Songs for the Chapter:

Never Gonna Give You Up- Rick Astley

Total Eclipse of the Heart- Bonnie Tyler

Runway- Bon Jovi

{J A X}

Jermaine gave me the same annoying look he always did.

The one that said "I am your older brother, superior to you in all forms."

I sat at the kitchen table, tapping my fingers against the scratched surface of it. The legs were uneven, it would wobble any time the wind blew. It was hardly even wood colored anymore, years of use had rendered it yellow.

Jermaine went to the sink, cursing when the water came out thick and brown.

I snickered.

He turned accusingly, thick black brows dipping with anger. "See something funny?"

I looked at him blankly. "Yeah, just hilarious. I see an uppity son of a bitch pretending like he didn't grow up in the back room five steps that way."

Jermaine's eyes narrowed with offense. "Been touring a long time, Michael. So many fans, girls, so much music. Hardly know which way is up no more. But, uh... I guess you wouldn't understand that, now would you?"

My hand clenched. Irritation surged through me, worsening at the fact that I couldn't just call Little Red and tell her to get down here and fix it for me. I'd been extremely hasty in dismissing her, but it was certainly better than the alternative.

"I guess I wouldn't. Where's our brat of a little sister?"

Jermaine gave a twitchy half smile and shut off the sink. "Dubai. Joe's with her."

"The rest of my... brethren?"

"Hotel."

I swallowed hard. "And... Crystal?" Just saying her name made me even angrier, a bitter taste seemed to spready across my tongue.

Even Jermaine looked displeased by the mention of her. "Um... she's-"

The front door swung open. The screen door smacked against the back wall. High heels clicked against the sagging wood floors, the smell of jasmine and lavender flooded the room. Jermaine and I groaned simultaneously at the arrival of the woman Joe called his wife.

Even in the heels she looked short. Her silk dress hugged her voluptuous form, her makeup was flawless. She was Crystal. She was a Barbie Doll.

The corners of her red lips curled up.

"Michael. It's been too long."

"Has it?"

She tossed her Michael Kors bag aside and placed her hands on her tiny waist, looking at me accusingly. Her light skin contrasted with that faux-black hair of hers. Her dark brown eyes were too familiar, I could only look at them briefly without being overcome by waves of guilt.

"I don't want any lip from you, young man. You chose to live in this... little shack-"

"It was Kate's," I snapped at her.

She frowned a little. "Yes, it was Katherine's. And you chose to live here, on your own, with no monetary support. How you are still alive is a mystery to me... so I don't wanna hear any complaints, and when your brothers come I want you to be civil."

I nearly laughed. This woman really thought she was going to mother me?

"Careful Crystal," I said sullenly. "Your ginger hair is starting to show. Better go get your roots done before everyone sees."

"Oh!" She chirped, and her hands flew to her head. Why she was so intent on defying nature and being a brunette, I don't know.

I stood quickly and got my jacket.

"Where are you going?" Crystal called after me impatiently.

"Anywhere but here with you two shitheads."

The door slammed after me.

My stomach turned when I thought of that woman, the one who'd ended it all for my real mother. How she changed Joe for the worse, if it was even possible for him to be worse than he already was.

How she could ruin the rest of my life if she knew about Little Red.

{M A U R A}

"When's Daddy back from Australia?" I asked halfheartedly, pushing a piece of egg around on my plate lethargically. Even mimosa couldn't revive me that morning.

My mom gave me the most irritated look. "He just left last night, sweetheart."

Funny, I didn't feel like much of a sweetheart when she talked to me like that.

I sighed. "I know, I just... miss him."

Her lips pressed together. "Maybe... just maybe if you'd told us what's been going on with you and why you came home crying the other night, soaked with rain.... why you've been acting so strange lately... he wouldn't have left."

She aggressively cut into her strip steak.

I sighed and put my fork down. "It doesn't matter."

"But it does! You're keeping secrets and it's frustrating! I'd be okay, if it weren't for how you've been treating poor Jon!"

Panic surged through me.

"What? How would you know-"

"His aunt and I talk, Maura! Apparently he's been upset and brooding lately, lashing out, never coming out of his bedroom! When they ask him why, all he says is 'worried about Freckles'."

I looked at her in disbelief for a long time. I held my breath, wringing my hands. Her eyes were extremely serious, but she never talked like this.

"You don't understand what you do to poeople sometimes. I saw the way that boy looked at you, and... he really thought you were something special. Now that thing you do... where you shut people out... it's not gonna work with him. And honestly, I want you to fix it."

I ground my jaw with frustration and picked up my fork again. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"The fuck I don't!" she yelled, scaring the shit outta me.

