VALERIE
The air was filled with tension as Evans guided me carefully down the hallway. His hand rested firmly on my elbow, and while his touch was gentle, it also felt cold. I hated feeling weak, hated the way he insisted on treating me as though I might crumble at any second.
“You really don’t have to do this,” I said, trying to sound firm.
Evans glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “Valerie, you’re still healing. Let me help you.”
“I can handle myself,” I muttered, attempting to tug my arm free from his grip. “I don’t need—”
“Don’t need what?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “Someone to look out for you? To make sure you don’t tear open your stitches trying to prove how strong you are?”
I bit my lip, unable to come up with a response. He was right, but admitting it fe
