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“N-no. Please. No.” The soft blue eyes fill with tears. “D-don’t.”

“What can I do for you?” I ask gently. “Who can I call? Your mom?”

She shakes her head. “No. There’s no one.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

She closes her eyes again and sucks in a small, choppy breath before nodding.

I hate the fear that’s practically emanating from her.

I’ve seen this kind of terror with dozens of clients over the years, but never with such visible vulnerability.

And this is exactly why I do what I do.

There’s nothing I hate more than a bully, especially dangerous ones.

Like Dylan Durand.

There is no doubt in my mind he did this to her.

I close both my hands around her much smaller one. “Tell me what happened, Willow. You don’t know me, but I promise, you can trust me. I heard him talking to you, so I know something bad happened. Or is going to happen. Talk to me. Let me help. Please.”

She stares at me and I swear it’s like looking into destiny.

I don’t know what’s happening, but there’s more clarity in her eyes than I’ve seen in a lot of people who haven’t been in a coma for a month.

As if she’s weighing her options, sizing me up.

Then confusion mars her pretty face. “Who… are you… again?”

“My name is Hudson Dash,” I repeat patiently. “I was in an accident and needed some specialized orthopedic care so I’m here at this hospital with you.” I run down where we are specifically, and a few details about my surgery, hoping it will make her a little more comfortable. “I’ve had insomnia, so when I heard one of the nurses reading to you, I decided to take over.”

“You know who… I am?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Is that why you want… to help me?” The fear and confusion in her eyes is gut-wrenching.

I wonder for maybe the hundredth time why someone like her is all alone.

And scared.

In the hospital.

With no one but a creepy fiancé who threatens her while she’s sleeping.

It almost doesn’t seem real.

But she’s right in front of me, and Willow St. Claire is very real.

“Let me call a doctor,” I say gently, reaching for the call button. “She can probably?—”

She flinches. “No. Please. Dylan hired her. I’ve heard them talking…” She shudders slightly.

I release the button without depressing it. “It’s the middle of the night. Chances are, your fancy specialist isn’t going to come in, so it’ll just be the on-call neurologist or whatever. Someone who can make sure you’re going to be okay now that you’ve come out of the coma.”

“You don’t understand…” Her voice is more shaky now. “Once they find out I’m awake, he’s going to lock me away at the house and—” She cuts off, closing her eyes. “You don’t even know me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”