August 15th, 1986 / London, England

August time meant that exam results were finally on their way.

Amelia had worked tirelessly during her time in university. Often she found herself wishing students could be graded on coursework instead of a designated exam. She never found the sense in an entire grade and subsequent livelihood depending upon one singular exam, a mere two hours.

"What? You haven't gotten yours yet?" Amelia’s friend Anita asked over the phone.

"No, I haven't," Amelia replied evenly. She tried not to allow any external frustration to show in her voice, it wasn’t Anita’s fault that the delivery service was lousy. "Nothing's come through all morning."

So much for finally putting her academic anxiety to rest.

"Well, either way I'm sure you'll do fine," her friend said. That was easy for her to say. She had an A-star in her pocket, and a tangible A-star no less.  "The professors were always impressed with you."

“I fumbled the last exam, the poetry on it threw me off. I was never all that good with poetry, never mind the unseen stuff," she explained, twirling the phone cord around her middle and index fingers. A nervous habit.

"You say that about every test, you'll be fine. It's only that you'd be disappointed with anything less than a perfect score."

"Well, I didn't come all the way to London to fail."

"Yes, an A. A devastating blunder," Anita said, her tongue dripping with undiluted British sarcasm. "You're too hard on yourself."

"I don't think so. It's not exactly like I've had much else to do other than study. If I get anything less than an A-star it's purely indicative of my laziness. I've had all the time in the world for revising. Who says I’ve got an A anyway?"

"Pft. Yeah right Amelia, you’ve never had less than an A in your entire life. Besides, who wants to drive themselves bonkers studying all day?"

'Bonkers' had quickly grown to be one of Amelia's favourite British words. "And don't forget our English exams are harder than your American ones."

She hummed softly. "Yes, that was quite the surprise when I moved here."

"Yeah, but you're still probably best in the class. You're pretty good for an American."

Amelia smiled to herself. For a moment she wished she could scowl at Anita in person. "Duly noted. I guess we'll have to see."

Her heart spiked at the sound of the doorbell. Without any regard for Anita or the phone, she shot out of bed, tripped on the phone wire, bumped into a cabinet and almost slipped on the linoleum floor in an attempt to answer the door.

Her disappointment was palpable. Rather than her prized results, the man was holding a large cardboard-encased package.

"Miss Amelia Sambora?" He confirmed before passing it to her. She tried to hide her disillusionment while thanking him. "Oh," he retrieved a letter from his pocket, "And there was this, Miss."

She elapsed into a sudden euphoria as the man promptly dismissed himself. Her thumbs were already in the envelope by the time she'd made it back to the phone.

"Hello?" Came a confused voice

"Sorry," Amelia was too occupied with the letter in her hand to properly concentrate. "It just came through."

"Really? What does it say??"

Amelia skimmed through all of the useless information and flicked to the page that showcased her results. "A-star," she cried, her lungs feeling heavy even after expelling all the air. She slouched back against her bed with months of relief, placing a clammy hand over her beating heart.

"See, I told you! You got yourself worked up over nothing."

"God Anita, I feel like I can finally breathe! Two years of coursework and exams and I can finally breathe. I never have to revise again."

"I know what you mean. Last term was awful. Feels silly to pay so much money only to end up revising at home anyway. I haven't seen the teachers in months."

"Right, especially when you've come all the way from New Jersey," Amelia muttered dryly. "It's not an inexpensive move."

"Oh yeah, thank God I at least lived here. I can't imagine spending that much money on university without being able to live at home for the time being."

Amelia shrugged to herself. "My parents helped me out a lot."

In America it was custom for families to save up for their children's college funds, something she'd quickly found was not the case in England, or at least not the majority of it. English university had also turned out to be a lot cheaper than American colleges.

She emptied the envelopes. "There's no official certificate."

"Oh yeah, that'll probably come later," Anita dismissed. "Anyway, what are you gonna do now, get a job here?"

"Hang on, it might be in this box." Amelia looked at it for a second longer and released a small sigh. No, upon second glance she knew exactly what that was.

She spun it around to look at the address. To Amelia Sambora, and it'd come from America. "Never mind. It's my brother's record."

"Ooh, he's got a new album?"

"Yes, coming out next month I believe. I don't know when they're releasing the single."

Amelia hadn't really spoken to Richie much as of recent. He'd been understandably busy with his new album. Her parents had informed her he rarely even returned at nights, often remaining at Jon's house until the early hours of the morning.

"Oh, how exciting," Anita giggled. "The last one you showed me was pretty cool."

"Yes, he's pretty great." Amelia smiled to herself. It'd be nice to see Richie perform his songs in person. Hopefully sometime soon. She thought about Anita's earlier question. "No, I'm not going to get a job here. I'm moving back to America, at least for a while. I've not seen my family since the start of the course."

"That's crazy," Anita muttered. "Two years?"

