The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

“Sorry. I didn’t know cocktail attire was required.”

I’d spent most of my free time mastering the skill of avoiding social gatherings. Baby showers. Birthdays. Weddings. Whatever. For a woman with three friends, I got invited to more shit than you could imagine. I’d found that, if I bought a gift card and sent it with my regrets, no one got pissy when I didn’t show. Unfortunately, I didn’t think it was financially responsible to mail a gift card to all thirty of the employees at our office with a note that said: Yes. You were right. I am an ice queen and would rather eat hissing cockroaches than attend a damn carnival. Here, accept this fifty-dollar Walmart gift card in my absence.

Though, judging by the side-eyes I’d received as I’d walked up, it probably would have been a welcome substitution.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” I whispered to Rita.

Folding her arms on top of the table, she leaned toward me and whispered back, “Because vampires can’t walk in the sun, honey.” She laughed. “I, for one, am thrilled you decided to come.”

“I’m sure you are. It saves you the trouble of burning my house down like you threatened on my voicemail twice yesterday.”

She beamed. “Yes. And that.”

Rita was crazy. All hell on wheels, beauty queen wrapped in pearls and Southern charm. She’d threatened me with worse than burning my house down over the years. Honestly, I’d been a little disappointed with her creativity with that one.

She lifted a long strip of blue tickets into the air, her short, blond hair bouncing as she energetically explained, “Everything from lunch to face painting is one ticket. You get ten free. After that, you can purchase more right here with me. All monies collected go toward—”

“Where’s Greg?” I asked, cutting her off. That speech was going to last for ten minutes, and she wasn’t going to take a breath the entire time.

She frowned, her excitement about whatever charity she’d chosen to donate to this year disappearing at the mention of his name. “Dr. Laughlin is spending the day in the dunking booth.”

I tsked in disappointment. “I thought we discussed the human dartboard?”

“I decided it might be a tad too violent for the kids.”

“Yeah, but the dunking booth isn’t nearly as satisfying to watch.”

“I don’t know about that.” She leaned in close, partitioning off her mouth from the people around us and whispered, “I filled the tank with ice water and paid the pitchers from the local high school baseball team to rotate through the line for a few hours.”

“Niiiiice,” I praised.

Her red-painted lips split with pride. “If he’s going to fire me, I’m going to earn it.”

My head snapped back. “What are you talking about? He’s not going to fire you.”

“Oh please. How long do you think he’s going to keep his ex-wife employed after I take him to the cleaners in divorce court?”

“I don’t care what happens between you two. He’s not firing you.”

She reached across the table and squeezed my arm. “You’re sweet, honey. But it’s bound to happen. And I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can spend my days watching him parade around with whatever nurse he’s got his eye on next.”

I scoffed. “There isn’t a woman in that office who would touch him with a ten-foot pole after the shit he and Tammy pulled on you. Besides, that office is half mine. You aren’t going anywhere.”

Her faced warmed and saddened at the same time. “And I appreciate that, but, Charlotte, it’s time for me to move on. A man you love treats you like that, you don’t sit around pining after him. You put on your tightest little black dress and your best pair of heels, and strut into the future.” Her voice caught, but she kept right on smiling. “Life sucks sometimes. You and I know that better than anyone else, but we only get one.”

I felt every single word slash through me.

I loved Rita. And, thanks to a bottle of tequila on Lucas’s fourth birthday, she and Greg knew all about my situation. But my affections for her didn’t stop the familiar resentment from roaring to life within me.

It happened when people tried to sympathize with me, comparing whatever sucky situation was plaguing their lives at the moment to the utter devastation that had destroyed mine. Sure, they were usually well meaning, but the words felt like a low blow, trivializing everything I’d experienced. Even coming from someone as kind as Rita, it felt like an insult.

She was losing her husband. I’m sure her heart was breaking, but it was still beating. It hadn’t been ripped from her chest. Hope wouldn’t become her greatest enemy, nor would guilt be her only company. Her days might be gray, but they wouldn’t be midnight, every sunrise darker than the last. She had no comparison to the hell that was my life. I hated that Greg had turned out to be such a dick. It had pained me for her when the truth had come out.

But it wasn’t the end for her.

One day, she’d get over him and start her life again. She’d smile and laugh and realize that it had all been for the best. She’d find someone better and start a family, thanking her lucky stars that he’d let her go so she could bask in the sunlight of her new life.

Meanwhile, I’d still be frozen in time, holding my breath for a future that would never come.

Unless…I could figure out how to change.

Swallowing hard, I faked a smile and tried to keep the cyclone of pain hidden.

“Enough heavy for one day,” I urged quietly.

“Yes. Yes. You’re right.” She sniffled and swiped under her eyes, though no tears had escaped. “Go on. Get out of here and have some fun.”

Like that’s going to happen.

Lifting my tickets, I pointedly shook my them at her and made my escape.

“Oh, wait, Char!” she called.

Reapplying my mask, I turned back to face her. “What’s up?”

“Do me a favor and take this over to the guy at the grill?” She thrust an empty pickle jar in my direction. “He needs a way to collect the tickets for lunch.” She smiled—like, huge.

So huge that I went on alert. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” she said innocently, but that fucking smile stretched even wider.

I swirled my finger in the air to indicate her face. “Like that.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

Swear to God.

Her.

Smile.

Grew.

Suspiciously, I glanced over my shoulder at a large, white tent positioned next to a grill with a pluming cloud of smoke floating out of it. There was a tall man with unruly, blond hair sticking out in all directions. The cause was clear as he fisted the top of it in frustration. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white apron that had large, black handprints smudged across the front. His mouth moved a mile a minute as he scraped whatever he was massacring into a cardboard box at his feet.

Rita pressed the jar into my hand. “You should go talk to him.”