"Are you okay?" I survey Dean from head to toe, motioning for him to come inside. His well-tailored navy suit is rumpled, wrinkled dress shirt dingy to the point where it's more of a light grey than white. It's a stark contrast from his default, well-groomed setting. If I saw him from the shoulders down, I'd never know it was him.

As for above the shoulders, it's even more concerning. Dark blue circles line his eyes and his complexion has an uncharacteristic pallor. He looks like he's been through hell and back.

He steps into my apartment, moving aside so I can lock the door behind him. Glancing down, he slips off his dress shoes without explanation. "I'm fine."

"Brendan said you were kidnapped."

Dean smirks, but there's weariness beneath it. "That's a slight exaggeration."

A tsunami of remorse crashes over me. "I'm sorry for shutting the door in your face. I was worried about you all night. I kept picturing you dead in a ditch somewhere. So when you showed up..."

"You were mad because I wasn't dead?" He raises a brow, his smirk deepening behind the rim of his coffee cup in his hand. Despite whatever transpired last night, his ability to banter with me has remained fully intact. And I think I love him even more for it.

"I—I assumed it meant you stood me up on purpose," I admit, feeling chastened. "I guess I failed to factor in the other possible explanations besides you lying in a morgue and purposely ghosting me. I'm so sorry."

Aside from this incident, which clearly wasn't his fault, Dean has never let me down. I think my tendency to assume the worst is some kind of messed-up defense mechanism—a misguided attempt to keep my heart safe—but it's creating problems instead of working as intended. Probably because it's not possible to keep your heart safe. There are no parachutes when you're falling for someone.

"No, I'm sorry I made you worry. I didn't have my phone or I would have called you." His voice is gravel, even rougher than he looks. "Still don't have my phone, actually. Going to have to replace it. But that's a task for tomorrow."

He sets down the coffee he's holding on the entry table, next to the box of donuts and the other coffee Brendan gave me. It's then that I notice he's not wearing cuff links, either. It's completely out of character—Dean always wears cuff links.

His eyes scan my face like he's trying to get a read on me, but he doesn't make a move. Pulse racing, I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his trim waist. He encases me with strong arms, hugging me back. The stale scent of cigarettes smoke and cigars clings to his clothes, masking his usual familiar scent, but it doesn't bother me because everything in the world is right again now that he's here.

"Not sure you should be hugging me right now," he murmurs. "I haven't showered since yesterday morning."

"I don't care."

Dean sighs, resting his cheek on the crown of my head, and I feel the tension start to leave his body. We linger, embracing in the entry, for a few more blessed seconds. Piece by piece, my heart starts to put itself back together.

"So what happened?" I whisper.

His grip on me loosens and he pulls back, peering down at me with a troubled expression. He hesitates before he finally answers. "Let's go sit down."

We grab the coffee and donuts, relocating into my living room. At his request, I get Dean a massive glass of ice water and he finishes the entire thing while I pore over the box of gourmet donuts. Brendan really went to town. There's strawberry white chocolate, tiramisu, lemon raspberry, cookies and cream, PB&J, blueberry cake, and their original sugar donut.

"You should eat something." I take the strawberry white chocolate donut and slide the box over to him before biting into mine. The fluffy cake is topped with the perfect blend of tart berry and rich white chocolate. It's the first thing I've eaten this morning, and I inhale half of it before Dean hesitantly selects the tiramisu donut, tasting it.

Dean shrugs. "Not a big donut guy, but I have to admit, this is pretty good." He sets it down on his plate and reaches for his coffee, crossing an ankle over one knee. "Let me preface this by saying I haven't pulled an all-nighter since college, so I'm not firing on all cylinders here and you can stop me if I don't make sense."

I wait, but there's a lengthy pause before he continues. "Anyway, I went to bail out Josh last night after he got in over his head gambling. Again. It's sort of a routine we have by this point. Unfortunately, this time, he'd gotten himself involved with some people he shouldn't have been messing with. Everything went sideways on me, and they wouldn't let me leave."

I curl up next to Dean, listening as he fills in the details from start to finish. The longer he talks, the worse I feel for him.

"...Now I'm missing my phone, my watch, my cuff links, and ten grand." Dean huffs a sardonic laugh. "It's my fault. I shouldn't enable him. I know better, but I still fall for it every time."

That's when it clicks for me, like a puzzle piece snapping into place—Dean is a fixer. That's his way of showing he cares. It seems so obvious now, but I couldn't see it before when I was wrapped up in my own hurt feelings.

"Dean." Setting down my coffee, I scoot closer to him on the couch and place a hand on his knee. "Joshua's problems aren't your fault. But I understand why you would have gone to him. He's your brother, and you were trying to help."

"I can't give him the kind of help he needs." His throat bobs. "I told him he has to go back to rehab or I'll cut him off."

I can tell it's difficult for him to utter the words even to me, let alone how hard it must have been for him to say to Josh.

My throat tightens. "I'm sorry, I know that must have been hard for you."