"Yes, I know." Amelia took the record from its packaging and beheld it. She recalled Richie briefly explaining the album cover to her. He'd said there was going to be a 'hot chick's tits' on it, but the final result was nothing of the sort. Merely some purplish blue-black water-soaked background with the words 'Slippery When Wet' scrawled across it.

An astoundingly mediocre cover, really.

Still, she smirked to herself at the thought of her brother's dismay. Richie had seemed really excited over the initial idea.

"Haven't had time to really visit," she continued distantly. "My mom's scared to death of planes, she wouldn’t get on one if her life depended on it." She flipped the record over to take a peek at the track listing. She was ashamed to admit she didn't recognize any of them.

"So you'll go back to living with them?"

"Yes, probably," she muttered. "Get a little job, think about what I want to do for a while. Take it easy I guess."

"I guess."

There was a silence down the line and Amelia wondered if the connection had faltered.

"And..." Anita's voice returned. "What about Jon?"

Amelia's back straightened. "What about him?"

She peered closed at the photo on the back of the record. Her brother's band lined up in a row, all beaming with unprecedented joy. Jon in the centre looked happiest of all.

"Well, you haven't seen him in almost three years," she said, sounding like a giddy schoolgirl.

Amelia slid the record back into its box and sighed. "Yes, I know. And best to keep it that way."

"What?" Anita sputtered. "You can't be serious. Why?"

"He didn’t contact me once, not even so much as a phone call or a birthday card. Clearly he came to his senses and realised that long distance was a fool’s errand. I've tried hard to move on, he hurt me. I'm not going to regress by three years and walk back into his arms."

“Come on,” she coaxed, “There could be any number of reasons for that.”

Amelia shook her head, continuing. "Who's to say he'd have any interest in me anyway? From what I hear he's not short of any pleasurable company."

"Not with a gorgeous face like that," Anita mumbled. Amelia's scowl would've been enough to silence even the toughest of men. "You really wouldn't give him a chance?"

"No. He dumped me for lack of a better term, I don't even know him anymore. It'll be our own secret, nobody but the keyboard player knows. I have no intentions of driving a wedge between Jon and Richie by inserting myself into their business. My life with him ended as soon as he took off touring."

Amelia found herself speaking with such callousness, building up a carefully crafted emotional barricade.

A barricade so strong that nothing could get in or out. To the rest of the world, Amelia was stone cold.

"Come on, you loved him! It was nearly five years, you can't throw that away."

Amelia could guess that Anita harboured a fondness for Jon, a crush if you will. She couldn't possibly fathom how Amelia could allow such a gorgeous man to slip through her fingers.

"I didn't. He didn't call me, that sort of a message is impossible to misconstrue. I doubt he'll be all that interested in my return."

She was sure he’d have groupies by the dozens. If Mick Jagger was considered desirable then a man like Jon would be lusted after to no feasible end. With so many women at his feet she doubted he’d think of her much.

"Come on, where's the romantic in you?"

Amelia felt her teeth grit and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. "I'm plenty romantic. Romantic enough to realize that music is more important to him than I was, he's the type of man that puts work before his women, and I'm not the type of woman that likes to be second to somebody's career."

"But he's gorgeous. How can you look into that man's eyes and deny him?"

Amelia scowled at the phone. “My dear you are ludicrous.”

“You’re the ludicrous one!” she argued. “Letting away with a man like that. You can’t avoid him anywho, not with Richie in the mix.”

“Don’t remind me of that caveat.” Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. What on earth had Jon been thinking when he employed Richie? He’d inadvertently intertwined their fates for all of eternity, she’d never escape him! Richie was a damned good guitarist, one of the greatest she’d ever seen but good Lord, could he not have found anybody else?

“What will you do?”

“I’ll do nothing,” Amelia replied. “I doubt I’ll see much of either of them anyway with all the touring. Life will be ordinary, I’ll work in retail until I find a use for this degree.”

“And what if Jon sees you again? What if he asks you out?”

Amelia laughed. “If Jon were even minorly interested in me he would’ve sent me some sort of sign of his existence. If I didn’t have Richie updating me on the phone I would have frankly been worried that he died! I miss his family more than I miss him, I’m content to move into a new chapter of my life.”

"You’re so square, Amelia. Not even a part of you wonders what could be?”

“No, Anita,” Amelia smiled fondly, “Not even a part of me. I don’t bother to entertain fantasies beyond that which I read in novels. I’m happy. Even happier now that I’ve got an A-star.”

It’d taken a long time for her to get to that point of happiness and she weren’t about to throw herself into any emotional endangerment again. It was imperative she protect her peace.

“Well, alright then,” Anita mumbled in uncertainty. “I guess that’s most important.”

“Indeed,” Amelia concurred. She thought it best to get off the phone before Anita found some other way to salivate over Jon. "Anyhow, I should probably call my parents and tell them the news."

"Yeah, of course. Call me back later. Congrats on the A-star."

"I will. You too."

Amelia put the phone down and gathered herself, taking a brief glance around the small living space she'd learned to call 'home'.

Yes, she wouldn't be too dismayed to leave it in her past.

