The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise Duet Book 2)

by Aly Martinez

  * * *

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I couldn’t talk.

  I couldn’t even formulate a rational thought.

  Pure instinct took over.

  The blood in my veins caught fire as I spun out of Porter’s arms. Lucas—my son, Lucas—screamed as I took him with me. The inherent need to flee overwhelmed me.

  Porter was faster though. One of his hands caught me above the elbow, his grip straddling the line between rough and firm. “Charlotte, stop!” he growled. “Don’t do this. He is not Lucas.”

  I heard his words, but they felt like hollow syllables filled with weeks of deceit.

  Tom appeared beside me, his voice low and sinister. “Let her go, Reese.”

  “Give me back my son,” he snarled, his fingers biting into my bicep.

  Defiantly, I held his stare. “He’s my son.”

  “Dad!” Lucas cried, struggling against me. But there wasn’t a force in the world that could have taken him from me.

  Not this time.

  Not again.

  Not ever again.

  Porter snaked an arm down and took his son’s outstretched hand, holding it as he closed the circuit between the three of us. “It’s okay, bud. This is just a big misunderstanding.” His gaze lifted back to mine, his eyes hard. He looked nothing like the man I’d been falling in love with.

  Probably because that man didn’t exist. This was the real Porter. The one who’d kept my son from me for the last ten years.

  “Back up!” I demanded, my legs shoulder-width apart, my arm latched around Lucas’s chest, my whole body roaring and ready for war.

  “He’s not Lucas,” he declared through clenched teeth.

  “Back—” I started to repeat my demand, but my voice lodged in my throat.

  His face softened, and so did his hand as the fraud that I’d always thought was my Porter appeared. “Let him go and we’ll figure this out. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  It was crazy, but my heart squeezed in response to his familiar words, even as my head screamed for me to hate him. “Why would you do this to me?”

  “Why would I do this to you?” he asked, his face taking on the strangest mixture of disbelief and astonishment. “Charlotte, I have no fucking idea what is going on right now. All I know is that you have your hands on my kid and you’re calling him the name of your dead son. Sweetheart, there isn’t much in this world I wouldn’t do for you. But I draw the line when it comes to my children.”

  We stared at each other.

  The ultimate showdown.

  Mother versus Father.

  Nature versus Nurture.

  Heart versus Soul.

  Neither of us willing to back down.

  Not when it came to holding on to the only sunlight we were ever going to get.

  “I’m giving you one more chance, Reese. Let her go,” Tom growled behind me.

  Porter’s gaze locked on mine. “When she lets go of Travis, I’ll let go of her.”

  Travis.

  His son.

  Fuck that. This was my son.

  The sound of his name lit a fuse inside me. Years of pent-up anguish suddenly detonated, feeding a white-hot rage I’d never felt before.

  It was visceral and ugly.

  But it came from the most beautiful place in my heart.

  The place that had been created and filled the day my little boy had been born.

  The place I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I had tried over the last ten years.

  The place that harbored the most agonizing pain a person could experience, unleashing it like a vile animal sent to destroy me every single morning I woke up without him.

  The place that was currently whole for the first time in ten fucking years.

  My face vibrated as I screamed at the top of my lungs. “His name is Lucas!”

  In my explosion, my grip must have slipped, because suddenly, my son broke free of my arms. He went straight to Porter, who protectively stepped in front of him.

  “No!” I yelled, diving forward. Porter’s hand came up and landed in the center of my chest, where he held me back.

  And then all hell broke out around us.

  Tom caught me around the waist, dragging me back as Charlie went after Porter.

  “Get inside, Travis,” Porter grunted as his face was roughly shoved against the brick beside the door.

  My little boy stood there frozen, horror contorting his pale face as he peered up at Porter. The woman at the door moved fast in his direction. She grabbed his shoulder and curled him into her front, hiding his face as she backed him inside the house.

