by Witt, L. A.
But admittedly, Fiona had me second-guessing myself. Again.
“Yeah, Jesse’s more femme than the guys I used to date,” I conceded, but then I shook my head. “That doesn’t mean he’s replacing Sean.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Her brow pinched. “But between that and his personality, it’s hard not to wonder.”
“How about taking my word for it?” I kept my irritation under the surface, but barely. Defensiveness wouldn’t help my case. “Losing Sean didn’t mean I lost my ability to think for myself.”
“I know. I know. And . . .” She released a heavy sigh. “I’m just worried about you, okay? I want you to be careful. With yourself, and with him. You’ve coped with Sean’s . . . with Sean being gone better than most people would have, but grief is still a thing, you know? And I don’t want to see you getting hurt—or unintentionally hurting Jesse—because you’re not as ready as you think you are to move on.”
“So when do I get to say I’m ready?” It was a losing battle to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “I’m happy when I’m with Jesse. Do you really want me to cut him loose and stay miserable for another year or two until—”
“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all.” She shook her head. “But he hasn’t even been gone a year, Garrett.”
“That year has been a lot longer than you think.”
She flinched. “What does Scott have to say about Jesse?”
It took all I had not to roll my eyes. I adored my sister, and I understood she was just genuinely concerned, but the insistence on questioning my judgment—and wanting the input of my therapist best friend—was grating. “Are you suggesting I need a shrink’s opinion before—”
“I meant from the perspective of someone who’s been there.”
“Okay. Fair.” I tapped my nail on the edge of the table. “Either way, he’s actually encouraged me to see where things go with Jesse. He’s been there, done that, and thinks it’s good that I’m trying to be happy.”
“I want you to be happy too. I really do. And I know Sean wanted you to be happy.” She studied me like she was debating how much she wanted to argue. Finally, she deflated and sat back. “Just . . . be careful, all right?”
I nodded. “Of course I will.” I sounded sure, even to myself.
But deep down, her doubts were starting to gnaw at me.
Am I ready for this?
* * *
As I’d promised to do, I spent the morning driving Fiona around town. Since she was a huge fan of the books and the show, I took her on one of the tram tours of the Wolf’s Landing production lot. Then we grabbed a late lunch, and afterward, we said goodbye and Fiona headed back to Seattle.
I tried not to think about our conversation too much. Or about those niggling doubts I’d been shooting down on a daily basis since before Jesse and I had left for Portland. Everything was going great with him. There was no reason to overanalyze it and see how it stacked up against some arbitrary time frame or how many perfectly common personality traits he and Sean had in common. So it hadn’t quite been a year since I’d lost Sean? That didn’t mean this thing with Jesse was too fast or too soon. So Jesse and Sean were similar in some ways? Jesse wasn’t Sean.
Get it through your head, Garrett. Jesus.
I refused to let my conversation with Fiona put a dark cloud over my relationship, but I was suddenly itching to see Jesse. I always wanted to see him, but part of me was extra eager just to look at him and remind myself that yes, this thing we were doing was real. It had nothing to do with Sean and everything to do with Jesse being, well, Jesse.
Since I didn’t need to be at the bar for a few hours, I wandered toward the comic book shop to visit him. And maybe to see how he was feeling after the way he’d sounded when he’d joined me and Fiona for dinner. I knew damn well it was nothing to actually worry about. A cold wasn’t a death sentence for someone with HIV anymore.
But still. There was a part of my brain that could hear Sean insisting he was fine when he’d started losing weight for no apparent reason. He’d still been convinced it was nothing serious even while we’d sat in the waiting room minutes before his doctor had told us it was the opposite of nothing serious.
The voices from my youth were there too. You didn’t grow up gay when I did without developing a deep-seated fear of AIDS, and that fear didn’t magically vanish with the medical advances that had largely defanged the disease’s effects. The fact that a person could live a long, normal life with HIV didn’t erase the people I’d known who’d been diagnosed before treatments could spare them their slow, hellish deaths.
