Thirteen

 

The Calm Before the Swoon

 

Three firm knocks sounded at the door—a well-worn signal that they had ten minutes until Matt would return to walk them to the stage. Only this time, it wasn’t just Matt. With Stephanie there to help with Lily and Ari keeping a closer eye on her crew, the security assignments had been reshuffled for the next few shows. Gunnar had been slotted to stick with the girls tonight, while Cliff was assigned to shadow Ari like a well-trained watchdog.

 

Ari gave herself one last glance in the mirror, adjusting the hem of her crew shirt before pressing the button on the radio clipped to her waistband.

 

“Big Red, Lucy is ready,” she said with a grin.

 

“Ready for what?” came Jon’s voice from the doorway, low and amused. He leaned one shoulder against the frame, arms folded, watching her with that lazy smirk of his. “And who the hell is Big Red?”

 

She didn’t even turn around—just smiled at her reflection. “Cliff. Since he’s so fond of giving out nicknames, I returned the favor. You know… Clifford the Big Red Dog?”

 

Jon chuckled, the sound rumbling warm and familiar. “You two need supervision.”

 

She turned, brushing past him with a purposeful stride. “That’s literally his job. To work—I’ve got a crew to wrangle.”

 

He followed her a few steps, still wearing that smirk. “Isn’t that why you hired Kennedy?”

 

“No. I hired her because she’s damn good. I made her my right hand for when I get too fat to keep up with my duties.”

 

Jon opened his mouth, probably to make a joke, but she silenced him with a quick kiss.

 

“I’ll meet you at the quick change,” she said, giving his lower lip a playful tug with her thumb.

 

“You better move that ass,” he informed her. “I can’t keep my fans waiting.”

 

She didn’t answer—just dropped to her knees beside Lily, who was nestled on a blanket in the corner. Ari kissed her daughter’s cheek, breathing in that baby scent—warm milk and lavender lotion.

 

“Steph, are you sure you’ve got her for the whole show? I can strap on the baby carrier and take her with me if anything comes up.”

 

“I’m sure,” Stephanie replied, already adjusting the shoulder straps of the carrier like she’d done it a hundred times. “It’s prepped and ready, and her little headphones are right here.”

 

Ari exhaled, the knot of guilt in her chest loosening just a little. “Thanks. We owe you big time for this. Right, Jon?”

 

Jon stepped in with perfect timing. “Story of my life—always costs me something.”

 

“Please,” Stephanie said, arching a brow as she clipped a strap into place. “You’re lucky all it’s costing you is babysitting coverage. I could’ve asked for your black card.”

 

Jon laughed. “You do ask for it. At least twice a month.”

 

Ari shook her head as she passed him. “And somehow, you still act surprised every time.”

 

She reached for the door and pulled it open, only to come face to chest with a broad, black-shirted figure blocking the entire frame. Cliff stood there, arms folded, crew badge clipped front and center, mouth twitching like he was fighting back a grin.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite guard dog,” Ari said, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

 

He gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Lucy.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Right on cue.”

 

“You ready to roll?” Cliff asked, stepping aside just enough to let her through.

 

“Almost. Just need to check in with Kennedy, make sure all the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed. You know how it is.”

 

Jon reappeared behind her, leaning into the hallway with a teasing smile. “Make sure she doesn’t peek at the setlist, will you?”

 

Cliff barked out a laugh. “No promises. She’s slippery when she wants to be.”

 

Ari shot them both a warning look over her shoulder. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

 

Jon winked. “Exactly.”

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

The air backstage was thick with that familiar pre-show energy—nerves, anticipation, and the low murmur of voices blending with the scuff of footsteps echoing down the narrow halls of the Air Canada Centre. The bass throb of This Is Our House reverberated through the floor like a pulse, steady and strong, syncing with the heartbeat of every crew member and bandmate in earshot. Blue and purple lights flashed in time with the beat, casting rhythmic shadows along the cinderblock walls. This was the calm before the storm—the final breath before eighteen thousand fans would erupt as Bon Jovi tore into first note of the night.

 

Ari stood at the bottom of the stairs, her heart racing much like a seasoned swooner waiting for her favorite band to take the stage. She glanced up, her eyes finding her husband as he made his way toward her, flanked by the rest of the band. He was smiling, laughing at something one of them said. His hair—shorter than she preferred but still tousled just the way she liked.

 

“Please tell me that grin’s not staying while we’re out front with the infatuated souls?”

