The Complete Darkest Sunrise Series

by Aly Martinez

  His fingers sifted through the back of my hair, and he pressed his lips to my forehead and whispered, “Nobody does, Charlotte. I still don’t. But Tanner bought this house, and every summer, the minute it gets warm enough, I walk into that pond and try to learn.”

  My breathing shuddered as I found the courage to tell him, “I’ve been going back to the park where he was taken.”

  He kissed my head again, allowing his lips to linger as I kept talking.

  “It’s like I’m waiting for a sign that it’s okay for me to let go.”

  He tipped his head down to catch my gaze and asked, “You seen anything?”

  “I see you,” I choked, the tears finally slipping from my eyes.

  His hand flexed at the back of my head. “Charlotte.”

  “I don’t want to watch you walk away again, Porter. Can you give me some time? A few days, a week or so tops, just to get my head on straight? I’m not saying I’ll be better and this thing between us will work. But I really want to try.”

  His warm palm came to my face. “Sweetheart, I’ll give you fifty years if you need it.”

  I half laughed, half cried. “Okay, don’t get crazy. Mills women don’t age that well.”

  Porter didn’t laugh. He kissed me.

  Apologetic and reassuring.

  Deep and meaningful.

  Heartbreaking even as it eased me.

  It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  Porter kissed me with hope.

  And he didn’t stop even as I guided his hand down between my legs.

  Nor did he stop as he lowered me to the wood slats on that gorgeous wraparound porch, slowly sliding my jeans off before pushing inside me.

  I cried into his mouth, moans of pleasure and sadness as his hard body moved over me, waves of ecstasy colliding with the weight of gravity that had me pinned to the Earth.

  And then he kept kissing me, the sweet taste of his hope tingling on the tip of my tongue long after we’d both found our releases.

  Porter and I never left the porch that night.

  We took turns going into the house. Me to use the restroom, him to grab a couple of beers. But, even with as beautiful as that house was, the porch was infinitely better.

  We dozed in the hammock, waking up only to kiss or gather each other closer before falling back asleep.

  At exactly 6:17 that morning, while held tight against Porter’s chest, his pouty lips parted in slumber, my head rising and falling with his even breaths, his warmth enveloping me inside and out, my eyes aimed at the horizon, I saw my very first sunrise in almost ten years.

  * * *

  “Daddy!” Hannah yelled from the other side of the door as I stepped out of the shower. “Travis stole my charger!”

  “I did not! This one is mine!” he argued behind her.

  “Nuh uh!” Hannah returned.

  “Ya huh!”

  “Give it to me!”

  I stared at myself in the mirror, a small smile lifting the side of my mouth, and tied the towel around my hips.

  Yep. That was my life. And, as frustrating as it could be sometimes, I fucking loved every second of it.

  It had been five days since I’d watched Charlotte drive out of The Porterhouse parking lot after she’d dropped me back off at my car. She hadn’t called or texted in that time, but I knew she would when she was ready. Whenever that might be. I didn’t have the first clue how the two of us would ever make something work. But, if she was willing to try, so was I.

  It wasn’t like I was in a huge rush for her to meet my kids. After everything they had been through, introducing them to a new woman in my life was a long way off. We could take it slow, learn to let our pasts go together before starting a future. Even if that was only phone calls and texts, late-night dinners after the kids went to bed, and maybe the occasional overnight at her place when my Mom could watch them. I just wanted Charlotte. Any way I could have her.

  “Stop! You’re going to break it!” Travis shouted.

  “Let go!”

  “No, you let go!”

  Careful to tuck my smile away, I yanked the door open. “Would you two stop fighting?”

  Travis kept his gaze on his sister, one hand clenched around his iPad, the other tugging at the end of a white charger. “This one’s mine!”

  I pulled the cord from between their warring hands. “Well, now, it’s mine.”

  “Dad!” Travis whined. “I only have eight percent left on my iPad. It’s going to die.”