Those voices were there, but I was overreacting. I knew the facts. Ever since Jesse had told me he was positive, I’d been reading about HIV and the latest treatments. I wanted to understand it as much as I could, and I needed to convince myself that it wasn’t the time bomb it had been thirty years ago. Nearly everything I’d read had told me the same thing—especially in someone like Jesse with an undetectable virus, a cold or something equally benign was cause for no more concern than it would be in me. Rest, fluids, and more rest, and he’d bounce back like anyone else.
Things were different these days, I reminded myself as the comic book shop came into view. Hell, now that we’d both been tested for everything else, we could have sex bareback if we wanted to, especially now that I was taking Truvada. That had been unthinkable in my younger days.
So why the fuck couldn’t I stop worrying myself senseless after Jesse had coughed a few times yesterday?
Because I was an idiot who was ignoring everything I’d read. And now I was obsessing since it gave me something to worry about besides what my sister had said. All I needed was to drop in, visit him, see that he was just fine, and I could relax.
I pushed open the door to the shop. There were some teenagers perusing comic books on a shelf off to one side. The UPS driver was entering some information into his tablet while Simon nudged a stack of newly arrived—and slightly dented—boxes behind the counter with his foot.
After the UPS driver had left, Simon turned to me. I was about to ask if he could grab Jesse for me, but paused. Simon didn’t look so hot. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his complexion was a few alarming shades whiter than usual. The skin around his nose was chapped and raw like he’d been using sandpaper for Kleenex.
“Hey, Garrett,” he rasped. “How’s it going?”
“Probably better than it is for you.”
He laughed, which made him cough. “Con crud. Kind of hard to avoid.”
I grimaced sympathetically. “Sorry to hear it.”
“Eh, occupational hazard.” He shrugged as he sniffled. “At least I didn’t get it as bad as Jesse.”
My heart stopped. “Come again?”
“Yeah, he got it bad.” Simon shook his head. “Dumb shit came into work this morning, and I sent him right back out the door. Kid’s way too sick to be anywhere but in bed.”
My already-stopped heart fell into my feet. “How bad is he?”
“He could barely breathe, and I’m pretty sure he had a fever.” Simon paused to cough a few times. “I think he might have the flu, to tell you the truth.”
Ice water ran through my veins. “I’m, uh, going to go check on him.”
Simon nodded. “Tell him I’m not kidding—I see his face here tomorrow, I’ll let Lydia drag him home by his ear.”
Any other time I might have laughed, but right then my brain was too full of worst-case scenarios. How sick was Jesse?
His apartment wasn’t far, but it took forever to get there. Seemed like it, anyway. Finally, I was at his door, and I paused to collect myself—well, try to—before I knocked.
There was no answer at first. I considered calling him, but as I was taking my phone out of my pocket, some shuffling on the other side gave me pause. I pocketed my phone again and tried to school the worry out of my expression.
Jesse opened the door, and yeah, he looked like shit. His skin was flushed ins
tead of pale. Exhaustion radiated off him, and if I wasn’t mistaken, so did a fever.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just—” He turned away and coughed into his arm. A deep, hacking cough that brought to mind bronchitis or even pneumonia. When he faced me again, he looked like the effort of coughing had taken most of the energy he had left. Pressing his shoulder against the doorframe, he said, “Meant to text you, but I fell asleep.”
“That’s okay. Do you need me to take you to the doctor or—”
“Relax,” he croaked, making a dismissive gesture even though it seemed like his hand weighed fifty pounds. “It’s just the flu.” He coughed a couple of times, then managed an even more pitiful, “I sound worse than I am.”
I scowled.
He glared weakly at me. “I’m fine, Garrett.”
I started to speak, meaning to ask if he was sure, but the look he shot me cut me off, so I changed tactics. “You mind if I stay with you? Just in case you need anything?”
He studied me, but then he gave a heavy shrug and stood aside to let me in.
