I squatted on the ground, crying loudly, tears flowing freely down my face. I felt like a pitiful creature abandoned by everyone.
Expensive Wheceon shoes came into view, his long-fingered hands holding an umbrella, sheltering me from the storm.
Every time we split before, Aidan always came around.
He'd ask, teary, "Lucie, can't we work it out?"
The man had sharp features, a lot like Aidan.
I saw his face; hope in my eyes died out.
Arlo's deep eyes checked me out, sighed. "You're drenched, poor thing."
He was Arlo White, top surgeon at Wetict Hospital, sharp and cold, unlike Aidan.
I bit my lip, lashes trembling, and hunched over.
Arlo's smile soft, voice smooth. "Fighting with Aidan?"
I stared back defiant, like a broken doll, eyes saying I was falling apart.
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around me.
His lips curled. "Can't stand seeing girls cry."
"Call me Arlo. I'll handle it."
I sobbed harder, nearly breathless.
Arlo rubbed his temples. "Hey, stop crying."
"I'll go teach that jerk Aidan a lesson!"