 

Ari turned to find Stephanie strolling up with Lily strapped securely to her chest, tiny pink headphones nestled over her ears. Cliff and Gunnar followed behind with their usual calm, their slow, measured steps more like pacing wolves than assigned security. She could tell they were in work mode, even if they looked relaxed.

 

“Who said we’re sitting out front?” Ari asked, one brow raised.

 

“I did,” came Jon’s voice, suddenly at her side.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “No can do. I need to work.”

 

“Kennedy’s got it covered,” he said with a casual shrug.

 

Ari shook her head. “I’ll stay as long as Lily lasts. Not a minute longer.”

 

Jon’s smirk widened. “You might want to rethink that. Surprise setlist and all.”

 

Richie breezed by with a knowing grin. “Aw, come on, Bella. Even you can take a break from ruling the world for one night.”

 

Lema trailed after him with his usual mischief. “Yeah, A.M. If we gotta croon all the mushy stuff, the least you can do is sit out front and pretend you’re swooning.”

 

Ari sighed theatrically, tossing her hands in the air. “Fine. Enough. I surrender. But I want it on record that I was emotionally blackmailed.”

 

Jon leaned in and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “You won’t be disappointed,” he murmured, his breath warm and just a little smug against her skin.

 

Before she could reply, Matt’s voice rang out from behind them like a rally cry. “Let’s go, boys. Showtime.”

 

The band split off, peeling away toward their respective entrances like soldiers going to war—each one calm, collected, but charged with purpose. Ari turned down the tunnel that led to the front of the house, falling into step beside Stephanie. Cliff and Gunnar flanked them without a word, moving with the quiet authority of men who had done this more times than they could count.

 

Stephanie adjusted Lily’s headphones with practiced ease, her hands steady, her face already glowing from the stage lights bouncing off the walls.

 

When they reached the reserved section, Ari spotted Jeanie and Nicole already in place—drinks in hand, chatting animatedly over the rising noise of the arena. They slid into their seats just as the house lights dipped low, and the crowd erupted with a force that shook the floor.

 

“How are you doing?” Nicole asked, shifting to make room on the padded folding chair beside her.

 

“I’d be better if I was watching from the back,” Ari shouted, casting a pointed look at Stephanie, who only grinned in response.

 

“Say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

 

“Nah, it’s all good,” Ari said with a shrug. “I’ll hang as long as Lily can, then I’ll go sit with Obie at the controls.”

 

“Hey, is this Lily’s first show?” Stephanie asked, bouncing her slightly as the crowd’s cheers swelled around them.

 

“If you don’t count the womb, then yeah—it is.”

 

“Maybe that’s why Dad wanted us all out front,” Stephanie said with a meaningful glance at the stage.

 

“Could be. Or maybe he knows how much I hate it and wanted to torture me.”

 

The four women burst into laughter, the sound momentarily swallowed by the sudden plunge into darkness. Massive video screens came to life, illuminating the arena with flickering images and bright beams that crisscrossed overhead.

 

Then came the thunder.

 

Tico’s drums cracked like lightning, tearing into the opening of Blood on Blood. The crowd lost its collective mind, screaming as Jon stepped into the spotlight, Takamine raised high over his head, his silhouette cast in bold white light. He was a statue, a warrior, a showman. And still—somehow—hers.

 

Ari watched as he turned his head ever so slightly, glancing left toward their section like he knew exactly where she’d be.

 

And then it happened.

 

Lily’s tiny arm shot up into the air alongside the crowd—not quite in rhythm, but in pure, unfiltered joy. Her little fingers flexed toward the stage, reaching instinctively for the familiar figure she’d only ever known up close. Somehow, even in the chaos of noise and light, she recognized him.

 

Ari blinked, and then blinked again, but the tears came anyway—hot and sudden, blurring the stage in front of her. Her throat tightened, her heart twisted, and she laughed softly through the sting.

 

Damn hormones.

 

It wasn’t the lights. It wasn’t the song. It wasn’t even Jon’s look, though that alone might’ve undone her. It was Lily—sweet, headphone-capped Lily— recognizing her father under all that noise and light and reaching for him the same way she did every morning.

 

Ari pressed a hand to her chest, breath hitching as emotion overtook her.

 

Of course he’d do this. Of course Jon would plan something so sentimental—on Valentine’s Day, no less—and use an entire arena as a witness.

 

She leaned toward Stephanie, voice thick as she whispered, “Oh boy. This night’s gonna wreck me.”