayed him in such a way, but for him to resort to violence was unthinkable.
It was her fault that Jon was currently laying in bed with his face black and blue. Her deceit had only fuelled Richie’s anger; was perhaps the main cause of it. If only she’d been brave enough to tell him.

Jon would smack her across the head for having a silly opinion. Of course it wasn’t her fault that her asshole brother had resorted to smashing Jon’s nose in, but she could certainly have prevented it if she weren’t such a coward.

And of course, the one that got hurt was Jon. Poor, innocent Jon that just wanted to make everyone happy. Kind, selfless, certainly no coward, and in his attempt to reconcile all differences and bring Richie home he’d gotten beaten-up instead.

How could Amelia ever make it up to him?

She could start with breakfast. A good, hearty breakfast.

She set about creating a pancake mix with the limited groceries Jon had lying around. It was going to be a rather plain pancake, she only had syrup available for toppings.

Just as she had about finished preparing a bowl of batter, the doorbell rang.
Amelia set the bowl down and sighed. Jon had forbidden her from unlocking the door on any occasion, but she was a grown woman with her own agency. He couldn’t exactly stop her while being fast asleep, was she really to deny a mailman? Or a milkman?

Besides, she had an inkling as to the identity of her visitor. True to her instinct, upon peering through the peephole she saw a distorted, fish-eye version of her brother.

Amelia was half tempted to leave him standing there in the rain. Or, even better, she could grab Jon’s hat stand and sock him over the head with it.

“Come on, Amelia. I can see you in there,” she heard a yell. Upon second glance at the peephole, all she could see was an enlarged version of Richie’s eye.
Well, now she had no choice but to open it.

Amelia couldn’t stand the sight of his pale, unblemished face. Nothing, not a scratch! Jon hadn’t provoked him at all. His mouth hung all droopy, as if to say ‘please Millie, I’m sorry’.

Well, no apology was going to cut it. She was fuming, he deserved every ounce of hangover he was undoubtedly receiving after his behaviour last night.

“Hey Millie,” he muttered, shifting weight from each leg.

“What do you want? Give me one reason I shouldn’t call the police on you for assault.”

Richie’s drew back. “I’m your brother, Mills. You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? I certainly wouldn’t have before last night, but you hurt my boyfriend! You could have broken his nose or left him concussed. What if you had given him a concussion, would you have taken him to the hospital? Made sure he was okay? Or would you have left him there in the streets. You’d probably have been too drunk to even know. You could have really hurt him, Rich. You did really hurt him! My God, you should have hit me instead, I’m the one that wronged you. I should have told you sooner. He didn’t do anything and you hurt him because I love him.”

“Don’t say that.”

“That I love him?” she demanded. “I do love him, Richie!”

“No, not that. The rest of it. Look, can I come in?”

“You want to come into his house after what you did to him? Come back when the bruises have healed.”

“Amelia please,” he said earnestly. “I want to work everything out.”

The audacity of him to ask for an audience. Amelia couldn’t believe it.

“Please,” he reiterated, “I don’t want any more trouble.”

Amelia rolled her eyes and let him inside. What else was she to do?

“Where’s Jonny?” he asked all guiltily.

“Asleep. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? It looks like somebody tossed a bowling ball at his face.”

To his credit, Richie looked appalled.

“I’m sorry, Amelia. I was drunk.”

“And that’s an excuse?” she shouted. “You aren’t some brute.”

“Can you blame me?” Richie stood straight. “I was an asshole, I should never have done what I did, but he fucked my sister! Was I supposed to just take that?”

“You animal! I’m not just your sister, I’m not some prize. I have my own agency. I fell in love with him when I was just seventeen- people in love with each other make love to each other. He didn’t ‘fuck’ me, he loved me and worshipped me and treasured me, something you couldn’t conceive of doing because you’ve never been in love. All your girlfriends have been fleeting blonde bombshells with large breasts and an equally plastic personality.”

Amelia caught a fleeting glimpse of offence in his eyes.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, “Sisters are off limits, he should’ve asked my permission.”

“I am not an object!” she reiterated for what felt like the hundredth time. “I don’t need permission to fall in love, not from you, not from Mom and not from Daddy.”