Mom never yelled.

"You're gonna take your little ass next door and fix what's wrong!"

She pointed to the front door. Her facial features didn't falter, her eyebrows arched angrily together.

"You're serious," I swallowed.

"You're damn right. If you won't tell me what's wrong, tell Jon. He deserves to know why you're doing this to him. Don't come back until you do."

"Mom-"

"I won't hear it!"

She continued pointing to the front door. I let out a long sigh, like air slowly leaking from a balloon. I could see she wasn't budging on this, so I set my fork down and trudged out. She followed me and shut the front door before I could protest anymore.

I squared my shoulders and growled to myself. I figured all I had to do was pretend enough to fool my mom, and I'd be done in a heartbeat.

I went right over to the Bongiovi Estate, and realized quickly that I'd never been inside... or near it at all. Jon has every inch of my bedroom memorized, when I hadn't even the slightest clue what his foyer might be like.

I marveled at the eloquent brick work outside the estate as I walked up what seemed to be a mile-long driveway, complimented by colorful landscaping and a fountain similar to ours.

I rung the doorbell and stood awkwardly. It seemed like a million years before the stained glass door opened, revealing a little foreign woman dressed in black and white.

Her beady eyes narrowed. "You Misses 'Freckles'?"

My brows furrowed with curiosity. "Uh... yeah."

She opened the door a little more, allowing me to step inside. "Yes, Mr. Jon talks about you all the time. Said you might come, but he was uncertain, you know? Talks about you all the time. Must be nice."

Her accent was cute. "Nice place you got here," I commented. It was scarily similar to our place, with the white painted walls and large paintings.

"He talks of you so much, even while I am cleaning the socks from under his bed. He thinks I don't notice what's in the socks, but I preserve Mr. Jon's dignity-"

"Where is he?" I cut in, not wanting to hear any more about Jon's masturbatory habits.

"Oh yes, his room is upstairs, third door on the right."

She hobbled off quickly.

I chuckled to myself a little and began slowly climbing the carpeted stairs, one step at a time. It was a straight shot all the way up, unlike our staircase that spiraled.

The hall was long and open. There was soft music coming from one of the cracked doors, the gentle sound of humming.

I knocked on the door and it came open a little.

Jon stood there, weating nothing but a white tank top and some black pants. He turned quickly, emotions flashing through his eyes too fast for me to decipher them. He stood next to a Crosley Bermuda turntable, looking at me curiously.

"Freckles."

I looked around at the barren walls of the room, swallowing hard. "Jon."

There were so many boxes compiled in the corner, stacked halfway to the ceiling. The only things in the room were the dressers and the bed, but everything else--besides a lonely stack of old records-- was packed up completely.

He didn't say anything more.

"Your room," I continued. "Why is it so empty?"

He looked around, as if this was the first time he had noticed. "I uh... I had just moved here the day I met you. I spent so much time at your place... fallin' asleep on your bed and stuff... I never had a chance to unpack. Busy with other people."

I came into the room a little more. "Oh."

I looked around again. He said nothing.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Why are you here?"

His eyebrows dipped down. "You came to my house."

"No," I shook my head a little. "I mean here, in Chicago. You talk about Jersey all the time, you must love it so much. If that's true, why are you even here?"

I was disappointed to find that it was the only time I'd ever asked.

His shoulders lifted a little. "You really wanna know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

He came to the door and shooed me in, shutting the door tightly after us. He told me to sit on the bed and shut his turntable off.

"Want a beer?"

I shook my head once.

He sat beside me on the bed as he twisted the cap off of a cold beer bottle. He took a long swig of it and swallowed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I ran away. I was driven away."

He looked at me seriously. I looked back.

"What?" I whispered lowly.

He gripped the beer bottle hard. "I was a good kid at first. Went to school, and.... got good grades. Then I moved, still in Jersey of course, and I lived near my cousin Tony. He owned 'The Power Station,' this hot recording studio, and... I always been addicted to music, I couldn't stay away."

He looked at me to make sure I was still listening. I was, suprisingly.

"Started skipping school to hang around there, and play with whatever local bands were around, you know? My grades were ass, I was never home, or at school. I was gettin' in with the wrong crowds. We filthy Italians, you know? Always fucking things up."

I raised both eyebrows. "You're Italian?"

He chuckled. "Hello? My last name is 'Bongiovi'?"

"Yeah," I chuckled a little, smiling. "That makes sense."

He returned the smile a little. "But... even though I was getting into trouble, I was also getting into the music. Tony let me record my only 'hit' if you could call it that. Got my neighbor Dave to join my band, but then he got his pal Richie to take his place. Alec, Tico, they all joined in. And we... we recorded an album."

