A/N: Apparently I cannot keep up with the hassel of writing stories.

But no fear, it's a new beginning. Anyways, this story is for all you Jonas Brothers fan. I've converted from Zefron lover to Jonas lover. Ah, the love for Jonas.

This is FICTIONAL, if not otherwise stated. Which will be never. :D

Well, I hope this story is new, and it hasn't been done before.

I don't own anything. Well, I'm going to own the Jonas Brothers... someday. :)

So, I picked Dallas because Nick Jonas was born there. It'll make the story more interesting. You know the whole sha'bang... Hotshots from NYC or LA to a smaller and more rural town, etc. etc.

WARNING: If you are sensitive to some kinds of reading materials such as; pre-marital sex, alcohol binges, slight mentions of prejudice, mentions of Catholicsm, etcs. then I do not suggest to carry on reading this.

It's going to start as Elizabeth's POV, but after this it'll be Brielle's.

Without further ado, here's Love Me Reckless:

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Here's a little casting list that may help/will help you envisions the scenes a little better. I don't own them either, by the way.

Richard Patrick (Dad): Gerard Butler

Elizabeth Patrick-McMurray (Mom): Leslie Mann

Abby Patrick (Sister): Scarlett Johansson (picture her a little younger)

Aiden Patrick (brother) : Chace Crawford

Steven McMurray (Stepdad): Clive Owen

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I was fifteen. Young and naive. Classic motto for a normal, infatuated girl like me; Liz. Most people would say that sixteen was too young to get married. But did you really think I give a damn in the first place? I was in love, an obviously danger state to be in in such a state of vulnerability. But Richard... Richard was different. He was, right? I did not doubt it one bit. It was 1986 when I met Richard. He was a freshman at New York University, while I, Liz, was also freshman at NYU. I know what you're thinking, a FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD in college? How is that fucking possible? My mother has connections. Her whorish allure and huge boobs could lure any man into enrolling her daughter in the most prestigious school in Manhatten (well, at least I think it's the most), including the the whole college admissions staff at NYU.

Anyways, here I am, walking down the gum-infested walkways of New York City, when I saw him. Did I ever see eyes more beautiful? It was like I was pulling a Juliet out of my ass. I didn't see the people swarming around me, the constant shoves and "excuse me's" faded away as I deeply longed for him. I didn't know his name at the time, but as sure as hell I was going to get it. So this is where it comes down to it. I straightened out my floral-button up along with my shorts. There was no time to waste, he was just about to head into the... Damnit, I missed him. Spasms of disappointment tore at me like a lion biting at the remains of a carcass. The shitty bus that held the beautiful man tore down 25th, leaving disguisting poofs of exhaust dwindling in front of me.

So fast forward a couple months. I finally knew his name, ha-ha-ha. It was Richard Patrick. Such an ordinary name for such a gorgeous man, or boy. We met again, this time I was ready. Completely, no holding back. Who knew a trip to the public library could end so wonderfully? So we communicated for what seemed like decades, but it was really only a couple of years. God wanted us to be together, I knew it. We've known each other for roughly two years now, we were together, if you will. I was sixteen when he proposed, he was nineteen. How could I saw no to such an irresistable smile that I knew so, so well? It was obvious I said yes.

As I said before, I was young and stupid. How the hell was I supposed to get married when I was sixteen and in school? 'Marriage doesn't have an age limit, Eliz,' was what Richard said to me. Doesn't this totally sound like Romeo and Juliet? Let me tell you, it felt like it. I didn't have the guts to tell my parents, so... I hid it from them. After that conversation, we wed one month later on February 3, 1988. The ceremony was quiet, only the priest and a twelve of our closest classmates were present. It was prefered this way. The small reception in the Parish Hall was sensible and sweet. Richard and I danced, guests gave us their congrats and left to go study for some exams they had the next morning. Two bottles of champagne later, and there we were, in bed, not knowing what we just did would change the rest of our lives forever.