“I walked in on him fucking the daylights out you!” he threw his jacket over the back of the sofa, growing increasingly irate. “You think that’s a pleasant thing for any brother to see? His best friend balls deep in his sister?”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” she scoffed. “You think it was pleasant for me either? I was mortified! I still am.”

Amelia turned away from him and made her way back to the kitchen.

“You’re just going to have to get over it,” she reiterated. “We’re in love, we’re going to have sex. In fact, he made love to me until the early hours of the morning. How does that make you feel?”

Richie’s face contorted in disgust. “Knock it off.”

“Get over yourself, you’re approaching thirty, I’m not a teenager anymore. Can’t you be happy for me? Happy that I’ve found a good and honest man to share my life with? I’d do anything for him, and he’d give his life for me in an instant.”

“You’d do anything for him?” Richie scoffed. “Don’t give me that, you made his life hell these past few months, always leaping at his throat. Heck, you might even have broken the record for longest ever silent treatment after that whole ordeal with the stupid groupie. Back then I just thought you had a damn stick up your ass, now I realize it was a lover’s quarrel.”

Amelia felt her temperature rise. No trouble, he’d said?

“She was not a stupid groupie, and it was no lover’s tiff. You’re right, Rich, I had a stick up my ass. I was damn stubborn, obstinate, a downright brat at times. I pushed away everyone that I loved and everyone that loved me.”

Amelia thought of the sweet man upstairs, of everything he must’ve gone through during the few months after her return. She had been so cold with him, he’d been nothing but gracious in return.

“He never gave up on me,” she continued, “Not when I turned him down repeatedly, gave him the silent treatment, berated him. He never stopped trying, Richie, he never gave up on me. I forgot what it was like to be happy! This month.. I, I don’t know.” She laughed. “I’ve felt like I could fly. Couldn’t you notice? Couldn’t you see how much happier I was? How at home I felt on the road? I’ve hardly stopped smiling.”

Richie could admit that he had noticed. He’d loved seeing her open up again, her post-show smiles had brightened each day. He wasn’t aware that his bandmate had been the recipient of those smiles, he’d been fool enough to think maybe she was smiling at him.

“I wanted to tell you, the lie got bigger every day,” Amelia sighed. “I refrained from rekindling with Jon for months all because I didn’t want to betray you, Rich. I postponed my own happiness in fear of what you and Dad might think. Do you think that’s fair? All I wanted was for all of us to be a family.”

“You should have told me.”

“Perhaps I should,” she conceded. “But I was afraid. I never expected you to somehow end up as his guitarist. The lie got too big, I was dealing with my own problems and emotions when it came to him. I made a mistake, and now he’s up there dealing with the consequences of my actions.”

“My actions,” Richie mumbled regretfully. “You should have told me, but there’s no defending my outburst.”

“No,” she agreed coldly. “He was supposed to be your friend, Richie. How could you hurt him that way? I never believed that you could stoop so low- not even in all your arrogance. I never thought that violence would be your solution.”

“It wouldn’t have been,” he muttered uncomfortably, “But I drank too much.”

“Terrific excuse.”

“Can you blame me, Amelia? Not for the violence, but for being hurt? You completely shut me out.. I’m supposed to be your brother, and you didn’t trust me one bit.”

“How could I? The idea that I could be with a man seemed completely alien to you. It was like I was forever fourteen in your eyes. Poor Jonny just wanted the three of us to get along.”

“Poor Jonny lied to me for three years,” Richie scoffed. “You know, I was devastated when you left for England. I know I was in Japan.. but I’d been so excited to see you again. I thought that it could be a fresh start, but you left. And you never called me. Not once, not one call from you. Every single time we corresponded it was me who initiated. And Jonny used to sit there with me in my worst moments and listen to me pour my heart out, wishing I’d been a better brother to you. And he never said a word, never mentioned knowing you, never tried to console me, tell me I wasn’t the reason you left. I didn’t even know you went to school together.”

Amelia tried not to feel too guilty. Yes, she should have told him, but if he weren’t so hostile to begin with she never would’ve conceived of hiding it from him. And no amount of hurt could excuse his most recent actions.

