The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise #2)

I burst into tears and sank to the floor, Porter right beside me, his chest heaving in time with mine, a million curse words mixed with blessed praises rolling from our tongues.

We didn’t touch. Or speak.

We didn’t need words. Or comfort.

We needed a miracle.

The world moved in a flurry as I frantically tried to keep up, all the while watching my hopes and dreams fade out of reach.

We sat there for God only knows how long as doctors and nurses continued trying to stabilize him enough to move him to a room.

The hospital was a small community. And, once word had gotten around that my son had been admitted, the staff flooded the ER. Greg, my partner at North Point Pulmonology, was one of the first to arrive. He’d been acting as Travis’s pulmonologist for the last few weeks, but his orders were coming from friends of mine at Texas Children’s Hospital.

“Did you call them?” I asked, jumping to my feet.

Porter rose to his feet beside me and attempted to take my hand, but I shook it off.

“Did you?” I asked again.

Greg’s concerned gaze dipped to my soaking-wet shirt and then back to my eyes. “I did. Erin said she can’t get away, but Gina is catching a flight out.” He lifted a finger at a passing nurse. “Can you grab them some scrubs to put on?”

“Listen. No. Call her back. We don’t need a pulmonologist. I need a team of cardiologists. The best they have.”

Porter moved into my side and added, “Dr. Kreh is the head of cardiology at TCH. I talked to him a few weeks ago on the phone. He’s familiar with Travis’s case.”

Greg looked at him for only a beat and then ignored him altogether. His face became soft, and his words were gentle. “Charlotte, you know there is nothing he can do at this point.”

“That’s not true,” I hissed.

He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re thinking like a parent. Think like a doctor. There is no quick fix or treatment here. The muscles in his heart are no longer able to support his body. You’ve known this day was coming since he was born.”

“I’ve had him back for two weeks!” My voice cracked. “It’s not supposed to happen yet.”

Greg cut his gaze to the floor, and Porter once again tried to pull me into his arms, but I refused him the contact.

I didn’t want to be coddled. I wanted someone to make this stop.

To change the inevitable.

To fix my son.

“Make the call,” I demanded.

“Charlotte, I—”

“Make the fucking call, Greg!” I boomed, getting in his face. “Do it!”

“I already did. He said there was nothing that he could do.” He kept his eyes down. “He needs the transplant, Charlotte. I know this is hard for you. But we’re going to find him a heart. I swear to you. This entire hospital has your back.”

My body sagged, and the jagged knife of reality stabbed me in the gut. Medically, I knew that what he was saying was right. But, as a mom, I couldn’t stop hoping that he was wrong.

“He’s been on the list for two months,” Porter said, “and we haven’t gotten so much as a phone call.”

“He’ll be moved up the list,” I whispered.

He glanced between Greg and me. “Okay. That’s good, then, right?”

“Up doesn’t mean the top.”

“It’s still up,” Porter argued, the saddest tinge of hope coloring his voice.

I didn’t carry the same hope. Lifting my pleading gaze to Greg, I asked, “He’s not leaving this hospital, is he?”

His face paled, he closed his eyes, and then crushed me. “Not with that heart.”

A wave of devastation slammed into me.

Four words.

Every single one of them broke me.

Slapping my hand over my mouth, I stumbled back a step.

With a hand at the back of my neck, Porter forced me against his chest and hugged me tight.

And, for the first time ever, I felt no comfort in his arms.

No warmth.

No solace.

I felt nothing but an ice-cold chill travel up my spine.

I stood there, desperately searching for the relief Porter usually gave me. My heart racing, my mouth dry. But nothing came to me. Not even when I closed my eyes and gave the darkness a try.

There was no reprieve to be found in a situation like that.

“Charlotte,” someone called from down the hall.

My head popped up and I saw Brady racing through the ER, his terrified gaze morphing into a living, breathing beast as he came to a sudden stop several feet away. His wide eyes locked on Porter.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he seethed.

I stepped out of Porter’s arms and lifted my hands in surrender. “Don’t start this here.”

Porter stepped forward and rumbled, “We have bigger things to worry about than your bullshit right now, Brady.” He moved behind me, snaking an arm around my hips and bringing his chest flush with my back.

With his callused gaze, Brady followed the motion down. “You cannot be serious. Why are you here right now?”

“We were together when Travis collapsed.” I tried to explain.

He barked a laugh and planted his hands on his hips. “And why the fuck were you together, Charlotte? Please, God, tell me you aren’t back together with the man who kidnapped your son. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with you?”

“He has a right to be here.”

“He has no right!” Brady exploded.

Porter charged forward and he did it so fast that I didn’t have a chance to stop him until it was too late. He grabbed Brady’s throat and slammed his back into the wall. “I have every fucking right! That is my son. Mine!”

Brady’s eyes bulged and his face turned red.

“Porter, let him go!” I clawed at his arm, but it was useless. Porter had a death grip on his neck.

“I have done everything for that child,” Porter growled. “I was the one who held him each night when he cried through countless breathing treatments. I was the one who made sure he had the best medical care. I was the one who held his hand every time he was poked and prodded with needle after needle. And, not a goddamn hour ago, I dragged his lifeless body out of the water for a second time.” He leaned in close until they were nose to nose. “I don’t give a single damn what you or any court in this country says. He. Is. Mine!”

Just as quickly as Porter had grabbed Brady, he released him. Thrusting a hand into the top of his hair, he started to pace.

Brady hunched over and supported himself on his knees, coughing and cursing.

Two uniformed hospital security guards came barreling around the corner, their gazes bouncing between the two men.

“I’m sorry about that,” I told the guards. “We have this completely under control now.”

“Arrest…him.” Brady wheezed, flinging a hand out at Porter.

“Brady, no!” I yelled.

He straightened to his full height and rolled his shoulders back. “We have a protection order against that man. I want him out of here now!”

“You selfish coward,” Porter snarled.

I stepped in front of the officers. “Please. Stop. Just listen—”

“Is this true?” the younger of the two men asked.

I glared at Brady. “Please don’t do this… Travis’s condition is bad, Brady. Like, we don’t know if he’ll ever walk out of this hospital again. If he wakes up and wants to see his dad—”