My eyes got wide. "What? You have an actual studio album?"

"On Polygram," he nodded with pride. His face lit up in a smile.

"Can I see? Do you have a copy? I wanna hear it!" I said, excited all of a sudden. "When's your next one coming out?"

His smile slowly faded. His shoulders slumped. "That's the thing," he sighed. "Polygram gave me an ultimatum, said we had to strike while the iron's hot. The only thing is... I had no inspiration for new songs. I couldn't write shit sitting around in Jersey, smoking pot and being a bum. I've got until the end of next year to put out something, or else Polygram's dropping Bon Jovi."

I looked down, considering his words. "So... but..."

"Mama got tired of my big mouth, truancy, and bad behavior. Shipped me off here to shape up. I was hopin' it'd help me get my mojo back, the time away and everything... I'm just afraid everything I worked so hard for is slipping through my fingers. Had a music video on MTV and everything..."

I jumped to my feet and grabbed his shoulders.

"We are gonna fix this, Jon! I am gonna get you your mojo back. Then you're gonna write the best album of all time, and you are gonna be amazing."

He was taken aback. "What? Why?"

"After everything you've done for me, you deserve this! We won't stop until you're on top, and your band is the best around. Better than Dokken, or even Van Halen. You'll be nothing short of a real Teenage Dream! We need to do some studying, don't you agree?"

I meant it. Somehow I thought I had the power to single-handedly create a rock star, I really believed what I was saying. Maybe that's why it worked, at least in the long run.

His eyes were bright again, he was starting to give into my enthusiasm. "Well, we might as well try, dontcha think? We should go down to the record store and just... get a shit ton of music, see which makes each one so great?"

"Yeah! I bet we'll find a copy of yours, too."

"No..."

"Look alive!" I grabbed his arm and yanked him to the door. "Come on!"

"Alright, alright," he laughed and slipped his shoes on. "I gotta get my coat."

We ran down the stairs at full speed, hand in hand and heading toward the door. "Elaina, tell my aunt I'll be back before dinner, alright?"

"Yes Mr. Jon, Misses Freckles."

He swiped up his keys and we sprinted to the car. For a second, all the pain that permanently lingered in my chest was released. At heart we were two happy kids, forgetting to the past and hurling forward into happy-go-lucky fun together.

Jon's sports car roared to life and laughing, we mowed down the road.

"You think you could really help me?" he said excitedly. "You could really make me great?"

"Of course, Jersey. Have you seen my record closet? I know everything there is to know about good music, and I can help you refine your craft. Then, you gotta get back to Jersey and write that music!"

His lips twitched into a smile. "Sounds like a plan."

We bumped fists.

We pulled up outside the record store, all smiles as he shut off the engine. "Lets do this."

What followed was the most amazing record store spree that I'd ever had, and that was saying something. We scoured every bin in the place, while I fed him musical knowledge by the album. The admiration in his eyes only fueled me more, he leaned forward, hanging on my every word, soaking in the information, and asking questions.

"Essential. 'The Wall' is just essential to you learning how to write songs that are more like poems, songs that pack a punch. You feel me?"

Jon nodded his fluffy head, his arms weighed down with dozens of LPs. "That and the Prince records should do me some good, dontcha think? Have we covered all the bases?"

I opened my mouth to say yes, but then I thought of something else.

"I'll pay for these-"

"No you're not Freckles, no way I'd let you do that."

"But Jon-"

"No," he said, shoving a wad of twenties into my hand. "Take these."

I sighed and got out my wallet. "Fine, but use my money to go get us a pizza from the parlor down the street. And some more beers too, we'll have a feast and start studying. Whaddya say?"

He grinned. "Deal."

He left the shop and I took all the records to the front desk, smiling at the man behind the counter. I never learned his name, but he always seemed to be here.

"Your friend seems familiar," he commented, typing in the UPC codes for the records one by one. "Have I seen him somewhere?"

"That's what I was gonna ask you," I said excitedly. "His name is Jon Bon Jovi, his band is just his last name. They released a self-titled album last year and-"

He brought a record out from under the counter with a smile. "This Bon Jovi?"

On the cover was an amazing picture of Jon walking across a Jersey street in a bad-boy outfit, straight faced and trying his hardest to look tough. Gently I took the album and flipped it over to look at the track listing. Sure enough, 'Runaway' was number one.

"This too," I said gently, counting off from my stack of money.

{A/N}

Jon's story is a sad one. Know that there's a lot of truth to it- I did my reasearch.

VOTE AND COMMENT YALL OKAY BYE