“You left me in the dark,” he continued, “Every single conversation I’ve had with the both of you since you came back has been a lie. Jonny ain’t no friend of mine, he just used me to get to you.”

“Now don’t be absurd,” Amelia raised her voice sharply. “You need to grow up Richie, and realize that the fault of the situation lies entirely upon you and me, not Jon. The only error he ever made was falling in love with me. He’s no liar. If you hadn’t acted like Daddy and threatened to gut any man that came near me then I would never have hidden it from you. Do you think that I wanted to? Do you think that I wanted to sneak around? Climbing out of windows, lying to Mom and Dad, squirrelling money for motels? I wanted him to be your friend, Richie! He’s a singer and you’re a guitarist, I often dreamt of times where you would just get along. I wanted you to be best friends- and then you were! You two are like Lennon and McCartney, Mick and Keith. I didn’t want to hurt you but I can’t help who I love. In the end I hurt everybody.”

Richie’s smouldering gaze fizzled out. Amelia collapsed into the nearest barstool with her head in her hands.

“It’s all my fault,” she couldn’t help whispering. Thoughts of Jon upstairs were too much for her. He should never have had to go through any of this, none of the sneaking around, lying. He should never have had to deal with her stubbornness, her cruelty toward him when she first came back. And now this, two black eyes and a bleeding nose.
She could have stopped it all. Somehow, she could’ve stopped it.

“What’s your fault, Mills?” Richie said softly. It was the first reasonable tone she’d heard from him since before he’d walked in on them.

“Everything.”

Richie took a seat opposite her and clasped his hands together. He might have had a problem admitting when he was wrong, but he wasn’t about to let his little sister sit there and take the blame for it.

He’d put her through enough already.

Amelia was right, he had to grow up and be the bigger man.

“It isn’t your fault,” he said. “I’ve been a complete ass.”

“You have,” she didn’t bother to deny.

“How can I fix it, Millie? What can I do?”

Wanting to fix it was a start.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Can you wave a magic wand and undo everything that happened last night?”

Richie shook his head.

“I’ve been a bad brother, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “On one hand you’ve been the best brother a girl could ask for. You’ve looked after me, you’ve tried to be my friend even when I’ve pushed you away, you gave me employment, you never stop looking out for me… but on the other hand you completely suffocated me. You smothered me, tried to take away any agency I had when I was a teenager.”

Richie could only shrink in shame. Amelia was the only girl he’d ever really loved, along with his mother. The idea that he’d hurt her so bad was enough to make him want to cry.

He was realizing very steadily that he’d become quite the incarnate of his father. Amelia didn’t belong to him, she wasn’t just his sister.

“I’ve been an ass,” he whispered hoarsely. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Amelia didn’t exactly offer up many suggestions.

“You know, when Mom first told me I was gonna have a little sister I decided right then and there that you were gonna be my best friend. Kids at school told me girls weren’t cool, that it was a shame I wasn’t gonna have a brother. I told ‘em I’d make you into the coolest chick ever. And we were inseparable until twelfth grade. After that I hardly ever saw you.”

Right about the time Amelia had met Jon. Her affections had transferred to him rather rapidly.

“I don’t know why I had a problem with you getting a boyfriend,” he sighed. “I guess you changed after you started hanging out with him. You weren’t home so much, you were tryna act all cool n’ grown up. You started cussing all the time, wearing skimpier clothes. I didn’t like it, I thought he was changing you, bein’ a bad influence. You were always so clean cut, it was funny to me how different you and I were. I didn’t want you to feel that you had to change yourself to be with someone, I didn’t like seeing you alter like that. I know it’s dumb, and I can see now that you haven’t changed one bit, but I thought maybe he’d get you into all kinds of things. First cussing, then revealing clothes, then alcohol, parties, drugs. In my arrogant state of mind I thought I was protecting you.”

“I was just growing up, Richie,” she whispered. “I got expelled from school for fighting some poor girl, albeit she started it. I was already on a path of rebellion just like you. If anything, Jon stopped me from doing all of the crazy shit that you just mentioned. He made sure I never had the chance to even wrap my fingers around a cigarette. I never got a whiff of drugs, he withheld alcohol from me when he deemed me too drunk. He was a little overbearing, but the difference is that it really was for my own good. Thanks to him I’ve never experienced a cigarette craving; I can count on my right hand how many times I’ve experienced a hangover. He loved me Rich, he always put me first. I wish I’d stopped him from doing all those things himself rather than begging him to let me take a drag of his cigarette. I was foolish, immature, and head over heels in love.”

