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Chapter Thirteen
John
* * *
“Someone talked.” Scottie sounds grim but resigned.
Holding onto my phone, I sink into the couch and run a hand over my face. It’s been two days since I’ve seen Stella. I didn’t have an excuse to hang around when she was clearly on the mend. Plus, I wasn’t entirely certain she’d want me there when she was healthy. A sick Stella was needy. Healthy Stella will be back to being independent and not liking me very much.
That’s all bullshit. Truth is, I didn’t want to stick around to see when she finally got well enough to ask questions—such as why I was freaking out over STDs. Why I’d insisted Stern ask Stella if she’d be willing to be tested, even though I’d been told the chances were nil.
Hell, she’ll have gotten her results back by now. Dr. Stern thought Stella had strep and had started her on antibiotics. Logically, I understand that Dr. Stern had been telling me the truth, that a kiss wouldn’t have infected Stella. But I can’t relax until I know for sure.
Even if Stella hasn’t heard back from Stern, she’ll know all about it now. It’s a shitshow all over the news. Just as I’d predicted. Jax Blackwood, fuckup royale. Can’t keep his shit together. Man-slut who screwed his way into STD Land. Innocent girls tainted.
I snort. Clearly the press had never actually met the women I’ve hooked up with. Not a single one was innocent or coerced. But that doesn’t exactly make for good press.
God, how will Stella look at me? My guts turn to ice.
“Jax? You there, mate?”
I stir out of my haze and switch to speakerphone. “Yeah. Someone talked. We knew it would happen eventually.”
My mind drifts back to Stella. Should I text? Crawl over the wall and go see her?
Scottie clears his throat. “You have any idea who it could be?”
“Does it matter? It’s out now. Nothing will change that.”
“Damn it, Jax, are you even paying attention? You never take anything seriously—”
“Bullshit,” I snap, having enough. “I make jokes or downplay a situation because that’s how I deal. And, yeah, I’m forgetful to the point of irritation. It irritates me too that I can’t keep my mind focused. I’m supposed to write lists to keep track of my shit, but that means fuck all when I can’t remember to make a list in the first place. But all of that doesn’t mean I don’t care, Scottie. It just means I don’t do a good job of showing it.”
He’s silent, and I know he’s trying to figure out how best to manage me. Ah, Scottie. He is nothing if not predictable.
“You’re right,” he says finally. “I apologize.”
Well, he finally got me. I didn’t see that coming. I should feel vindicated, but I’m uncomfortable instead. “Forget it, man.”
“I was being a wanker, Jax. We both know it.”
I fight a smile. “Fine. You’re a wanker. I’m glad we can finally acknowledge the gorilla in the room.”
He grumbles, then clears his throat. “How’s Ms. Grey? I heard she was ill.”
Of course he’s heard and is putting things together. Wrong again, though.
“It wasn’t Stella.”
“How do you know?” He sounds more curious than accusatory.
“Because I know her.” I glance toward the terrace. Sunlight shines bright against the glass and hurts my eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Stella doesn’t talk. She gets even.”
Scottie’s laugh is short. “You sound bizarrely thrilled over the prospect.”
He has no idea.
“I haven’t gone out yet,” I tell him. “But I don’t think anyone knows where I am at the moment.” I’ve never brought anyone outside my circle to this condo. And I could be in any city in the world.
“Regardless, I have Bruce camped outside your place.”
We have a couple of bodyguards on staff who work our public events. But we rarely use them during our day-to-day life. Who wants to live like that? Besides, I can defend myself just fine. Something I remind Scottie of now.
“Of course you can.” He doesn’t sound as sincere as he should, the asshole. “However, someone needs to keep an eye out in case there’s a mob situation. Bruce was available. Don’t worry, he’ll blend.”
I snort. “Scottie, he’s a bodyguard named Bruce Lee who looks a lot like the master Bruce Lee. He attracts attention just by being him.”
“To be fair, it isn’t his name that garners attention from strangers,” Scottie deadpans. “It isn’t as though he wears a shirt that says, ‘Hello, my name is Bruce Lee.’”
I laugh. “I should have one made for him.”
“I’m sure he’d love that,” Scottie drawls.
“Putting it on my to-do list.” My grin fades. “Seriously, I don’t like the idea of him sitting outside, twiddling his thumbs. It’s unnecessary and ridiculous.”
Actually, Bruce is one of my favorites. He’s funny as hell and is the one who taught me mixed martial arts. Killian and I took classes from him for years before Scottie hired him as a part-time guard.
