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Dalton’s eyes flew open.
“Hey, welcome back to the land of the living.” His eyes softened. He leaned forward and handed her the cup.
“Thank you,” her voice was a whisper. She grimaced from the pin-prick-like pain that swept through her throat.
“Don’t speak, baby. Just drink the water. It will help.” He got up from the chair and pushed the table aside so he could sit on the edge of the bed.
Tears welled up at the realization that he had risked his life to save her.
If he had been a few moments later, the bed would have caught fire and—
She cut that train of thought off. She was alive. She’d made it out.
“But—” She tried to speak again, but this time he pressed a finger to her mouth.
“You’re going to strain your throat. You are going to have to rest it for now.” His eyes narrowed on her neck.
Her hand automatically flew to it.
She turned her face away from him, ashamed at what she must look like.
Memories of Glenn attacking her flooded her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the pool of tears to stay away.
“Hey,” Dalton whispered. He gently gripped her chin and forced her to gaze at him. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this.”
Anya wished she could voice everything she wanted to say. She needed to tell him how stupid she was, and that she should have said something to her parents before everything exploded in her face.
She glanced around, wondering where her parents could be.
“Your parents went down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and something to eat,” he announced as if reading her mind. He gripped her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
Her lips tried to curl up into a smile, but her face was still and swollen. She patted her face and cringed. She probably resembled something out of a horror movie.
“Stop it,” he murmured, pulling her hand away from her face. Anger simmered in his eyes. His gaze wandered around her face, meeting hers again. “Who did this to you?” he asked. He trailed a finger along her neck.
The tears blurring her vision finally fell, burning a warm trail down her cheeks.
“Was it Glenn?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes widened. How did Dalton know about Glenn?
She slowly nodded.
His face darkened with rage. He pushed off the bed and paced the room. He ran a trembling hand through his hair.
“You should have told me that you were having trouble with your ex.”
Anya bit her lip, not really knowing how to respond, and if she could, what the hell would she say?
“Remember when the neighborhood kids would try to follow you home and make fun of you? Who was there for you?”
There was no need to answer that rhetorical question. They both knew the answer.
“Your parents were scared shitless when I called them and told them I pulled you from your burning apartment building.” He paused across the room and leaned his hands against the wall. His muscles in his shoulders grew tense.
She feared he would react and punch the wall.
But he didn’t. He straightened and ran a hand across his face. He glanced over at Anya and walked back to the bed.