Richie wished he could’ve been so clean cut as Jon. Smoking wasn’t the half of it.
He’d always teased Jon for how clean he was, had laughed at him when he’d showed disinterest in drugs, orgies; when he’d turned down simple things like weed, shunned them even.
But he was coming to realize that Jon was far better than him. He was no saint, but he was a good man. Reasonable, humble, sensible, kind.
In fact, he was the exact sort of a man that he’d want his sister to be with. A calm man to contrast her stormy nature.
He started to wonder how he hadn’t seen it before.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I thought you deserved better than some rockstar.”

“The irony is palpable.”

“I was an idiot, Millie. Everything I’ve done so far only proves that. I didn’t want you dating some rockstar like me; now I realize how wrong I was.”

“I was wrong too,” she conceded.

Richie’s eyes fluttered in surprise. “I hurt everyone in the process. I was awful to Jon when I first came back, I shunned and ignored him, and when we eventually rekindled I forced him to keep it all secret again.”

“Amelia-“

“No, Richie,” she held up her hand, “It has to be said.”

Though it wounded her pride massively to do so.

Perhaps that was what she needed; to be humbled. That was she could loosen up a little, cease to be so obstinate.

“My conduct was downright childish. I acted nothing like the twenty-five-year-old woman I am, instead like the seventeen-year-old girl I was when all of this started. I was spoiled and self-righteous. I wanted to have my cake and eat it too. I’m sorry, Rich.”

How she was going to apologize to Jon was another question entirely.

“Is Jonny angry at me?” Richie asked after a period of awkward silence.

“I doubt he’s too pleased. What you did was awful, Richie, you really hurt him. But he’s too good of a man to hold a grudge.”

“And you?” he muttered. “Are you angry at me?”

“I’m angry that you hurt him, but I’m too tired to be angry at you for making my life so difficult all these years. We all had a part in that, I just want to move on. If Jonny can forgive you then so can I.”

Richie reached for his sister’s hand across the countertop. He smiled best he could, feeling the warmth of her gentle hands transfer through his calloused skin.

On her fourth finger sat a small, bejewelled ring that he’d never spotted before.

“Did he give this to you?” he asked, thumbing the diamond.

Amelia nodded.

“You aren’t engaged, are you?”

He’d said it as a joke, but would it really be so crazy? If the pair had been together for as long as they said, was engagement truly a stretch? Richie swallowed hard.

“No,” Amelia laughed. “He’s always buying me things, he never stops. It was a getting back together gift. As well as the necklace.”

“Is he upstairs?”

“Yes. Asleep I believe.”

“Can I speak to him?”

“You can try.”

Richie stood tentatively and walked around the countertop. He pulled Amelia into a standing embrace.

Oh, he’d been an idiot. A foolish idiot, arrogant and blind.

He kissed her head once before departing, sparing her from another grovelling apology.

The door to Jon’s bedroom was closed, and there was no reply as he knocked.
It was empty upon first glance, random clothes belonging to both Jon and his sister strewn across the floor. He shook his head and turned to the ensuite.

Girl there are ways to make certain things pay,
Though I’m dressed in these rags I’ll wear sable someday,

Hear what I say.

The Animals, huh? Jonny’s voice sounded good on that. Maybe they’d have to do it at a show sometime.

He shook his head. Thinking about shows? He should be more worried about the present.

He didn’t remember much of last night, not with the alcohol fogging his brain, but he knew whatever he’d done was bad. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to see the damage.

Jon exited the bathroom in nothing but a white towel, finding his guitarist standing rather aimlessly in the centre of the room, head hung low in shame.

“Hey Rich,” he muttered, bypassing him on the way to his closet. What the heck was he doing here? Amelia had let him in? That was a surprise.

Richie could hardly speak. Amelia had been right about the damage, what could he possibly have done? How many times must he have swung at him? His face was more purple than a storm cloud; eyes unnervingly bright against their dark surroundings.

