Callie doesn’t answer, only sobbing into my arms. I rub a hand over her back when a hand lands on my own back. I gaze up, and Aaron’s there. I don’t know how long he’s been standing there, listening to us. I should probably find a way to get a bus back home. I don’t think I’ll be able to drive in this current state of mind.

When Callie pulls back from my hug and wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, Aaron’s fingers drag down my back once again as he murmurs, “Got some updates. Mind if we step outside to talk?”

Right. Callie doesn’t need to hear whatever bad news he’s about to give me. She’s been through enough today.

With a last squeeze of her shoulders, I follow Aaron outside. The air is frigid, but I feel even colder. Like there’s ice freezing my veins.

“So, they’re currently operating on Maybelle.”

I keep my face neutral despite the fact that it feels like he’s just punched me in the stomach. Operating. Meaning it’s bad.

“Do they know the severity of the injuries?” I ask, breathing slowly. My voice is stable. Strong. Someone should give me a trophy for this.

“The receptionist wasn’t sure. She said the surgery is supposed to last around an hour and a half, so we still have some time to wait.”

“Okay,” I say, then wrap my coat tighter around me.

With a step in my direction, Aaron asks, “Are you okay?”

I acquiesce, but I don’t meet his gaze, hoping he’ll get the message and leave. I can’t have him here, asking me how I’m doing. That can only lead me to break down, and that has to wait. I’m already attached enough. I can’t have him here for me all the time. It’ll give us both the wrong idea.

And yet the moment he places his hand on my cheeks, I feel an immense amount of comfort.

No matter how much I shouldn’t.

Tears threaten to spill from my eyes the longer I stay within Aaron’s orbit, so I take a step back. I can’t leave yet, not as long as I don’t know what’s going on with Maybelle, but I need to step away.

Breathe in. Out. In. Out.

“I’m really sorry, Wren,” Aaron says, giving me space while not walking away.

Oh goodness. He can’t do this to me. Not right now.

Voice nearly breaking, I say, “Please don’t pity me.” I’ve had enough of that in my life. Always pity, never a better outcome.

And it’s like he gets it. Because the moment he says, “I don’t,” and still opens his arms wide for me, I can’t stop myself anymore.