  “Lucas!” I screamed, kicking and clawing my way out of Tom’s hold.

  “He’s not Lucas!” Porter shot back while Charlie clicked the cuffs around his wrists.

  But he was.

  And I’d just lost him all over again.

  “No. No. No!” I cried when the door shut behind him. “Lucas!”

  “Charlotte, look at me,” Porter called while Charlie read him his rights. “It’s not him. I swear to God it’s not him.”

  “Shut up, Reese,” Tom growled, tucking me tight against his front.

  Porter’s body flexed and strained as he fought to get to me. “Charlotte, please look at me, sweetheart,” he begged in such a sweet voice that I swear I could feel the actual shards of my heart breaking in my chest.

  Not even ten minutes earlier, I would have happily gotten lost in the sea of his blue eyes for all of eternity.

  But that was before I’d had something to fight for.

  “Lucas,” I choked out, tears flowing down my chin.

  Tom brought me into a bear hug with my arms pinned at my sides, but my fingers still stretched as though they could reach the door.

  “Please,” I begged softly. “Please give him back to me.”

  “Charlotte!” Porter continued to bellow, but I kept my eyes trained on the wooden door that separated my heaven from my hell.

  My son was in there.

  My baby.

  And he was alive.

  My knees suddenly buckled and the fight left me on a ragged sob. “Oh God. That’s really him.”

  Tom held me tight. “We need to get to the station.”

  “How…how is this possible?” I stammered.

  “I have no fucking idea, but I need you to get it together. The sooner we figure it out, the sooner you can get him back.”

  My whole body was trembling, but with those words, my heart slowed and my lungs inflated.

  I was going to get him back.

  He was going to come home.

  He was going to be mine again.

  I hadn’t been brave enough to dream about that moment in a lot of years.

  And there it was—a reality.

  And, for some fucked-up reason, I couldn’t comprehend why my chest still hurt.

  Turning, I got my answer.

  Porter was in the back of the patrol car, his arms secured behind him, his wide eyes locked on me, fear carved into his face, and his mouth moving in the pattern of my name.

  And that was when I realized we’d only thought we knew the darkness.

  “Charlotte!” Brady called as he came barreling through the door to the conference room, his wife, Stephanie, hot on his heels.

  I’d been waiting, and thus pacing, for over two hours. My body was numb, and my brain was scrambled. Nothing felt real anymore. Over the course of the day, I’d woken up next to Porter—the man I was falling in love with—found out my son was dead, grieved my son on the side of a bridge, found out my son wasn’t dead, and then seen him for the first time in nearly a decade. And all of this had happened just before discovering that the man I’d woken up next to had known where my son had been all along.

  Yeah, there was nothing that could have prepared me for a day like that. I was living it and still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

  It felt like a nightmare in the middle of the sweetest dream.
<
br />   My heart was breaking while simultaneously being filled to the cusp.

  “Hey,” I whispered, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the chill that usually accompanied Brady.

  He stopped a few feet away, grabbed the back of his neck, and cut his eyes to the floor. “Tom says you saw him.”

  I swallowed hard and did my best to keep my voice from shaking. “I did.”

  He lifted his gaze, a million contradictory emotions dancing within. His usual death glare was nowhere in sight as he asked, “What’s he look like?”

  My heart melted. Brady was a dick, but his son was alive too, so I put our history aside for a minute and answered him.

  “You. Me. Everyone.” I paused, my chin quivering. “No one.”

  His lean body was on mine in a second. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d touched him. We both loved our son, but Lucas was the product of a one-night stand. Brady and I hadn’t been lovers in any regard. Friends? Maybe once. But not in a long time.

  The hug was awkward at best. No one could deny that Brady was an attractive man, and he’d aged well over the years. But the hug was all wrong.

  His arms were tight, but he wasn’t warm like Porter.

  Jesus, why was I still thinking about Porter?

