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“I…have…to…go.”

“Mikayla, what's wrong?”

I pressed my palm against my chest. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

Damon dropped his arms. The teasing disappeared from his face. He crossed the room in three strides.

“Mikayla?”

I shook my head, unable to explain.

He looked at me for one beat, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” my mother shrieked. “Is he hurting you?”

“No…Mom…he's not…”

Damon returned with a small paper bag.

He gently took the phone from my trembling hand swapping it out with the brown paper bag.

“Slow breaths,” he murmured. “You're okay. I'm right here.”

I pressed the bag to my mouth, following his quiet instructions to slow my breathing.

He lifted my phone to his ear. “Hi, Mrs. Parsons. This is Damon Lockhart.”

I stared at him over the crumpled paper. He sounded perfectly calm. Like taking over a phone call from a hysterical mother while her daughter hyperventilated in his living room was just another Tuesday.

Maybe for him it was. I didn’t know his life.

“Mickey and I are sorry you heard about us from someone else. We weren't trying to hide anything from you. We thought it would be better to tell you in person this weekend.”

I could hear my mother speaking, but couldn’t make out what she was saying.

His lips twitched. “Yes, ma'am.”

More Charlie Brown’s teacher sounds that I couldn’t decipher.

“Absolutely,” he agreed.

What?

Absolutely what?

I narrowed my eyes.

He glanced down at me.

“Is that right?”

I lowered the bag an inch.

Was what right?

What was happening?

“Okay. Yes, of course. Yes, ma'am.”