No classic Sambora quips would be able to make light of this situation, he’d well and truly fucked up.

“Hey man,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Well, there was no use in delaying it. “Listen Jonny, I’m real sorry.”

Jon stared blanky at his so-called friend, forcing him to assess the damage he’d inflicted.

“Yeah?” his eye twitched, “You coulda broken my fuckin’ nose, Rich.”

He was surprised he hadn’t.

He stayed in silence as Jon pulled on a pair of sweats and some old t-shirt. What could he say?

“I don’t know what happened,” he sighed, having the good grace to blush. “I don’t remember it, I was so drunk.”

“I tried to go after you,” Jon muttered stiffly, picking up some of the clothes from the previous night, “I wanted to make sure you got home okay, didn’t do anything stupid. Soon as you saw me you grabbed my by the collar and swung your head into my nose. Real cool, Rich.”

Could there be anything more dishonourable? Attacking an unarmed, unsuspecting opponent? Never mind for no reason.

“You shoulda hit me right back, eh?” he tried to joke. Jon didn’t laugh.

“You stormed off before I even realized what you’d done. I was bleedin’ all over the damn place, I thought I was dreamin’.”

Never in Richie’s life had he felt so embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do,” Jon scoffed. “You couldn’t bear the thought of your sister havin’ a life outside of you, a life with other men. It’s sick, Rich, she’s an adult, she’s gonna have sex and she’s gonna fall in love.”

“I know,” Richie said, waving a hand. “I know she will. I’m over it now, I’ll be better.”

If it wasn’t already too late.

Jon conveniently ignored Richie’s comment, spritzing some cologne on his wrists and neck.

“So… you two are really serious, huh?” he said a little more light-heartedly. He only earned a rather dead pan look.

“Yeah, we are. She tried tellin’ you that but you screamed at her.”

Rambling another apology probably wouldn’t do him much good.

“Guess you’re my brother-in-law, huh?”

“We aint married, Rich.”

“No but by the sounds of it you will be sometime, right?”

“I damn hope so,” Jon grumbled, towelling his wet hair. “If we aren’t it’s because one of us died before the wedding.”

Richie turned away uncomfortably. He longed for something to look at but the room was so barren. No photographs, no nothing, just some blue walls and a bed.
Amelia would be sure to make him spruce the place up.

“She uh..” never before had words been such a problem for Richie Sambora. “She loves you, y’know?”

Jon stood tall and proud. “Yeah,” he nodded confidently. “I know she does. She tells me every chance she gets, and when she aint tellin’ me she’s showing me. You know she sat there all night holdin’ a damn icepack to my face? Her hands were freezin’ even with a cloth. She looks after me real good, Rich, I don’t think I’d have survived the tour without her even if we did nothin’ but argue for most of it. Even in our worst moments she played nurse for me, and in return I try look after her best I can. I’d do anything’ for her. She asks for a pony n’ I’d buy her a stable, she wants a house n’ I’ll buy her a palace. But she don’t want any of those things, she doesn’t want money, she don’t want no fancy house, she loved me before all of this fame crap.”

If it weren’t for the general disgrace he was feeling, he would’ve smiled. It was beautiful, the two people he loved most finding happiness in each other. Why hadn’t he been able to see that before? Why couldn’t he see past his own nose?

“I was thinking just now,” he muttered, “I don’t remember ever seein’ Amelia so happy as this past month. Last time she smiled like that was probably the first time you guys were together. I remember she was pretty distraught when we left for Japan that first time, I was conceited enough to think it was me she was sad about leavin’. I never coulda guessed that you two even knew each other.”

Jon paused for a moment, then made his way over to his bedside cabinet and pulled out a stack of photographs and handed them over to Richie.

He found himself smiling as he flicked through them, though it was bittersweet. He seldom saw his sister so thoroughly happy, his only regret was not being with them himself.

There were photos at every possible date you could imagine. Bars, funfairs, arcades, movies, late-night walks, football games, and in each of them Amelia was beaming ear to ear, even when she was kissing Jon’s cheek, or lips.