  Oh right, because I’d have given anything for him to be standing in that room with me. His body protectively embracing me. His lips at my ear as he told me that it was going to be okay. His darkness stilling the world for me. Him having had nothing to do with my son’s disappearance.

  In other words, pipe dreams for the insane.

  I shouldn’t have needed him the way I did. That was my first mistake with Porter: depending on him when reality got too hard. But I had. And, at the moment, if my life had ever fit into a category, “too hard” was exactly it.

  My mind still couldn’t make heads or tails of why he’d had Lucas. The obvious being that he’d taken him. The not so obvious? Hell, I still didn’t have a theory on that one.

  Hooking my arms under Brady’s, I returned his hug.

  “I…uh…” Stephanie stammered. “How about I wait in the hall and give you two a minute alone.”

  Brady released me and leaned toward his wife, brushing her blond curls away before gently cupping the curve of her jaw. He whispered something soft in her ear that caused her lids to flutter shut. When he was done talking, she tipped her head slightly, offering her husband her mouth.

  He pecked her once. And then again before breathing, “I love you.”

  It was so sweet and unlike anything I knew of Brady, so much so that it momentarily made me uncomfortable.

  He watched her with warm eyes as she glided to the door, and then, with one last glance over her shoulder, she was gone.

  Brady turned back to me and blew out a ragged breath.

  He stared at me.

  And I stared at him.

  Neither of us uttered a word, but it was as far from my comfortable silence with Porter as one could get.

  Finally, in a shaky voice, he said, “It’s over. It’s really over.”

  But it didn’t feel like it was over to me. I was terrified that it was just getting started.

  And I had no one who could understand that feeling. I was getting everything I wanted and it still scared the shit out of me.

  And, for reasons that could only be explained by the staggering loneliness caused by Porter’s sudden departure from my life, I chanced a darkness confessional with Brady.

  “I’m scared.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What? Why?”

  Questions.

  I focused over his shoulder at the door. “I have no idea.”

  “That’s crazy, Charlotte. This is what we’ve been praying for since day one. And it’s finally happening. Don’t be scared.”

  Judgment.

  Steeling myself and ignoring the pain in my chest, I flashed a tight smile at him. “You’re right.”

  Faking it.

  He inched closer and lowered his voice, but it wasn’t the soft one he’d used with his wife. It was as if he were whispering over gravel. “You have to get that shit out of your head. I don’t want him seeing that. He needs to feel like this is a good thing. Because it is a good thing. Lucas is coming home.”

  I swallowed hard. “Right. I’m sorry. I’ll get it together.”

  Apologies.

  Noise at the door drew my attention. Mom came walking in, two cups of coffee in her hands.

  “Hey, Brady,” she said, suspiciously glancing between the two of us.

  She’d been with me since I’d arrived, only stepping out of the room twice. Once to check with Tom to see what was going on. And the other about ten minutes earlier to get coffee—and I suspected once again to check in with Tom, seeing as he was following her in.

  He came straight to me. “Brady tell you?”

  “I hadn’t had a chance,” he replied, moving away.

  Alarm pricked the hairs on the back of my neck. “Tell me what?”

  Tom’s face softened as he whispered, “It’s him.”

  “I know,” I replied.

  I could have told him that back at the house. I had not one single doubt about it. I don’t know how I had known, but the minute I’d seen him with fresh eyes, I had known he was mine. Yet Tom’s next words still hit me harder than I ever could have imagined.

  “No, Charlotte. It’s really him. Remember the prints we lifted off his toys when he was first taken? They’re a match. He’s yours.”

  Proof. Undeniable. Absolute. Final.

  I blinked again, but this time, panic blasted through my system, causing my vision to go blurry.

  “Oh, honey,” my mom breathed, sidling up beside me before pulling me into her side.

  “So, when do we get to see him?” Brady asked, ignoring my impending meltdown.

