Aubrey woke up Friday with the kind of headache that felt personal. Her alarm wasn’t even loud, but it still punched straight through her skull. She sat up slowly, hair a mess, emotions worse.
Today was the day she had to see her mom.
She stared at the ceiling. “I’m not ready.”
The ceiling did not care.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Caleb: Morning.
Caleb: If you need anything before tonight, tell me.
Her chest warmed—just a little, just enough to hurt.
Then another buzz.
Chase: Don’t forget to eat
Chase: People faint when they’re stressed
Chase: And if you faint today I’m suing your mom
Aubrey: You can’t sue her
Aubrey: For me fainting
Chase: Watch me
She dropped her phone onto the bed.
Two people checking on her before she even brushed her teeth.
Two completely different kinds of steady.
Both making her heart act weird.
She got dressed slower than usual, choosing a sweater that didn’t feel too soft or too sharp—something that didn’t look like she was falling apart even though she absolutely was.
At work, she barely lasted fifteen minutes before someone asked if she was sick.
“You look pale,” her coworker Jenna said.
“I look normal,” Aubrey answered.
“You look like you time-traveled here against your will.”
Aubrey sighed. “Rough night.”
“Want coffee? Or a ride to the ER?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
She sat at her desk, staring at her inbox without absorbing anything. She tried to work. She really did. But her brain kept jumping ahead to tonight—what her mom would say, what she might say back, what old wounds might start bleeding again.
At 10:03, her phone buzzed again.
Caleb: You okay?
Aubrey typed, deleted, typed again.
Aubrey: Trying
Caleb: That’s enough
She shut her eyes for a second too long.
Ten minutes later—
Chase: If you panic, picture me doing finger guns. It helps.
Aubrey: No it doesn’t
Aubrey: It makes everything worse
Chase: You’re welcome
She let out a sound between a laugh and a groan.
Sometime around lunch, she realized she hadn’t eaten. Or drank water. Or sat up straight.
Her nerves were making her useless.
She stepped outside for air, and the cold hit her hard enough to wake her up a little. She stood on the sidewalk, hugging her arms around herself, hoping nobody would notice she was having a borderline meltdown.
Of course someone noticed.
“Aubrey?”
She turned.
Caleb stood a few feet away, holding a takeout bag and a look that said he already knew today wasn’t going well.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Passing by,” he said. “And guessing you didn’t eat.”
She didn’t even bother lying. “Not really.”
He handed her the bag. “Soup.”
She blinked. “Soup again?”
“Different person,” he said. “Different soup.”
It took her a second to get the joke.
“You saw Chase yesterday?”
Caleb nodded. “He told me to check on you.”
Aubrey groaned into the cold air. “Oh my God.”
“It wasn’t a bad thing,” Caleb said. “He cares about you.”
She pressed her lips together. “I know.”
“And you don’t have to act like that’s a problem.”
She looked up at him.
“It’s not wrong to let people care,” he said softly.
Her chest tightened—sharp, immediate.
She swallowed. “Caleb, I don’t know how to do today.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “You just have to get through it.”
Her shoulders dropped.
“Text me when you’re done,” he added. “Anything you need after… I’m around.”
Aubrey’s throat closed for a second, then she nodded.
“Okay.”
He gave her a small smile—gentle, grounding, a little too much.
Then he walked off, leaving her holding the warm soup like it was the only solid thing she had all day.
Aubrey tried to power through the afternoon, but her focus was made of wet tissue paper. Every email took twice as long. Every sentence looked wrong. Her foot wouldn’t stop tapping under the desk.
At 2:17 p.m., Chase sent another message.
Chase: You breathing
Aubrey: Barely
Chase: Good
Chase: Means you’re still alive
Chase: If you fall over I’ll come drag you out of the building
Aubrey: Please don’t
Chase: No promises
She pocketed her phone and leaned back, pressing her palms to her eyes.
Her mother.
Tonight.
After months of nothing.
No warning.
Just “I’m here.”
Her stomach turned.
By three, she gave up pretending to work. She walked outside again, breathing air that felt too cold but at least real.
She sat on the bench near the building entrance, elbows on her knees.
A moment later, someone sat beside her.
She didn’t even need to look.
“I thought you were at practice,” she said.
Chase nudged her shoulder with his. “Skipped.”
“You skipped practice?”
“Technically I left early. My coach thinks I had food poisoning.”
Aubrey stared at him. “You lied because of me?”
He shrugged. “You looked like you were about to fold in half. Figured you shouldn’t do that alone.”
Her throat went tight. Too tight.
“Chase…”
“Don’t start,” he said. “I’m not here to be dramatic.”
“That’s literally your whole personality.”
“Okay, fair, but not today.”
She dropped her face into her hands. “I can’t handle this.”
“Which part?”
“I don’t know what she wants.”
“Do you want to see her?” he asked.
Aubrey didn’t answer.
Chase leaned back, looking up at the sky. “You don’t owe her a performance. You don’t owe her a perfect version of you.”
Aubrey’s breath hitched. “Caleb said the same thing.”
Chase smiled faintly. “Well, congratulations. Two guys agreeing on something. Historic moment.”
She almost laughed.
Almost.
He lowered his voice. “Whatever happens tonight, you’re not going through it alone, okay?”
Aubrey’s eyes stung.
“Chase…” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t smile big. Not his usual grin. Just a tiny one—soft, almost shy.
“Anytime,” he said.
Her phone buzzed.
Mom: 6:30. The café near the station.
Aubrey’s stomach flipped.
Chase saw her expression. “That her?”
“Yeah.”
“What time?”
“Six-thirty.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Then you have me until six-twenty-nine.”
She blinked. “…What?”
“I’m not letting you spiral alone before you go.”
Her eyes burned.
“Chase—”
“Don’t argue,” he said, standing. “Come on. Walk with me. You’ll feel less like your lungs are shrinking.”
She didn’t know where they were going.
She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel.
But when she stood and followed him, something inside her loosened just enough to move.
She walked beside him down the sidewalk, and for the first time all day, her breathing wasn’t shallow.
Maybe she wasn’t ready.
Maybe she’d never be ready.
But with someone on each side of her life now—
someone steady, someone loud—
she wasn’t walking into that evening as the girl who used to run.
She was walking in as someone who finally had people who stayed.
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