I didn't know I was pregnant at the time. The morning sickness was a huge red flag, but I ignored it. It wasn't until Richard made me go to the doctor to find out that I had tested positive for the pregnancy test. Well, we can fast forward through the breakdown, the parents finding out (and disowning me, for that matter), and get to the beautiful and most emotional part of the first journey, one of three. October 24, 1988 was the date our first child was born; Abigail Jay Patrick. Richard says she looks like me, but it's vice versa for me.

Now that the baby was here, I was in mother mode. I quit NYU a few months before Abby was born, and to this day, I regret it. Richard continued his education until he was twenty-two, when we once again hopped on the planned-family wagon. He majors in chemical engineering and minors in physics. How he ended up being the vice-president of a financial firm in the middle of Manhattan, today in 2007 is beyond me. One of the many important details he didn't fill me in on. Anyways, it was April 3, 1990 when we had our middle-child, Aiden James. Two kids, one undergraduate, and one over-achiever living in one household was challenging, but I loved it. I loved every moment with the kids, especially those special moments with Rich. We were at it again after Aiden was born and on February 28, 1991, out last child, Brielle Josephine was born. Her face was if it was carved by the most detailed carpenter. A face so pure, green eyes sparkling, blonde tufts of hair that would eventually darken to a honey brown color framed her face.

Brielle. Aiden. Abby. My children. And they were being taken away from me. I felt bad for doing this, but it was for the good of the family. I couldn't provide for the family, I was a twenty-five year old woman with not even half of my college education finished with. With Richard gone all the time, doing God knows what, I didn't have half of the money Richard earns in an hour to go grocery shopping with, and all the activities you need to do to survive. Everything went downhill from there. Our once "love" was never rekindled, fighting and object-throwing took over that. But the love fore my kids only grew stronger. We planned a divorce. It was all worked out. Who would provide for the children? The court gave Richard the custody of the kids, I was left alone. Unemployed. No husband.

I guess you're wondering what happened after that. Richard stayed in New York with the kids and purchased a lovely penthouse right next to his office in Manhatten where he hired a nanny to take care of the children. I, was devestated after hearing this new. I couldn't do anything about it, even if I wanted to. I moved to Dallas, Texas, my hometime to pursue my college education. I was the oldest one in the class, but it doesn't matter anymore. For a few years, my life was a living hell. I think I went through more than any other person I knew. It was 1992 when I first met Denise. I had given up the whole idea of being a compulsive journalist and instead of going to UT, I went to Texas Women's University to become a nurse.

I was working at my part-time job a local hospital when I saw the Denise Jonas for the first time. She was pregnant with her third child, I learned. Every two weeks should could come to get her normal check-up, and by the fifth visit, we were already friends. She was so easy to talk to, so amicable and eager to talk. She was like the big sister I never had. You see, I was an only child. I've seen two children Kevin and Joseph many times. They were so close to my kid's age, it made me internally tear up whenever I thought about them. I told Denise about them, and like every other woman who I told my sad tale to, she gave me a hug and gave me this all-around comfort. She was going to name her 3rd child Nicholas. I also suggested that name, if you must know.

We kept a rock-solid relationship for sixteen years. Wait, we're still in a solid relationship. Anyways, by then, I was starting to get gradually forget that I ever had a family, a husband, a life back in New York. The Jonases were my family now. I was certainly being treated like a part of it, I think. Kevin, Joe, Nick, and even little Frankie were like my own sons. Little did I know that that statement would ever be so true.

We're back in the present now. July of 2007 in Dallas, Texas. I shut my notebook closed, wanting to glue it's pages shut so that it could never be read. I was sitting on the marble kitchen island of Steven and I's new house. Who is Steven, you may ask? My husband. I know, right, my husband? We've been married for a glorious two years. Denise actually introduced us back in 2003.

As I'm sitting there, munching on some delicious strawberries, the phone rang. I didn't think too much of it until I heard the scratchy sound of a Scottish accent on the other line. I almost dropped the phone right then and there, but I did hear the sounds of people screaming and the sounds of, was that fire in the backround? What the hell? I kept the phone glue to my ear.