  “I only have fifty-eleven percent left,” Hannah cried behind him, clearly needing to get back into preschool.

  I sucked my lips between my teeth and bit down to stifle a laugh. Then I headed for my bedroom door, ordering, “Out. Both of you.”

  “But, Dad—” they whined in unison.

  I cut them off. “You don’t need to be on your iPad anyway. Travis, go get ready for your tutor. We can hash out chargers this afternoon. After you finish your schoolwork. And, Hannah, go get dressed. Grandma’s busy this morning, so you’re going to The Tannerhouse with me.”

  Her eyes lit. “Is Uncle Tan gonna be there?”

  I smiled. My girl did love her uncle. “Maybe. Hurry up and get out of here and I’ll text him to find out.”

  “Woohoo!” she cheered, skipping out of my room.

  Travis followed her, grumbling, “It was my charger, Hannie.”

  “It was not!” she screeched.

  “Hey!” I barked. “I said stop fighting!”

  I shut my door and got dressed, strategically avoiding the picture of Catherine on my dresser. Then I headed to the kitchen to throw some frozen waffles into the toaster for the kids—okay and me too. Those things were fucking delicious. I spent an extra thirty minutes a day at the gym working those babies off.

  Hannah came prancing into the room wearing a hot-pink-and-white-zebra-striped shirt and green-and-black-polka-dot leggings that clashed so loudly that it was almost deafening. Her long, curly hair was a rat’s nest, and her rain galoshes were on the wrong feet.

  I smiled.

  She smiled back and then climbed onto her stool at the bar.

  “Travis, breakfast!” I called, cutting her waffles up as my cell started ringing.

  My boy came wandering into the room, wearing basketball shorts, a T-shirt, and a pissed-off scowl on his face.

  I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Reese?” a woman said.

  “You got him.” I slid a plate in front of Hannah and then turned to grab one for Travis.

  “Hi. I’m calling from Dr. Mills’s office at North Point Pulmonology.”

  I froze at the mention of her name. “What can I, uh, do for you?”

  “Dr. Mills asked me to call and see if you would be able to bring Travis into the office this morning?”

  I dropped the plate on the counter with a loud clatter and nervously switched the phone to my other hand. “I’m sorry. Come again?”

  “Your son, Travis. We were hoping you could—”

  “Charlotte asked you to call me?” I clarified.

  “Yes, sir. She—”

  Hope blasted through my veins, but it was iced by immediate concern. “And you’re positive she wants me to bring my son?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  I blinked several times and then glanced up to Travis, who was sitting at the counter. His face was pale, his eyes sunken from exhaustion. We’d managed to keep him out of the hospital, but that didn’t mean he was doing any better. We’d been up three times last night doing breathing treatments. After the one at five a.m., I hadn’t bothered going back to sleep.

  There was nothing I wouldn’t have given to get him the help he so desperately needed, but not at the risk of destroying her. She’d struggled when she’d seen Hannah’s car seat in my car, and now, five days later, she was going to treat my kid?

  “I can’t,” I said, bile crawling up the back of my throat. I stood there, rooted in
place, my hand gripping the back of my neck, as I stared at my children, who were once again fighting over God only knew what.

  They depended on me. He depended on me.

  It was my job to make the hard decisions and my job to put them first no matter the cost.

  She’d decided to treat him—for me.

  But I knew exactly how it was going to gut her. I felt it every time I thought about that bridge.

  Then again, if she thought she could do it, who was I to argue?

  Oh, right. The man who was going to have to watch the woman he cared about crumble if and when she realized she couldn’t.

  Indecision warred inside me, spiking my pulse and sending a flurry of memories racing through my mind.

  “I need it to stop, Porter.”

  “Daddy, he can’t breathe.”

  “Every single one of them. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. They’re all him.”

  “Who’s going to take care of me now?”

  “I don’t know how to let go of him.”

  But, at the end of the day, there was only one choice.

