I can feel myself shaking as I hold Micah to my chest. He went pale so quickly and then dropped like a stone. I was at the bottom of the stairs when he fainted, and I just barely got to him in time to keep him from taking a nasty tumble down.

“Is he okay?” Rebel asks as I hoist Micah closer, trying to make sure my grip on him is secure.

I glance down at Micah in my arms, and my heart gives a small squeeze at the peaceful expression on his sleeping face. If I’d been paying better attention an hour ago when we got here, I might’ve noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping well, I already knew that. And I’ve suspected for a few weeks that he doesn’t eat the way he should. It’s been difficult enough on me juggling school and work, Brewer has a second job on top of that. It’s not surprising he’s run himself into the ground.

“He’ll be fine. He needs some rest and a good meal or two,” I assure Rebel for a second time. “I’m going to take him home.”

“He shouldn’t be alone,” Bear points out with concern.

“I meant I’ll take him to my home,” I correct. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

Rebel and Bear look a little taken aback as I balance Micah in one arm and use my free hand to brush the hair off his forehead. He murmurs in his sleep and nuzzles closer.

“If he needs anything, feel free to call me,” Rebel says after shaking off the surprise.

“Thanks. Actually, can someone dig his keys out of his pockets real quick? I can’t exactly take him on my bike like this.”

Campy’s closest, so he reaches for Micah’s jeans. He reaches in and digs around for a second.

“If you’re copping a feel right now, I’ll break your hand,” I growl a warning at Campy when he takes far too long with his hand in Micah’s pocket.

“Jeez, I almost thought this whole dating thing was fake, but damn, you’re territorial,” Campy gripes as he finally pulls the keys free.

I almost snap that it is fake, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand for someone feeling up my fake boyfriend, either. But I catch myself and settle for a grunt in response. Campy’s comment snaps me out of whatever weird moment I was having. This isn’t Micah, it’s Brewer, and I need to remember that.

“Catch you guys later.” I carry Brewer down the stairs and manage to get him into the passenger seat of his car, then I crank the AC so he can cool off a bit.

By the time I’m pulling up near my place, Brewer stirs.

“Where are we?” he asks, rubbing his eyes and looking around. “Oh, we’re at your place? You could take me home if you want.”

“Can’t, I left my bike back at Troy’s place so you’re stuck with me tonight until you’re up to driving me back to get it tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay.” He still sounds tired as he unbuckles and clumsily climbs out of the car.

I jump out and hurry around to make sure he doesn’t face plant on the sidewalk. When I reach him, I put my arm around his waist to steady him.

“I’m fine,” Brewer protests, trying to push me away.

“I just watched you nearly somersault down the stairs, humor me, please?” He relaxes into my touch and lets me guide him up the stairs to my place. Inside, I sit him on the couch and head for the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Have you eaten today?”

The long silence that meets my question confirms my suspicion. Rather than waiting for him to come up with a suitable lie, I start to assemble a plate of fruit and cheese to tide him over while I cook lunch.

“Thank you,” Brewer says quietly, accepting the plate and glass of water when I offer them. Shaggy crawls into Brewer’s lap, and he absentmindedly strokes his head.

“Don’t share any of that food with the mutt, you need to eat all of it.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I ignore the sarcasm and return to the kitchen.

“You have to take better care of yourself. What if I hadn’t been there to break your fall? You could’ve broken your neck falling down those stairs. You’re a doctor; I’m sure you can figure out how bad a broken neck is.”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“And you won’t be if you keep running yourself ragged like this,” I admonish.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were my mother,” he grumbles.

“Excuse the fuck out of me for caring,” I snap, turning on my heel and going back to the kitchen.

Brewer’s quiet for a few minutes while I put together a chicken and rice bake and slide it into the oven. When I look over again, he’s nibbling on a strawberry and regarding me with curiosity.

“What?” I ask.

“You care about me?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I bristle and turn my back to wash my hands in the kitchen sink. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“Oh.” The defeated sound settles in my chest and makes me feel like a complete prick.

I sigh and turn back to him. “Of course, I care. We’re friends.”

Brewer’s frown slowly morphs into a shy smile. “Yeah, we’re friends,” he agrees.

“Glad we got that cleared up. Pick something to watch and I’ll have a nice, healthy lunch ready for you in half an hour.”