"Elizabeth?" The voice asked warily, as if I might hang up the second he spoke my name. "Yes. May I ask who's calling?" I asked, hoping Richard wasn't calling me for money support. No way in hell was I going to give the money I worked my ass off for. "Richard. Listen to me, don't hang up, don't speak, just listen." I was already scared at the vehement voice he was projecting into the phone. "Our apartment just burnt down. Some fucking bastard left the stove on all day, so here were are, standing in the middle of the street," Richard spoke, breathing heavily on the phone. It was as if he were near tears. That's not Richard. He never cried. "Not only that, but now I'm fucking unemployed. Another damn company bought mine." Alright, he sure was crying now. I felt my heart squeeze just at the thought. "I-I bought three tickets down there to Dallas," Richard studdered. He knows where I live? Did I tell him this? "Don't worry about Abby. She's in Boston with her band." In a band? What kind of life was he teaching our kids to live? I mean his kids.

I breathed a sigh. I know where this was going at. He was expecting me to open the door of my house and invite them all in. Not only that, he probably wanted me to wash his clothes, buy the kids clothes and whatnot. I don't even know these kids anymore, so what's the point?

"I guess so, Richard," I finalized. I hung up instantly; I was pissed. Suddenly coming down to see me? No, this was his last resort. Jesus Christ, what I do/did for this man. I wasn't looking forward to this at all. I called Paul right away, he knew how to handle these kinds of things.

"Paul? It's Liz," I spoke meekly into the phone. Also like my sibling, Paul knew me so well as to reply with, "Alright, come on over. I'll start the stove for the spaghetti." He knew me so well.

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"...So he calls me saying he wants to use me as a hotel service?!" I slammed my fork down. I was acting so childish, it was ridiculous. "So now my house is going to be filled with three people I barely even know that I'm supposed to call 'family'?"

Denise nodded along with me, agreeing. "I don't understand how he could just expect that out of you. I mean, he doesn't deserve your help," she spoke calmly, her gentle eyes glazing over with wonder. "But it could be nice, you know? After all these years?" Fuck all those years. I barely even know the kids. "I barely even know the kids. All I get is a yearly Christmas card with a picture of them sitting in front of an ugly Christmas tree," I argued.

"Brielle seems like a lovely girl," Paul nodded while he took a bite of his meatball.

"Which one is she?" seventeen-year-old, Joe, asked.

"Youngest. She's sixteen," I answered.

"Is she hot?" Nick asked, stuffing his face full of angel-hair pasta.

"Nicholas," Denise reprimanded, giving glares to both Kevin and Joe who where both eyeing me expectantly, wide smiles spread across their faces. "I have a picture," I spoke suddenly, rummaging through my purse which sat to my right on the floor. I picked up the photo and tossed it onto the table, nearly missing the salad bowl.

Joe picked it up. "She's hot..." With that, Kevin and Nick surrounded the flimsy photo. "Wow, that's the prettiest girl I've ever seen!" Frankie squealed, as he squeezed onto Joe's lap. I responded with a laugh. "She looks a lot like you," Kevin commented, sfcrutinizing the picture and I.

"She's.. average. I don't know. You'll find out when she gets here." That's all I said. And it couldn't be more honest. Brielle is such a pretty name, but when it gets down to it, I just don't get it. Richard calls her "lovely" and "gorgeous" all the time. Maybe it's because I don't have kids anymore, I don't see the beauty in anyone except the people who actually care. I doubt these kids even know what I look like, not really anything about their mom.

Brielle was seemingly average height, 5'3-5'5 was my guess. She had the the longest strands of honey golden-brown hair, reaching down beneath her chest. Naturally beach wavy hair, like mine, I suppose. Aiden, Abby and Brielle's eyes struck out to me the most. So clear and pure, just the way I remember them.

I heard my phone ring. "Hello?" I answered immediately irritated. "We're here."

Oh God, my family is here. In Dallas. Houston, we have a problem.

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REVIEW?! I know it's all over the place now, but it will get better as the story develops. I didn't proof this. .