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The corner of his mouth quirks weakly. “So.”
It shouldn’t be this hard. My breath hitches. “I received an interesting email from Dr. Stern.”
He blinks slowly. “I bet. And?”
“I had strep throat.”
John seems to sag into the couch pillows. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just watches me.
I move a little closer. “In all other regards, I’m perfectly healthy. No STDs.”
He flinches, his fists clenching and releasing. “Good.” He clears his throat. “That’s good.”
“Is that why you stayed with me? Called your personal physician? Because you thought you’d given me chlamydia?”
Irritation flares in his eyes but when he speaks, his words are measured. “I called Stern because you were sick as hell. I stayed with you because you needed someone to take care of you.”
“But you were worried, weren’t you?” I say in a low voice. “That you’d given me an STD.”
He looks away and his jaw bunches. “Apparently, you can’t get it from kissing.”
“But did you know that? Is that why you backed away that night? Because you thought you were contagious?”
“Christ, Stells …” His eyes go wide and a bit wild. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I’d never put your health in danger that way. Fuck.” With a sound of annoyance, he looks away.
I feel about two feet tall. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure this out.”
He nods but keeps his attention on the far wall.
God, I’ve messed this up. I’m a professional friend, for fuck’s sake, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with John. He never reacts how I’ll expect, and I’m totally out of my element here. I stand by the edge of the couch and wring my hands. “I don’t understand. You were worried about me because—”
“You kissed me,” he cuts in with a rasping voice. “The night we met. I was infected then and didn’t know it.”
His eyes lower and he studies his clenched fists.
“Oh,” I say.
A snort leaves him. “Yeah, oh.”
In the resounding silence I hear the blood rushing through my veins. I’ve hurt him.
He sighs and runs his hand over his messy hair. “As soon as I found out, I asked Dr. Stern about that kiss. If you were safe. She assured me it was okay. But I kind of freaked when you had a sore throat.”
I would have too. Logic doesn’t always listen when fear shouts in your head.
He stares up at me with solemn eyes. “I should have told you. But fuck if I could find a good way to say, oh, hey, I know you don’t think the best of me but let me add one more thing to the list.”
“I don’t think badly of you, John.” He has to know that.
His fists clench, then he flexes his fingers as if trying to shake something off. “I’m tainted, Stella.”
“You are not tainted,” I grind out. “A good round of antibiotics will clear you up and life goes on.”
He snorts, his brows winging up with a look of bemused irritation. “I took the meds. I am clean now. I have been for two weeks.”
“Then what you do mean—”
“Because that label will always hang over me,” he cuts. “Jax Blackwood, tainted. A pathetic joke. Fuckup—”
“Stop,” I snap. “Just stop that crap right now.”
He frowns at me. “What crap?”
“You think you’re tainted and pathetic because you contracted an STD? Do you know how many people contract diseases? How many people have died because of one? Are you really going to sit there and call them that?”
His expression turns mulish, and he glances away.
I push on. “I doubt many people go looking to get a disease. And even if they weren’t acting responsibly, should that matter? Don’t put that shame on them, on yourself. Don’t be one of those people who acts like their shit doesn’t stink, who think that by shaming others who have fucked up or face misfortune, it will protect them from unfortunate things befalling them as well. It’s false comfort at best, and there’s already too much judgment in the world as it is.”
John rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Can we skip the lecture? I’m simply telling you what the world already thinks of me.”
“I don’t give a shit what the world thinks of you, and neither should you.”
His brows snap together. “Just like that, huh?”
“Yes.”
Red flushes over his cheeks as he sits up and leans toward me. “Until that tidal wave of judgment washes your way, you haven’t got a clue. No, I don’t want to give a shit what people think, but I do. I feel it. Right here.” He stabs at his chest with his thumb. “I feel it every time I walk outside and someone recognizes me. They used to look at me with adoration. Now, it’s either pity or a smirk or both, and I fucking hate it. But most of all, I hate that I care.”