†††

Jon sat on his favourite plush couch in Richie Sambora's basement, a guitar balancing on his knee.

"This'll be big," Richie said in earnest. Jon always knew when Richie was sincere, he'd lean forward and drop his perpetual lopsided smile. "Our biggest one yet."

"It'd better be." He stared blankly at the seven-inch record of their newest single sitting on the coffee table. "If it's not then it's all over for us. Or at least for me."

"What do you mean?"

"The third album is the one. If you've not made it by your third album then you're out. At least I am, you're the guitarist, you could always join another band but I'm the singer. It’s my name for God's sake. If this fails then it's all over for me, I'm back to being a shoe salesman at Kinney's."

"Yeah right," Richie laughed. "That place would never take you back."

Jon gave a dry smile and cracked open a beer.

"If you're out, then we're all out." Richie shook his head in solidarity. "But that's not gonna be the case. I know this is the one."

He really did hope so. All that work he'd put in for the past decade would've all been for nothing. He'd have given up everything for nothing. The thought would torment him.

The sound of the phone ringing distracted Jon from his morbid thoughts. Richie took a quick drag of his cigarette before answering.

"Hello? - Amelia!"

Jon picked up the seven-inch record to distract himself from their conversation. It didn't do much to quell his curiosity, he found himself listening keenly to each of Richie's words hoping to glean the general course of their conversation. As he did every time Amelia and Richie conversed over the line.

"Really, you got it??" He heard fragments of their chatter and determined that it pertained to Amelia's university. After maybe ten minutes Richie put the phone down. His smile was ear to ear and he took a celebratory swig of his beer.

"She did it! She got her A-star!!"

As soon as Jon had learned of Amelia's university endeavours there'd been no doubt in his mind that she'd achieve the best score possible. He allowed himself a small smile.

"Bet she's pleased. I often wondered where all the intelligent Sambora genes got to."

Richie laughed, leaning forward to smack Jon's shoulder. He could only imagine how proud Joan and Adam would be of their only daughter, they'd always had the highest of hopes for her.

"Alright,” Richie grinned. "Anyway, she's moving back here with us! God man, I've seen my sister once in two years. Two fuckin' years!"

Jon took another calculated sip of his beer. "I'm happy for you Rich."

That Amelia had taken off to England without Jon's knowing had shocked him, but that she'd taken off without any in-person goodbye to her brother was even more astonishing.

Three years since he'd seen her. Three whole years. How it felt like a lifetime.

"Yeah. I can't wait to see her. I'm gonna try drag her on tour with us, she'll love it I know she will, she's just stubborn. Might take some convincing."

Jon swallowed thickly. Yes, he'd been a victim of that obstinacy first-hand.

"Oh, and she got our record too."

"Oh yeah? What'd she think?" Jon squared his shoulders and straightened his posture. He hoped for a glowing review.

"Dunno, she's not heard it yet. Only just come through, she was confused why Angela wasn't on the cover."

Angela. Jon smirked to himself, that young lady was apparently too well-endowed for the likes of the PMRC.

He wasn't too angry about the censorship of the cover, he'd never been fond of it anyways. He wanted his music to sell the record, not his face or not some woman's breasts, but the music.

Not to mention the horrible pink border they'd put on it. For that reason alone Jon was happy with the wet trash bag as the cover.

"So when's she coming?"

"Dunno, she's gotta wait for her certificates to come through n' all. Obviously get all her shit together and pack it all up too. She says she's gonna try get it all sorted quickly as she can, she misses America."

"You think she'll tour with us?"

He’d be surprised if she came within the same state lines as him.

Richie scoffed. "Well, I guess it depends on the album."

In Jon's mind that was just another reason it had to perform well.

"But if it does well I'm sure I'll be able to drag her along. I hope so."

Jon nodded, taking another swig of beer.

Richie eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then shook his head and clapped his friend on the back. "Cheer up a little, will ya? The album's gonna do fine."

"Yeah," he muttered, "I hope so."

Richie squeezed his shoulder tightly. "It will," he repeated firmly. "It's our best yet."

"I still think we should've released Wanted first," Jon mumbled. It was what he'd initially proposed only to be met with arguments from everybody he knew. The band, his manager, his own mother, all of them said that You Give Love a Bad Name should be the first single. Wanted Dead or Alive was truly his best work, he wanted it known to the world.

Alas, the song on the small seven-inch record in front of him was Bad Name.

"Bad Name will do better for a first single," Richie assured nonchalantly. "It showcases the album better. And I don't always trust your gut over these types of things. After all, if you had it your way Prayer wouldn't even be on the record."

Jon ruminated on those words. Prayer was different, certainly. Jon feared it was too different.

"I guess we'll see," he mused.

"Yeah. Relax a little, it'll all work out."

Jon beheld Richie's nonchalance with awe. He wished he could be so insouciant, alas he was burdened with the 'worry yourself to death' trait.

He placed a hand on his thigh to stop its nervous bouncing and closed his eyes.

"I hope so."