“I haven’t seen her so happy in years,” Richie whispered, handing the photos back to their owner. “She never smiles like that around me anymore.”

“She wants to, Rich. She adores you, she just wants to be herself around you.”

“What do I do, Jonny? Anything, what can I do?”

Jon looked at himself in the nearby mirror. It’d gotten worse overnight.

“Just stop being an asshole,” Jon responded. “Stop thinkin’ you’ve got any say in what she does with her life. She’s a grown woman, if she wants to date a rockstar then she can do, if she wants to wear a dress showin’ off her cleavage then she can. Heck, if she wants to dance naked on a stripper pole then that’s her choice!”

Though he certainly had his reservations about that idea. That body was for his eyes only.

But that was different, he was her boyfriend. If anyone was allowed to have boundaries with what she did with her body it was him.

“I know that,” Richie bit back somewhat harshly, “You make me sound like some control freak. I thought I was doin’ a good thing, like tough love or somethin’. I didn’t realize I was hurtin’ her so bad. When I found out it was you she was fucking I went crazy. I’ve seen you in bed with three, four girls at a time. I’ve seen all your groupies, I didn’t want her to be just another one of them, I thought you’d break her heart. When I complained about her dress it was ‘cause we were goin’ to a club in another country with Crue! I wanted her to be safe, lo and behold Tommy got her brains blown out with drugs and whiskey.”

“You weren’t even there to see it,” Jon countered. “I was the one that got her home that night. You know how scared I was?? I held her in my arms n’ she wouldn’t wake up.”

Both men turned at the sound of the door opening. Amelia slipped in holding a breakfast tray, looking between the two men amusingly.

“You two just can’t seem to stop arguing over me, can you?”

She placed the tray down on the dresser and wrapped her arms around Jon, trying to hide her dismay at the bruises on his face.

“I didn’t know you were up,” she murmured sweetly, pecking his lips, “I made you breakfast in bed.”

“You did? Well, I can sure get back into bed.” He flopped back down on the sheets, uncaring of his wet hair. “Come bring me breakfast baby, come cuddle me.”

Richie watched as Amelia brought the tray over and snuggled up next to Jon. She’d taken no notice of him at all, she didn’t seem to care about hiding her happiness any longer.

“Mm, you tryna make me fat, darlin’?” Jon dipped a finger into some of the syrup.

Amelia’s lips curled up in a smirk. “A little chub won’t do you any harm. You lost too much weight on tour.”

Jon rolled his eyes. Women and their worrying.

Amelia took a strawberry from the bowl and held it to Jon’s lips. He ate it happily, nipping his teeth at her thumb while he was at it.

“Cheeky.”

Amelia caught sight of her brother standing there awkwardly, hands by his sides as his eyes darted from object to object.

“There’s breakfast for you too, Rich,” Amelia said, nodding toward a plate of pancakes.

“Oh, uh. That’s nice of you Mills but I already ate,” he muttered dejectedly. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“They’re real nice pancakes, Rich,” Jon said before he could make it out of the door. “Not even your mom makes ‘em this good.”

Richie’s head turned slowly, eyes narrowed in skepticism. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Amelia wrapped her arms around Jon’s torso as she waited for Richie’s verdict. His eyebrows seemed to raise in surprise, eagerly his fork dug in for a second bite.

“Well?” Amelia demanded.

“They’re great. Mom’s recipe?”

“Not quite.” Amelia peered at Jon with a smirk. “I used to make pancakes with Carol all of the time. Jon used to be my taste tester. Eventually I kinda morphed Mom and Carol’s recipes together.”

“N’ now she feeds me pancakes every day,” Jon patted his belly. “I’m gonna be the fat Elvis before our fourth album even comes out.”

“Well it’s better than you can do," Amelia challenged, “The only thing you can ever make me is a grilled cheese sandwich. At least I have a little variation.”

“Hey! You never complained about my grilled cheese before.”

“I didn’t want to wound you, dear. You take great pride in your grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Damn right it do!” He sat up straighter. “A perfect ratio of cheese to toast is hard to come by.”

Richie watched with acute fondness as the pair argued like a married couple. The rockstar and the prude was not a match he could ever have anticipated, but apparently there were sides to both of them that he’d never seen.