"Had to be done. He's a danger to himself, and now he's dragging me into it. Dragging you into it too, indirectly. I didn't mean for it to ruin our plans, and I'm fucking furious that it did."

"You're here now."

He stares at the empty cup of coffee in his hand, falling quiet for a beat. His voice drops until it's nearly inaudible. "I don't know if he's ever going to get better, and it fucking kills me."

My heart threatens to break all over again, this time for an entirely different reason. I try to imagine what it would be like in Dean's shoes; what it would be like if Brendan were the one with a gambling addiction, constantly putting himself in peril. Then I remember how helpless and terrified I felt the night of his car accident with Vidya, and I feel sick knowing Dean must feel like that regularly.

"He's got to want it for himself," I tell him softly. "I know that's shitty, but at least he's got you in his corner for when he's ready. And maybe your ultimatum will be the wakeup call he needs. Sometimes people need tough love. Either way, I think you did the right thing."

"Let's hope." Dean sets down his half-eaten donut, wiping his hands on the paper napkin, and pins me with his gaze. "I know something has been bothering you before this, and you won't tell me what it is. What's going on? You didn't seriously think I'd just no-show you like that, did you?"

I did, but now I feel foolish for it.

Avoiding his eyes, I lean forward and grab the sugar donut in a last-ditch attempt to buy myself some time. His eyes stay fixed on me, unrelenting. He's got me cornered, and he's impossible to lie to.

"Did you?" he prompts.

"I thought..." I draw my bottom lip into my mouth, releasing it. "You changed your mind about me after spending time with your parents."

His brow creases and an unmistakable hurt lies beneath his eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"When Josh showed up at your place, I overheard him say your mother would want to meet me and you said something like, 'hell no'. I wasn't eavesdropping on purpose, I swear."

Dean groans, burying his face in his palm. "Brooke." He drops his hand, a blend of fatigue and exasperation on his face. "I said that because I do care about you."

That is not the answer I'd been expecting.

"What do you mean?" I cram a bite of donut in my mouth.

He shifts on the couch, taking my free hand in his and squeezing it gently. "Has Brendan told you anything about my family?"

"Not really." Setting down the donut, I turn to face him. All I know is what I've seen in the media. His father is a respected Senator who had a successful business career before entering politics, his mother is your picture-perfect politician's wife who's actively involved in multiple local charities, and they've been immune to any of the usual scandals that often haunt prominent political families.

Then again, I guess it's a little less idyllic when you factor in the Josh situation. It's a miracle that hasn't gotten out to the press. I suspect Dean has probably burned through a lot of money ensuring that it never does.

"My parents' marriage is a tire fire. While they do a respectable job faking it for the press, they don't even try to hide their animosity behind closed doors. Picture a cold war under the roof of a sprawling mansion. My mom has her own wing of the house. They lead separate lives, privately."

"Oh." I wince, trying to imagine what it would be like to have parents who hate each other, but come up empty-handed. The best I can come up with is the time when I was in middle school, my father slept on the couch after they had an argument. I remember thinking it was the end of the world, but in retrospect, the fact that it only happened once means it was the complete opposite. My parents always been happy together—often nauseatingly so. Brendan and I used to moan and groan about their PDA growing up, though now Dean's experience makes me see it's far better than the reverse.

"It's not like you'll never meet them. I was just hoping to wait awhile before I subjected you to that particular form of torture."

"How long is awhile?"

"I don't know." He gives me a wry smile. "Until I manage to convince you to stick around long-term, at a minimum."

My breath hitches at the words, an unbidden bolt of fear shooting through me. Then I meet his eyes again, and the sincerity across his face is all I need to know that it's unfounded. I let out a breath, willing myself to let it go.

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell him. "I was just a little scared because some of these feelings I have for you are big. And new."

He reaches for me and his fingertips sweep across my jawline, thumb stroking the delicate skin beneath my ear. My eyelids flutter shut, and when I re-open them, his expression is soft. "Fair enough. I get that, but you don't need to be scared."

"I'll always give you the benefit of the doubt from now on. I promise."

"You can still call me on my shit, though."

"Oh, I will. Often."

Dean leans his forehead against mine. "I'd kiss you right now but in addition to not having showered, I haven't brushed my teeth, and I don't think I want to do that to you."

In truth, I think he'd mind more than I do, but I don't argue that point. He's pretty particular about grooming.

"Do you want to go take a shower?"

"That bad, huh?" He glances down at himself, entirely missing the point. It's a little endearing, because he'd usually pick up on it right away.

"I meant with me." My hand moves higher up on his thigh. All I want right now are his lips on my lips, body wrapped around mine, the two of us as close as humanly possible. "After that, I thought we could crawl back into bed for a couple of hours. Unless you're too tired for the showering with me part."

His eyes light up, and a wolffish grin appears on his face. "Nothing on the world could keep me from taking you up on that offer."

Hadn't planned on makeup sex initially, but I guess it's about to happen!