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “Okay. I’ll let Dr. Mills know. Have a great day, Mr.—”

  “Wait!” I shouted, causing the kids to snap their attention to me. Their brown eyes bored into me as I sucked in a ragged breath. “We’ll be there.”

  My heart was in my throat as I walked up to the front door of her office with Hannah on my hip, her shoes still on the wrong feet, and Travis hot on my heels, his palm wrapped in mine.

  I’d texted Charlotte seventeen times since I’d hung up with her nurse who’d called me.

  She’d replied exactly zero times.

  The strangest mixture of guilt and elation swirled in my chest as I walked to the reception desk.

  The sound of her broken voice telling me, “I can’t treat your son, Porter,” played on a continuous loop in my head, creating something of a soundtrack for the visual of Travis sitting on the side of the tub, a nebulizer between his lips, tears dripping from his chin.

  I was doing the right thing. I knew it to the core of my soul. But that didn’t mean it didn’t fucking burn like the hottest flames, knowing I was doing it to her.

  The same gray-haired receptionist slipped the window open as we approached, her wrinkled glower leveled on me. “Mr. Reese. We meet again.” She rose from her chair, pointedly reached across the desk, and pressed a buzzer. “Come on back. We’ve been expecting you.”

  I nodded and swallowed hard. “Look, is there any chance I could see Charlotte for a minute alone before I bring the kids back?”

  Rita suddenly appeared in the doorway. Her gaze slipped to Travis then to Hannah before finally meeting mine. “Come on, Porter. Charlotte’s in with a patient.”

  “Rita,” I called, shifting Hannah to my other hip and reaching to grab Travis’s hand again. “I need to see her first.”

  She gave me her back as she guided us down the familiar hallway.

  “Rita,” I hissed. “I need—”

  She abruptly stopped, which caused me to bump into her back. Her pretty face was hard as she turned to me, but her eyes were soft. She flashed her gaze to Travis and offered him a genuine smile before pinning me with a glare and whispering, “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt her. I’m trying to—” I whisper-yelled but she shoved the door at her left open and walked inside, leaving it wide for me to follow.

  I made it exactly two steps inside before I froze.

  Three doctors in white coats all rose from their seats behind the long conference table.

  None of them were Charlotte.

  One I vaguely recognized as Dr. Laughlin from his picture hanging beside Charlotte’s in the waiting room, but I’d never seen the two older women before.

  “You must be Travis,” a thin woman with chin-length salt-and-pepper hair said as she approached, her hand extended toward him, a warm smile pulling at her lips.

  Travis peered up at me skeptically before accepting her hand. “Hi.”

  “Hi. I’m Dr. Gina Whitehall. I came a long way to see you.” She winked then craned her head back to look up at me. “I’m so glad you could make it, Porter.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I said absently, confusion ringing in my ears. “Where’s Charlotte?”

  “She’s with a patient. But she’s not going to be joining us today,” Dr. Laughlin stated gruffly.

  I blinked and scanned the room. “Okay. So, why are we here then?”

  “I have to pee,” Hannah whispered in my ear before anyone could answer me.

  “I’ll take her,” Rita offered. “I mean…if that’s okay with you? I think I’ve got some crayons in my office. We could hang out until you guys finish up here.”

  I cut my gaze to hers and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  She smiled tightly. “Just sit down and listen, Porter. And I’ll repeat: If you hurt her, I will kill you.” She clapped her hands together and extended them toward Hannah. “Come on, honey. Let’s go get a snack.”

  I did another sweep of the room, more puzzled than ever.

  “Go ahead, baby. I’ll be right there,” I said, passing Hannah off to Rita.

  When my arm fell to my side, Travis took my hand and pressed into my side. I glanced down and found him staring up at me, anxiety painting his face.

  “It’s okay, bud,” I assured even though I had no idea what the hell was going on.

  “Travis,” the other, slightly round, woman greeted warmly. “I’m Dr. Erin Hoffman, the head of pediatric pulmonology at Texas Children’s Hospital. You can relax. We’re only here to talk to you today.” Her smile lifted to me. “Have a seat, Porter.”