He’d apparently holed up on the sofa. There was a thick quilt strewn over one end, and a couple of pillows stacked on the armrest. Some movie I didn’t recognize was paused, and the coffee table was covered with DayQuil, NyQuil, a box of tissues, and a six-pack of Sprite that was missing two cans. An empty bowl with a spoon and a wadded napkin assured me he’d at least tried to eat something. Chicken soup, if I had to guess.
Jesse shuffled into the living room and dropped onto the couch. He moved the blankets a bit so I could sit down too, and he smiled weakly. “I won’t say no to you staying, but fair warning—I probably won’t be the best company.”
I leaned down to press a kiss to his hot forehead. “It’s okay.” It definitely was. Seeing him sick like this set off too many alarm bells in my head. Even though my boss might not like it, I suspected I’d be calling in sick for my shift. I just didn’t want Jesse out of my sight until he was well.
Or at least until he was cooler than the surface of the sun.
Chapter 25
Jesse
I felt like a bastard for it, but Garrett was driving me up a wall.
Two days into my wallowing, he had become a constant presence at my apartment unless he had to go to work. I mostly slept, and he slept on my couch because I was too hot to be within arm’s length. The second I moved or made a sound, though, he was right there, offering water, meds, and rides to the doctor’s office.
I probably should have found it endearing. There was something to be said for being waited on hand and foot, and for someone rushing around to take care of your every whim. It was one of the only perks of being sick.
And usually, I was grateful for that shit, but usually it didn’t have this vibe to it. This . . . grimness. Though he didn’t say a word, I could see it in the crease of his forehead and the way he’d hold his breath whenever I had a really bad coughing fit. As if I didn’t already get that fleeting oh shit what if it’s not just the flu this time? panic whenever I was sick even if I knew damn well my last CD4 count had been awesome and it absolutely was just the flu. Like I wasn’t already freaking out because my viral load would probably jump, which was always unnerving even if it was just a blip. Being sick sucked enough without the constant feeling that the guy taking care of you thought you were going to keel over.
It’s just the flu, dude. Back off.
Except even through the haze of an on-off fever, I knew that while it was the flu making me short-tempered, it wasn’t the flu turning him into Super Nurse. I didn’t have to ask and he didn’t have to say, and I just did not have the patience for it. The flu was making me miserable enough. My whole body hurt. Some of that was left over from the con—moving heavy boxes, being on my feet for that long, and having wild sex at night had taken its toll—but the stupid microbe had added some serious aches to the mix. I couldn’t breathe. Food sounded about as appealing as running a marathon in ill-fitting high heels.
So basically everything annoyed me. Including Garrett. Maybe when I was back to my normal healthy self, I’d feel like the world’s biggest asshole for being annoyed with him, but I wasn’t normal and healthy yet. I was bitchy and miserable, and having him flitting around, making sure I had tissues and water and more meds had me near the end of my chain. I almost snapped at him a couple of times, and when I felt myself getting close to doing it again, I finally said, as calmly as I could, “Garrett.”
He stopped halfway to the kitchen and looked at me.
I pointed to the empty cushion beside me. “Sit.”
He hesitated, but then joined me on the couch.
“Listen, I appreciate you helping me out,” I said as evenly as I could. “But I need you to back off just a little. All this fussing over me and worrying like this makes me feel like I’m a lot sicker than I am.” I dabbed at my nose for the thousandth time. “It’s not the plague. It’s just the flu.”
He chewed his lip, and I could hear the argument coming from a mile away. I arched an eyebrow, and I suspected he could hear my counter argument coming too.
He sighed. “Okay. Just promise me you’ll let me take you to the doctor if it gets worse, or if it doesn’t get better in a couple of days.”
“I promise. And don’t worry—I keep tabs on my health. I’m not one of those stubborn idiots who won’t see a doctor until they’re too sick to move. I go to the doctor when I need to, okay? I’ve got an appointment tomorrow for a blood draw so they can check my viral load, and if it weren’t for that, they wouldn’t want me to come in at all. Can’t take antibiotics because it’s a virus, so . . .” I shrugged. “I’m doing exactly what they told me to do—taking it easy, sleeping, and drinking a ton of fluids. I’ll be fine.”