  “Well,” Tom started. “He’s down the hall. So I guess that’s up to you. I passed off all the paperwork to Brady’s attorney, who’s running them out to Judge Gratham’s house now. Assuming he’s got everything he needs, he said he’d sign off on a temporary custody order until a formal hearing can be set. Social Services is going to want to have a word with you two before you can take him home, but you can meet him any time you’d like.”

  “Temporary custody?” Brady snarled.

  “It’s a formality,” Tom assured.

  In a quiet voice, I found the courage to ask, “What about Porter?”

  Tom’s face got hard. “What about him?”

  “Yeah,” Brady snapped. Taking a giant step in my direction, he parroted Tom but with a lot more attitude. “What about him?”

  I licked my dry lips and flashed my gaze between the two men. “I mean…what’s going on with him? How is he involved?”

  “He kidnapped our son!”

  Tom lifted his hand to silence Brady. His face remained hard, but his voice gentled. “Our guys are still working with him, trying to figure out his role in all of this.” He pointedly cut his gaze to Brady for a second before sweeping it back to mine. “It doesn’t appear that he was part of the actual abduction. Lucas was already four when he met Catherine Reese. We believe her child died, though we don’t have a cause of death yet. It appears to be of natural causes. Maybe SIDS or some underlying medical condition. Who knows? She was probably distraught, saw Lucas at the park, and took him to replace her son. Just slipped him right into Travis’s life.”

  I lifted a shaky hand to cover my mouth and breathed, “So, Porter didn’t know?”

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me here,” Brady seethed.

  Tom turned a scowl to Brady, who was all but vibrating beside me. However, with my old friend hope infusing my system, I didn’t give a damn.

  “Answer me,” I demanded.

  “We don’t know,” Tom replied. “I refuse to believe he didn’t figure it out before he started pursuing you. The fact that he was dating the biological mother of the child his wife kidnapped doesn’t sit well wit
h anyone here. Way too much coincidence there for it not to be suspicious. But we’re going to get to the bottom of it. Trust me on this, babe. You do not have to worry about Porter Reese anymore.”

  Oh, but for the way my heart felt like it had been put through a strainer, I did.

  Brady fisted a hand on his hip, his other pinching the bridge of his nose, and spat, “I can’t believe you were dating that piece of shit.”

  My throat got thick and a cold chill sent a shiver down my spine, but I gathered enough attitude to choke out, “I don’t particularly care what you believe and don’t believe, Brady.”

  My hands were shaking, so Tom caught the back of my neck and pulled me into his chest, his words aimed at Brady. “Think of it this way. It all worked out. We found him, okay? Let’s worry about Lucas now.”

  Nodding, I sucked in a deep breath, hoping that it would somehow ease the turmoil and panic inside me.

  It didn’t.

  But I could pretend better than anyone on the planet.

  And, as the hours wore on, I had to do just that.

  * * *

  I sat on the wrong side of the two-way mirror in the police station, my arms folded on a small table, my face buried between them.

  My chest empty.

  My mind jumbled.

  My stomach in knots.

  My entire fucking life unrecognizable.

  I’d only thought the day Catherine had driven off that bridge was the ultimate betrayal.

  Boy, had I been wrong about that.

  “Answer the question, Porter.”

  “No!” I snarled, lifting my head to stare into the eyes of the third cop who had come in to ask me the same fucking question over the last two hours. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “So, Catherine—”

  “No!” I snapped, shoving off the table and rising from my chair.

  My nerves were shot.

  The fingerprints were a match. DNA was still being processed, but I’d given up holding out any hope that that wasn’t going to match too.

  Travis was Charlotte’s son.

  And nobody in the entire fucking Atlanta police department would believe that I didn’t have something to do with it.

  “Catherine didn’t tell me shit. Okay? I didn’t even know her when Lucas was kidnapped. Travis was four years old when we started dating, four and a half when we got married, five when I adopted him, and eight when she killed herself. And, during those years, never, not once, did she ever mention that she stole a baby off a fucking playground.”