I press a hand to my chest. It hurts. Almost like I’m having a heart attack or something. Like something is being torn out of my body.
Presley moves to sit next to me on the couch, her thigh pressing against mine, and I watch her fingers type in the code on my phone.
“What’s Chris’s mom’s name?”
“Evelyn,” I say. “Evelyn Hart.”
She finds the contact, and her thumb hovers over the Call button.
“Do you want me to do it?” she asks.
I nod. Because I can’t. Not yet.
She calls, and the ringing seems too loud.
I stare at the coffee table while we wait for Evelyn to answer.
“Wyatt?” an older woman’s voice asks, sounding as broken as I feel.
Presley clears her throat. “Mrs. Hart, this is Presley Grant. I’m here with Wyatt.”
A sob on the other end.
I look at Presley and see her eyes are closed, but she keeps talking.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
Evelyn cries harder.
Presley reaches for my hand and squeezes. I’m not sure if it’s for her benefit or mine.
“Yes,” she says softly. “He’s right here. He’s … in shock right now.”
A pause.
Her gaze flicks to mine.
“The kids are with you?”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I lean closer to her.
Presley listens, then nods. “Okay, and have they been told?”
I can’t hear what Evelyn is saying on the other end.
“I understand,” she says carefully. “No, of course. This is a horrific event.”
Another pause.
Then I hear a loud sound come through the phone. A child’s voice.
I lean closer, and Presley turns the volume up on the speaker.
“Grandma, is that Mom?”
Remy.
His voice hits me like a blade, and my entire body jolts.