“You have the nerve to complain about my cooking, but if we had it your way it’d be take-out every night. We’re already on speaking terms with the god forsaken pizza delivery boy.”

“I don’t complain!” he argued. “Your cookin’s gotten better. N’ I make eggs, bacon, soup, pasta, I cook lots of things.”
Amelia raised a brow at him. He would’ve raised one right back if his face weren’t bruised.

“Last time you made spaghetti it was crunchy.”

“I wasn’t used to the stove!”

“Just face it, you can’t cook.”

Jon shoved another pancake in his mouth and turned away.

“You can probably cook better than me,” Richie offered, aware of how thin the ice he was standing on was.

“A toddler could cook better than you, Richard,” Amelia scoffed.

“An ape bred in captivity probably could,” Jon added.

It seemed Amelia was slowly turning Jon into a male version of herself.

“Very funny.”

Amelia tucked a finger beneath Jon’s chin and turned his head in her direction.

“You have a little something.” She leaned forward and kissed the syrup from his lips. She’d always said he’d had sweet lips to begin with; the addition of syrup made him almost saccharine.

“Mm. Thanks Mills.”

Amelia harrumphed.

“What?” Jon frowned.

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Millie?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Stop it. I hate it, my name isn’t Millie, you’ve been doing it too often lately. You got it from Richie.”

“You’ve always been Millie,” Richie shrugged.

“My name is Amelia. Millie is nothing like Amelia, I feel no connection to it at all.”

“Millie,” Jon smirked, earning him a smack on the elbow.

“Amelia,” she huffed. “Even Lia would make more sense, at least that actually features in my name. Or Ames, or as you call me ‘Melia. But Millie is awful.”

“Do you ever stop complainin’, Mills?” Richie smirked.

“You,” she pointed at him, “You are on thin ice. I suggest you call me Miss Sambora for the time being.”

Jon chuckled, kissing her softly to shut her up. “I love you, 'Melia.”

She was perfectly content with that.

Amelia looked over to her brother, at his subtle grimace as the two of them shared an open-mouthed kiss.

On that occasion she couldn't blame him; sloppy PDA wasn't her cup of tea either.

"Well don't look so awkward," she teased, leaning her head against Jon's shoulder and cuddling him close.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Maybe less tongue? I gotta ease into it."

Amelia smiled up at her boyfriend, then back at Richie.

"So then. You think you can get used to this?"

Richie raised his brows. "You and Jon?'

"Mhm."

"The ball's in your court, Millie. I'm willin' to do just about anythin' to get back in your guys' good graces, I fucked up real bad."

Amelia peered up at Jon; he was already returning her impish grin.

"No more being a control-freak? Yelling, violence?"

"Of course not," he muttered ashamedly.

Amelia left it up to Jon. After all, he was the one with the bruises.

But her ever-angelic boyfriend obviously wasn't going to hold a grudge. He was sitting there smiling like the cat who got the cream.

"If all I had to do for the three of us to get along was get headbutted in the face, I woulda done it years ago." He smiled at Richie. "I forgive you, brother. I love ya, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. We all messed up."

"N' I'm sorry about the nose. And the yelling, and the threats. I made your life shitty for four years."

"That's in the past," Jon waved a dismissive hand. "Let's forget about it all."

"And you, Millie?" Richie asked akin to a sad puppy.

"Let bygones be bygones. Let us all be friends again."

Amelia hoisted her brother up onto the bed and into a group hug.

"Hey, hey! Careful Hun, that's the playin' arm."

Amelia grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it into Richie's face. "Shut it, Rich."

She relished in the embrace of the two men she loved most. An embrace she'd dreamed of for near eight years.

She wasn't naive enough to think her and Jon's relationship would be smooth sailing from here, but she could certainly pause and appreciate the long awaited moment of serenity.

†††

I am sorry for the long wait 😵‍💫 I really thought I'd have it published within a week... and then that week turned into almost a month.

I've just been so busy 😭 I'm sorry. But at least it's over 10k words, hopefully that'll start to make up for it.

And now... the direction of this story depends entirely upon a whim 😂 this is about as far as I ever planned, so back to the story board. It can be as tame or as wild as I want 😂