“Tank.” I protest weakly. “I told you not to come close.”
“And I told you I was coming in,” he shoots back.
He settles me back on the couch, rearranging the blankets around my body.
His palm presses to my forehead, and he goes very still.
“You’re burning up.”
“Practically on fire…in a snow storm,” I mumble, clutching the blankets tighter.
He doesn’t laugh.
“Why didn’t you call someone?”
“My phone’s at the clubhouse,” I say, blinking up at him through fever haze. “And I didn’t want to risk getting anyone sick and spreading it to Micah.”
That stops him, and his expression shifts.
“You stayed quiet because of Micah?”
I shrug, instantly regretting it because every muscle aches.
“He can’t afford this,” I whisper. “If Bree catches it, then Lila and Max. Then him. It’s not worth it.”
He studies me like I just said something that rearranged the world.
“You’re such a sweetheart,” he says quietly.
“I’m currently defeated by mucus.”
“You’re sick, and the first thing you thought about was protecting everyone else.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks that has nothing to do with the fever.
“Well,” I mutter, “my main concern was Micah.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I ask immediately.
“Calling Patch.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t need…”
“You fell.”
“I tripped.”
“You fainted.”
“I did not,” I glare.
He doesn’t budge.
