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Stern’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t have unprotected sex with this woman while you were undergoing treatment, did you?”
“What? No! Fuck no. But we kissed once. Remember the grocery store incident I asked you about? The kissing bandit? That’s Stella.”
Stern shakes her head, and her voice softens. “Then you’ll remember that I said you can’t contract chlamydia through a kiss. Jax, the antibiotics did their job. We tested you. You’re clean. So unless you two have had some oral form of sexual contact …”
“No. Just that kiss.” I run a cold hand over my face. “I’m worried … Her throat is sore.”
Dr. Stern touches my arm. “Which could be caused by a number of things. I will test her if that’s what she wants.” Her expression turns serious. “But I’m going to need your friend’s permission to examine her, Jax. Though, between you and me, if you’re in a relationship with this woman, I would tell her about what happened.”
A weight settles in my chest and guts. “I should have told her from the beginning. I just …” I shrug, my shoulders tight. It feels like ants are crawling over my skin. “Look, can you suggest she get tested?”
Dr. Stern gives my arm a friendly squeeze. “Let me see her. High fever, rash, and a sore throat could indicate strep.”
I expel a sigh and take her upstairs and promptly forget about my own worries when I see Stella curled up on the bed looking weak and pitiful and in pain. Hurrying over, I scoop her up and settle her on my lap, cuddling her close. “Stella Button, the doctor is here. She’s going to help you.”
Stella rests her cheek on my chest. “Okay.”
She trembles, and I kiss her temple before looking at Stern. “Fix her, Doc. Fix her fast.”
Stern’s smile is clearly bemused. “She isn’t broken, Jax. Just sick.”
That might be true. But while Stella is hurting, nothing feels right.
Stella
* * *
There is being sick and there is being in hell. I am in the latter. Jesus wept, I want to beg for drugs. Just knock me out and wake me when I’m better.
My mind drifts, an ebb and flow of pain and heat and strange noises. I know John is with me. I feel the hard strength of his body next to the mushy, hot mass of mine. I hear his voice, his gorgeous smooth-as-amber honey voice telling me to drink, asking me to lift my arms as he slips a clean, cool shirt over my battered body, telling me that I will be better soon.
Ha. Lies. The pain in my throat is broken glass and slow-moving lava.
Still I cling to him. He is all that is safe and comforting in my aching world.
Then the doctor arrives. I didn’t know doctors even made house calls anymore. She tells me she’s the band’s personal physician. Part of me wants to laugh—of course Jax Blackwood would have a doctor at his beck and call. But I hurt too much and am too weak to do anything more than answer her questions with soft croaks that barely sound like real words.
She’s telling me something important as she examines me. I just don’t care. As long as she makes this pain and hot hell go, I’ll do anything she wants. She swabs my throat and then she’s gone. John is back, forcing fluids down my hellfire throat.
It’s a haze after that. I know he’s here. He lies down next to me, his hands drifting through my damp hair with soothing strokes. It feels too good, and I move closer. He is cool compared to my flame. His arm curls around me, drawing me against his chest. My head finds the crook where his shoulder meets his arm. A perfect resting spot, and I relax with a sigh.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Time passes, I know. He gives me the antibiotics the doctor prescribed, helps me to the bathroom when I have to go. Helps me back to bed when I’m done. We always settle in the same position. His fingers in my hair, my hand burrowing under his shirt to find his smooth, cool skin.
Any sense of self-consciousness burns away with my fever. My world narrows down to pain and trying to escape it. John helps me escape. He takes care of me. My fever peaks in the middle of the night, and he’s there, wiping my arms with a cold cloth that burns along my skin.
“Easy,” he whispers in the dark. “We’ve got to cool you down, Button. Easy now.”
That voice, smooth and gentle, grounds me, makes me do what it wishes. I concentrate on that voice throughout the night and into the morning.
I don’t know why he doesn’t leave me, but am afraid to ask in case I give him ideas. Doesn’t matter; he stays. He stays, and he has no idea what that means to me. I haven’t been cared for like this since my mom died. Part of me wants him to go. I can’t become attached to him. Because no one stays forever and the leaving hurts too much.
