Chapter One

It was cold. Bitterly cold. A fierce north wind was whipping through, causing everyone who’d braved the elements to snuggle into their overcoats wrapping their scarves tighter, burrowing gloved hands into pockets and pulling hats down over exposed ears. There was a palpable excitement in the air. A young woman stood apart from the main crowd as they gathered along the roadside. She too was cold but also excited. She looked around at the people near to her and smiled. Families, couples, single people; old and young alike, all gathered for the Thanksgiving day Macy’s parade. She had heard about it before and even seen glimpses of it on the TV show Friends but she’d never dreamed she’d one day be in a position to be watching it live. Part of her wished she’d stayed in and watched it on TV as a particularly vicious gust of freezing air buffeted her, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She tried to burrow deeper into her long black puffa coat but the wind still found an exposed spot on her neck, under her red hair and she sighed, wishing she’d remembered to bring her knitted cap. She smiled as she remembered putting it in her huge purple handbag and with a small sigh of happiness she reached in to retrieve the cap. She pulled into, ramming it down over her ears and smiled broadly as warmth began to seep back into the tips of her ears. She was standing along with a few hundred people on the corner of 42nd street and 6th Avenue, near to Bryant Park waiting for the massive parade to pass her by.

It was her hair that brought her to his attention. Long, flowing, bright red hair. He’d not had a redhead so far and wanted to add her to his collection. He stood, stock still for a moment, waiting for another sign. The last one, the brunette with purple streaks had pulled out a wallet with matching brown and purple stripes on it as she’d waited to buy a hotdog from a street vendor and in doing so had sealed her fate. He wanted a sign that this one, this redhead, was the right one. This one’s fate was sealed the moment she’d placed the bright red knitted cap His gaze never left her as she stood, alone, in a sea of people. He smiled and melted back to wait for the opportune moment. His mama hadn’t raised a fool, he knew when to strike and when to hold back and this was a holding back moment.

Jon Bon Jovi was tired. Absolutely and irrevocably bone tired. He looked at the big clock on the wall of the studio he was in and sighed. He was at Sony Music’s studio on 54th Street and was supposed to be working with a new band he’d managed to sign up but it just wasn’t working out. The lead singer wasn’t getting it and he, himself, was just screwed up and tired.

Leaning over the console and flipping a switch, he spoke from the darkness of the booth.

“Guys, it ain’t working. I’m going home.”

There was a cold, world weariness to his voice that had the young men in the studio not daring to talk back to him. Alan Hewitt, the band’s producer, switched on the light in the booth, illuminating the two men to the band. Jon looked out at the young rock band who had stopped and were watching him with caged eyes. The lead singer was a young turk with an obnoxious attitude and a bucket full of charisma. Jon locked eyes with him and smiled to himself as he looked at a younger version of himself. He thought back to all the false starts and hiccups he’d gone through to get to where he was and shrugged. Welcome to my world. It’d do them good to go through some trials and tribulations.

Jon turned to Alan.

“Al, do what you can with these guys, I just can’t do this anymore.” He picked up his coat and record bag and walked out of the booth.

He wrapped his big leather fur lined flying jacket around him and stepped out the back door of the studio, bracing himself against the cold. He shivered as the freezing air rushed over him and he hurried to his car, fumbling through his jeans pockets as he tried to locate his keys. He could hear yells and shouts of excitement in the close distance and, looking up in the direction of the yells, he caught sight of some large, brightly coloured inflatable and sighed.

‘Fuck, fuckin’ Macy’s fuckin’ parade. Shit. How the fuck am I gonna get out of here?’ he thought as he got into his car. It was a 1970 Chevelle SS 396 in pillar box red and it was his pride and joy. He normally kept it at home and used it for short trips into the nearby town and would only ever come into Manhattan with a limo and driver but for some reason he’d decided that morning, to drive himself in. Truth was he didn’t really want to be left alone inside his head and forcing himself to drive meant he had to concentrate on things outside of his head. He sat in the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition, smiling as he felt, rather than heard, the car hum to life. A blast of cold air hit him in the face and he fumbled with the dashboard before hitting the AC button, turning it off. He pushed his lank honey blonde hair out of his face and stared at himself in the rear view mirror. Ice blue eyes stared back at him surrounded by relatively few crows feet for a man in his late forties. He smiled to himself, baring his teeth and ran his tongue over them, feeling the smooth enamel veneer under his tongue. He looked deep into his own eyes. They often say that your eyes are the windows to your soul and what he could see in his own eyes said that his soul was in deep shit. His skin looked washed out and tired, he had a line of dry skin on his forehead and he could feel stress spots beginning to erupt around his nose. He wondered why he hadn’t seen them earlier when he’d been getting ready, after his shower.

