The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise #2)

But I couldn’t calm down. He was going to take Travis away from me for good. I could feel it in my bones. I was losing him. The car was sinking. His heart was failing. And I was once again fighting the impossible.

I looked at Brady. “Don’t do this. This is a crazy situation that we’ve all been forced into. Emotions are running high. But I swear, if given the chance, I’m confident that the three of us can work out something in the best interest of our son.”

“My son!” Brady roared. “He is not yours.”

“Who does he call dad, asshole?” Tanner shouted.

The judge banged his gavel, the sound echoing in my heart.

“No. No. No.” I extended my arms out to my sides, my palms up, desperate to stop the chaos before it was too late. “Stop! Please, just…” I closed my eyes, the defeat paralyzing me.

The gavel kept banging.

Brady kept yelling.

Tanner kept replying.

My heart kept beating.

And the world just kept spinning.

Opening my eyes, I found the only person in the room who could possibly understand. Finally, she was staring straight at me, her soft lips parted while guilt and apology lingered in her beautiful features.

And then I said the familiar words she had once begged of me. “I need it to stop.”

Her eyes grew wide and her body jerked as though I’d hit her from across the room.

Mark stepped into my space, frantically trying to silence me, but I leaned around him to keep her in my line of sight and shouted to be sure she heard me over the chaos.

“Charlotte, please! I need it to stop!”

She slapped a shaking hand over her mouth, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Sit down and shut up,” Mark growled, shoving me into my chair.

I went down, but I kept my gaze on Charlotte, pleading with her without the use of words.

Tears rolled off her chin as she started talking to her attorney, her mouth moving a million miles an hour, a pointed finger swinging in my direction.

Hope swelled in my chest.

Still arguing, Tanner and Brady were both dragged from the room, their yells turning into murmurs as the doors closed behind them.

And then everything fell silent. Eerily so.

The judge swept a pointed scowl through the room. “Anyone want to join them?”

“No, your honor,” Mark answered for me.

Charlotte answered a little differently. “Can I please say something?”

My heart exploded.

The judge lifted his hand to silence her. “Thank you, Ms. Mills, but I’ve heard enough.”

“Wait…please.” Her panicked gaze slipped to mine.

“Enough,” he shot back, and Charlotte slowly sank into her chair, defeated.

That same defeat made my gut sour.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He cleared his throat and then trained his unhappiness on me. “As I was saying, I’m sorry, Mr. Reese, but I can’t make a decision on custody at this time. From what I’ve been told, the police are still in the process of concluding their investigation. Once you have been cleared of all involvement, we can proceed. This is a very rare case unlike any I’ve ever dealt with before. So, before I make any decisions, I’d like to meet with Lucas Boyd personally. I’ll also be assigning a Guardian Ad Litem to the case. He or she will be contacting each of you individually, including Mr. Boyd, to conduct interviews and home visits, collect background information, and so forth. In the meantime, the order of protection will remain in place.”

My body tensed, and I opened my mouth to object but didn’t get a sound out.

“Quiet, Mr. Reese. We’ll reconvene in two weeks. And if at that point you’ve been cleared, we can discuss supervised visitation in the short term until I’m able to make a final ruling.”

My chest collapsed, my shoulders rolling forward to combat the pain. Two weeks felt like an insult. It had already been seven agonizing days. The uncertainty of it all was slowly bleeding me dry.

The judge continued talking, the attorneys chiming in to ask questions and set up dates, but I zoned out.

Any hopes I’d had for that day had been crushed.

Yet, when I lifted my head, my eyes once again found hers.

Her dark browns, which had once housed our shared darkness, now blazed with light.

“Two weeks,” she mouthed.

“I can’t,” I mouthed back.

“I promise I’ll take care of him.” She smiled, and I swear it hit me like a sledgehammer.

But it broke me in all the right places.

Flicking my gaze down, I mouthed, “I hate your shirt.”

Her smile grew, tears spilling from her eyes. “Me too.”

My chest warmed, and for the first time in over a week, the world slowed.

She hadn’t been able to stop it. But the realization that, in some way, shape, or form, we were still on the same team, did more for me than anything else that day.

“Mr. Reese,” the judge called. “Do you understand?”

I glanced at Mark, who was glaring at me, clearly unimpressed with Charlotte’s shirt as well—or perhaps the fact that we were chatting from opposite tables in the middle of a custody hearing. Whatever.

“Yes, sir. Two weeks,” I replied.





* * *





Brady and I drove home from the courthouse in silence.

Or, at least, I was silent.

Brady talked profusely.

Mainly, he was bitching. Complaining about the judge, the attorney, the bailiff, whoever. Then he went off on a full-blown rant, first about Porter before sparing a few F-bombs for Tanner too.

I ignored all of this.

I was plotting. And not Brady’s untimely demise, though the thought had crossed my mind.

No. I was plotting how I was going to finally take my life back.

Just that morning, as I’d sat at breakfast with Lucas while he’d talked for over an hour about Porter, Hannah, Tanner, and the rest of the Reese family, I’d finally learned a very valuable bit of information.

Lucas was gone forever.

It wrecked me to admit that, but it was the truth nonetheless.

Travis Reese went to sleep in my bed every night. He called me Charlotte, not Mom. He called Brady Brady, not Dad. He called my mom Susan and Tom Tom.

He could rattle off a million stories about his little sister, Hannah, but he refused to even hold Brady’s son, William.

He was smart and funny and kind and witty.

And brave. Jesus, he was brave.

He loved ketchup but hated mustard (my favorite). And he loved pizza but hated pasta (Brady’s favorite.) But, most surprising of all, when asked what his favorite food was, he waxed poetic about the sautéed mushrooms at The Porterhouse.

Yes. A ten-year-old’s favorite food was his uncle’s sautéed mushrooms.

I’d had those mushrooms when I’d stolen them off Porter’s plate on our first date. Travis wasn’t wrong. They were really freaking good. But I knew they had been better because I’d eaten them with Porter.