Garrett lowered his gaze, and he slowly released a breath. As he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, I realized he looked as tired as I felt. “I’m sorry. I . . . I know you can take care of yourself.” He reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. And I kind of feel like an ass telling you to stop being nice to me.” I laced our fingers together.
“No. You just don’t want to be smothered. I get it.”
I relaxed a bit. “Exactly.”
He chewed his lip. Awkward silence lingered for a while, and I had no idea how to fill it. Then Garrett sighed.
“It’s kind of fucked up, you know?” he said. “You spend your whole life around people who get colds and the flu, and it’s not a big deal. Everyone knows how to take care of themselves. Then you take care of someone who can die of an infection at the drop of a hat, so you have to treat every cough and sniffle like a life-threatening emergency.” He swallowed before he looked in my eyes. “You’d be amazed how hard it is to break that habit.”
My heart dropped. Oh, goddamn it. I’d been grinding my teeth, convinced he was just freaking out because he’d been so worried about me getting the flu on top of having HIV. I hadn’t even thought about the other reason he’d worry himself sick. And, fuck. Did that mean I’d called Garrett’s late husband a stubborn idiot when I’d mentioned that I was smart enough to go to the doctor?
I rubbed my thumb along the back of his. “I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry. I kind of feel like a dick now. I didn’t even think about what you went through with him.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
Closing my eyes, I sighed and let my aching body melt against him. “Thank you, by the way.” I draped my arm over his stomach. “I do appreciate you trying to take care of me.”
“Don’t mention it.” Garrett kissed the top of my head. “We’ll figure all this out. How much is too much. Boundaries. All of that.”
“Yeah. I know. Learning curve, right?”
“Exactly.” His hand ran up and down my arm, and something settled in me. I’d half expected a fight, and God knew I’d co
me at him hard enough that he’d have been justified in snapping right back.
But he hadn’t.
It was weird. I’d had fights with boyfriends before. When a fight got heated, odds were usually even that one of us would walk out and that would be the end of it. Not just the fight, but us.
Tonight could have easily erupted into a fight. I was sick and short-tempered. He was probably stinging from the raw nerve I’d stomped on. All the pieces had been there for this to blow up and get ugly.
But it hadn’t. Not even after I’d served those pieces up and tossed them in his face. He’d listened to me, and he’d explained himself, and we’d landed here—snuggled together on the couch, his arm around my shoulders and his fingers absently playing with my T-shirt sleeve. I wasn’t sure how to deal with someone who cared enough to not just throw up his hands and call time on things once they got heated. Someone who didn’t decide my hot temper and impulsive mouth weren’t too much to deal with.
The one thing I knew for sure was that I was relieved as hell that things had stayed calm. That he’d stayed here. Twenty minutes ago, I probably would have been momentarily thrilled to have him leave just because I’d felt smothered, but God, now I felt so stupid for even thinking that.
It was this weird feeling of simultaneously not wanting to fight with Garrett and somehow being sure I could fight with him and come out on the other side without one of us leaving. Like this thing we had wouldn’t vanish the instant one of us raised our voices.
I don’t want to fight with you.
I don’t want you to leave.
I don’t know what I feel because I’ve never felt this before, but . . .
I cuddled a bit closer to him and tucked my head under his chin.
Please, please don’t let it stop anytime soon.
Chapter 26
Garrett
Jesse and I were both true to our word. While I did my best to keep my worries—rational and otherwise—out of sight, he took care of himself. He mostly slept for the first couple of days after our conversation, and when I came over after work on the third night, he was up and eating the soup I’d left in the fridge before my shift. He was still scratchy and congested, but he didn’t seem to be aching as much, and the heat radiating off him was normal instead of alarming. The next day, he went back to work, and aside from a stubborn cough that hung around for another week, he was mostly back to normal.