  I couldn’t have moved if the Earth had suddenly caught fire. “I’m sorry. Did you say you’re from Texas Children’s Hospital?”

  Dr. Hoffman chuckled. “So you’ve heard of us.”

  We lived in Georgia, but I knew all about TCH. When your kid was sick, you made it your job to know who the best doctors were. And, while Charlotte seemed to be Atlanta’s best, TCH was the country’s best. They were the people you sold your soul to get an appointment with.

  And here they were. Halfway across the country. To see my son.

  The oxygen in the room suddenly disappeared and the ground beneath my feet rumbled.

  “How?” I asked, reaching down to balance myself on the back of one of the chairs.

  Dr. Whitehall smiled and shrugged. “Charlotte Mills is a good friend and an even better doctor. She asks you to come see a patient, you come see a patient. Who knows when you’ll need her to return the favor.”

  And, just like that, the brightest light I had ever seen illuminated the darkness.

  * * *

  I’d watched through my office window as Porter arrived. I’d felt like a masochist unable to look away as he’d guided his children up the sidewalk toward the door.

  His little girl was beautiful. She looked just like her father, but with a darker complexion. The hole in my heart stretched painfully as she lifted her hands in the air, asking for him to pick her up, an offer he accepted without hesitation. He had a certain practiced ease about it as he fluidly lifted her off the ground and planted her on his hip, her silly rain boots brushing his thigh.

  And then there was his son. It felt like a knife to the chest as I watched him intently staring up at his father, his pouty lips moving with questions, Porter’s matching set moving with replies. He didn’t have his dad’s strong jaw or broad shoulders; those would surely come with age. He did, however, have his father’s mannerisms, especially the one where he grabbed Porter’s hand as they walked. Travis was pale and thin, his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes worrying me immediately.

  But he was there, and so were Dr. Hoffman and Dr. Whitehall.

  I’d done all I could do for that little boy.

  Letting the curtain fall back into place when they’d moved out of sight, I ambled to my desk, my chest empty an
d my throat burning. But there was the tiniest seed of hope sprouting in my stomach.

  I’d stayed hidden in my office until I’d gotten the all clear message from Rita, letting me know Porter and Travis were in the conference room. And only then did I allow myself to open the thread of texts Porter had sent me that morning.

  Porter: You don’t have to do this.

  Porter: Charlotte, please talk to me. I can’t bring him up there unless you let me know where your head is at.

  Porter: You have to say something or I’m not coming.

  Porter: Goddamn it, Charlotte. Answer me.

  Porter: I’m on my way. And I’m fucking terrified this is going to break you.

  My throat was thick with emotion as I continued reading the rest, each one a similar variation of the last. He was worried about me, a thought that warmed me.

  I hadn’t trusted myself to read those texts when they’d been buzzing in my pocket. I might have been tempted to reply, and there was no way Porter would have agreed to come if he had known how anxious I truly was about that morning.

  In the days since I’d last seen Porter, I still hadn’t figured out the magic I needed to reclaim my life in the light, but I had decided to try. One finger at a time, I was going to let that cliff go. How could I not? Porter was waiting for me at the bottom.

  Stashing my phone in my pocket, I headed to the door. My schedule was slammed on Mondays, and I was already behind. And, when I pulled my door open, I knew I was going to run a whole lot later.

  Porter was standing there, looming in the doorway. His jaw hard, the veins on his neck straining, and his gaze dark—like scary dark.

  “What did you do?” he accused.

  My chin jerked to the side.

  Was he pissed?

  “Uh,” I stalled, rocking back onto my heels, giving myself time to formulate a response.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and then he repeated, “What did you do?”

  Holy shit. He was mad.

  My mouth fell open as a herd of angry bumble bees roared to life in my stomach. “I…I told you I can’t treat him.”

  His eyebrows pinched together as he scoffed. “So you decided to fly in two of the best pediatric pulmonologists in the entire fucking country on five days’ notice without