The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise #2)

Porter: What the hell kind of blasphemy is that?

Me: I don’t know, but now that I know you’re considering how well you’d fill out a pair of my panties, it’s making me wonder if she wasn’t right.

Porter: Well, you’re in luck. Your boyfriend also has two LAST names.

Me: Annnndddd…we’re right back to the boyfriend thing.

Porter: Yep. But look, it’s seven. Go get our boy and then get your sexy ass over here.



My stomach dipped, and I nearly dropped my phone.

Our boy.

My chest got impossibly warm, the words wiggling deep under my skin until they were stroking my soul.

That’s who he was.

Ours.

Porter hadn’t been there the day he had been born.

And I hadn’t been there when he had grown up.

But, as a team, one of us had always been there. First for Lucas, and then for Travis.

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, the words I love you all but clawing their way up my throat. I tamped them down.



Me: Are you going to be wearing women’s underwear when I get there?

Porter: Not a chance in hell.



I smiled and swung my car door open. I was halfway up to the door when my phone buzzed in my hand.



Porter: And, as soon as the kids go to sleep, you won’t be wearing any, either.



That warmth in my chest traveled south.

Travis chose that exact moment to come barreling out the front door. I jumped and, with pink cheeks, tucked my phone into my pocket.

“Charlotte!” Travis yelled, nearly plowing me over. “Can we go back to your apartment now?” He winked, which was more like a blink.

My lips immediately thinned, and I allowed my gaze to drift over his shoulder to where Brady was standing, his shoulder propped against the doorjamb, a hard scowl aimed at me.

Shit.

I was in no mood to go toe to toe with Brady. I was happy, really and truly, for the first time in nearly a decade. And I refused to allow him to ruin that for me.

But just because I refused didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen anyway.

“Hey, we need to talk,” he called out.

I groaned internally. “Go wait in the car, Trav. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Front seat?” he asked.

I gave him a side-eye. He asked that question every time we walked out my front door.

And, every time, I answered with, “Back seat.”

Poor kid was lucky I didn’t make him sit in a booster seat. Forget about riding in the front.

“Aw, man,” he complained and then took off toward my car.

With all the enthusiasm of a snail, I walked over to Brady.

“What’s up?” I asked, praying that Travis had been as good as I’d thought he’d been about keeping our little Porter secret.

Brady shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I want him overnight this weekend.”

My shoulders snapped back, and my body went on alert. “What? No way!”

He cocked his head to the side. “I’m not asking. You’ve had him every night since he’s been back.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. “Yeah, Brady. Because he’s sick. He wakes up two to three times a night for breathing treatments and other medication. We both know I’m better equipped to handle that than you are. It’s best if he stays with me. Look, you can have him Saturday during the day, but he’s coming home with me on Saturday night.”

He caught my elbow and yanked me toward him. “Then teach me.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I hissed, snatching my arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

Shame flashed in his eyes. He raked a hand through the top of his hair and then cupped the back of his neck. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

And, as if Brady’s apology hadn’t been shocking enough, he lifted his gaze to mine, the grief and dejection almost knocking me back a step.

“I need more time with him. He’s not connecting with me like he is with you. He was here for all of two hours tonight. And an hour and a half of that was spent asking when you were coming back to get him.”

Guilt settled heavily in my belly. “Brady…I…”

“What am I doing wrong?”

Keeping him from Porter.

“It’s only been a week. Be patient.”

“It took him, like, ten minutes to warm up to you, Charlotte.”

I cut my gaze to the ground. “He’d seen me with Porter. It was built-in trust.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, tipping his chin toward my car. “He can’t get out of here fast enough.”

Following his gaze, I found Travis frantically waving for me to come on.

Suddenly, I felt like a heel.

Travis didn’t want to leave Brady’s; he just wanted to go home—to Porter’s.

I gave Brady’s forearm a squeeze. “I’ll talk to him. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waved, and before I even had a chance to move, he shut the door.




Every light in the room was on. My head was thrown back against the pillow, my hand in the top of Porter’s hair, his mouth between my legs.

It should be noted that, while bathroom sex was amazing, a bed definitely had its merits. The best of which being the ease in which Porter could trail his mouth over every inch of my body.

A strangled cry escaped my throat as his fingers roughly filled me while his tongue swirled over my clit.

“Porter, please,” I begged, tugging at his hair.

“Not until you come again,” he rumbled, the vibrations doing some seriously nice things.

“I can’t, bab—oh God.” What started as a whisper morphed into a moan when he twisted his fingers, curling them inside me.

When Travis and I had arrived at the house, a set of nerves I’d never even considered had exploded within me.

Porter had been waiting on the porch for us. But, while looking up at that two-story brick home, I found myself dreading getting out of the car. How was I supposed to walk into that house without feeling like an intruder?

That house was a portal to an entirely different dimension.

A gateway to the world in which my son had grown up.

A world where he called another woman mom.

The same woman who had taken him from me.

Numbly, I’d accepted a kiss from Porter before he’d guided me inside. One step through the door and I realized that it was worse than I’d feared. Images of my son covered the walls in a weird yet charming hodgepodge of frames. As much as I wanted to investigate, memorize, and absorb every one of those stolen moments from his childhood, I couldn’t bring myself to look.

What if she was in the pictures? Holding my son. Smiling with my son. Laughing with my son. Living and enjoying every moment she’d robbed me of.

I’d told myself that the past didn’t matter, but it still felt like a dozen copies of his deep-brown eyes were boring into me from all angles, taunting me with memories I’d never have.

So I pretended those pictures didn’t exist.

Only they became all I could think about.

Curiosity consumed me while self-preservation waged its war.

I smiled on cue. Laughed when something was funny. Held on to Porter as if he could make it stop. But I never opened my mouth to tell him why I was silently losing my mind.