‘Did I have a shower this morning? Must have done, I always have a shower, but then my hair feels greasy and lank. Hmm, Did I even clean my teeth this morning?’ he wondered as he ran his tongue over his gums, feeling a slightly rough surface to them. He pulled on a pair of amber tinted sunglasses and with that thought in mind he gunned the car into action and pulled out of the small but secure car park behind the studios, into a small off road. He was still wondering about his teeth and whether he’d cleaned them or if he really was going mad when a flash of red and black off to his left caught his eye. With a sense of mounting horror he watched in slow motion as his foot automatically slammed onto the brake pedal but it was too late and he watched, horrified, as a body tumbled over the bonnet of his car and lay still on the ground.

Jon sat, momentarily stunned at what had just happened until his sense of moral duty kicked in and he got out of the car into the biting cold. He hurried round to the front of the car and stopped. His eyes widened as he looked at the body on the ground. He could tell it was a woman from the mass of bright, chestnut red hair. He stooped down until he was kneeling beside her, his blackberry already in his hand, 911 on the dial.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” he asked, gingerly reaching out to touch her.

She stirred as he touched her face. He was relieved to feel the warmth in her skin and to hear a slight moan from her. At least she was alive. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her eyes a mirror colour of his own, same sense of pain in them too.

‘Thank fuck’ he thought as he brought his phone up to press the call dial and then watched in dismay as the low battery sign flashed once and then the phone turned it self off.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck!” he growled, jamming the phone back into his jacket pocket
He stood up and looked around. They were in a small off road, somewhere near 54th street and as luck would have it there was not a soul in sight. Jon looked back at the woman, who was now groaning in pain, and wondered what would happen if he just drove off. He shook his head as he knew he’d not be able to live with himself if he did that.

He turned back to the woman and knelt back down by her side.

“Ma’am? I need to move you into my car, to get you to a hospital as my phone’s died and I can’t call an ambulance. Can you move at all?” he asked as he braced himself for the task of picking up, what could turn out to be a fatally injured person. He walked round to the passenger door and opened it.

To his immense relief she nodded and flexed her hands and feet. Jon reached under her and began to pick her up. She groaned as he righted himself, with her in his arms but kept eye contact with him. He reached the passenger side door began to gently manoeuvre her into the seat. Once he was sure she was in, he gently leant over to buckle her in. He could smell apples and after a few seconds realised it was coming from her hair. He smiled, as a picture of his daughter flashed through his head. She’d used an apple shampoo when she’d been younger. The smile went awry and he stood back abruptly, shut the passenger door and walked around to the driver’s side. He noticed a dent in the passengers side wing and grimaced, recalling the dull thud of her body hitting the car and the sickening crunch as she’d hit the road.

Thankfully his sat nav was plugged in and he took a few seconds to ask for the nearest hospital. He smiled wryly as he was directed to the nearest ER which by his calculation for about four blocks of where they currently were. St. Luke's Roosevelt Emergency Room 58th St and Ninth Ave. Being careful not to jolt her, he gunned the car into action and headed off towards the hospital.

Jon looked over at the woman and noticed she’d closed her eyes. ‘Shit, that’s not good.’ he thought.

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? Open your eyes ma’am. Please look at me. Please… don‘t you die on me ya hear? Come on play nice and look at me? Jeez, I don‘t usually have this much trouble getting a woman to look at me.” he intoned, his voice betraying the rising sense of panic he was feeling as he drove through the streets. He looked at her again. She still had her eyes closed. They hit a wall of traffic and Jon’s temper snapped.

“For fuck’s sake lady, open your god dammed eyes!” he shouted and was jolted as she did.

Again, ice blue met ice blue. For Jon it was slightly disconcerting being on the receiving end of glare that could be his. To his utter relief the traffic moved and St Luke’s came into view.

He raced into the ER, carrying the hurt woman.

Jon raced through the packed reception and kept going until he saw a doctor. The concept of waiting in line and giving details just didn’t enter his head. He had minions that did that for him, plus he was known to be forceful on the odd occasion. It was this and the fact that the ER Doctor Jon found was a Bon Jovi fan from way back, which is why Jon and the injured woman were rushed through with nary a thought of asking him to fill in any insurance details.