The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

I should have gone and rescued what I feared was going to be lunch from its fiery death. Instead, I continued watching him with curiosity as he slapped another round of raw burgers down, sparks shooting up around them.

“What the hell is he doing?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Go ask him.” She nudged my shoulder.

Understanding dawned on me and I swung my gaze to her. “Are you trying to set me up with that guy?”

“Dear God, no.” She slapped a hand over her heart. “I’m about to reenter the dating world for the first time in eight years. I can’t afford to risk that you’ll praying-mantis a hot one like that.” She shoved me forward. “Stop being so damn suspicious. He looks like he could use some help, and I’m smart enough to know that you’re about to find somewhere to hide for the next hour until you can leave. So do us all a favor and do it”—she pointed a perfectly French manicured nail at the man—“over there.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she had been pretty much spot-on, so I quickly closed it.

“Go make sure there will be edible food to serve people and then you have my full permission to leave in two hours.”

“One hour,” I countered.

“One and a half.”

“One hour, Rita. I need to get up to the hospital.” Totally the truth. Mr. Clark was raising hell, and the nurses had been blowing my phone up while waiting for a discharge order.

“One hour and fifteen minutes,” she bargained.

I extended a hand toward her. “One hour and I’ll pay to keep the baseball team until five.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her hand landed in mine so fast that I almost laughed.

“Deal.”





* * *





“Son of a…” I trailed off before I had the chance to scandalize the ears of any children nearby. “Sorry, Porter. I can’t make it. Angie needs me. You at least know how to grill, right?” I mocked my brother’s voice while scraping another burnt burger off the fire and into the hidden bin at my feet, where at least ten others were in similar condition.

No. The answer was no. I didn’t know how to grill—at least, not effectively. I must have missed that day in Manliness 101. But did I tell Tanner that? Fuck no. My brother was a jackass. He’d bailed on me only fifteen minutes before we were supposed to start because the woman he had been dating for approximately seven seconds needed him for moral support because her dog had died. I was a dog lover as much as the next guy, but come on. He’d known how much I was depending on him.

Then, in another show of astounding maturity, he’d hung up on me and turned his phone off.

I plopped another hand-molded patty on the grill. Using the long, metal spatula, I pointed at it and ordered in a low voice, “Don’t fucking burn.”

It was safe to say that I was seriously stressing out. Burning over a hundred burgers was hardly going to carry me into the good graces of the ageist Dr. Mills. But, just that morning, I’d held Travis as he’d struggled through yet another worthless breathing treatment. Something had to give.

Turning my attention away from the sizzling grill, I scanned the crowd. Children ran rampant through the grassy park, weaving between games and refreshment stands. That should have been Travis. Instead, he was at home with my parents, laid up in bed, too sick to even attend school anymore. His immune system was shot, and I’d been forced to make the decision to pull Hannah from the daycare she loved to keep her from bringing germs home to her brother. She would have loved that damn Spring Fling too.

Strings of uncaught cotton candy floated in the air while the sporadic grinding of the snow cone machine interrupted the sound of Disney classics playing on a loudspeaker. A circle of little girls was letting it go when movement to my right caught my attention.

A woman ducked under the ropes partitioning the grilling area off, and her long, black hair whipped into her face as the wind curled around her.

“Hi,” she said, her voice almost robotic.

As she fought to get the hair out of her face, I took the moment to rake my gaze over her thin frame. She was cute, understated, in a pair of dark jeans and an oversized hoodie that hugged her about as well as a lawn and leaf bag, and not even a hint of makeup covered her olive complexion. She reminded me of a girl I might see cozied up in one of the overstuffed chairs at a coffee shop in the middle of August, desperately pretending it was December: sweatshirt wrapped around her, eyes aimed down at a book, plump lips sipping a steaming-hot chocolate while the hot sun blazed in from the window behind her.

Intriguing enough for you to notice.

Closed off enough to keep you from approaching.

Beautiful enough to keep you thinking about her for days after.

“Um…hi,” she repeated awkwardly when I continued to silently stare at her. “Pickle jar?”

I blinked and traced my gaze down her delicate arm to her hand. Sure enough, she was offering me an empty pickle jar, complete with a green top, a narrow slit carved out of the center.

“It’s a ticket-holder thingy. Rita told me you’d need one.”

I raked my gaze over her again, noticing a small line of sweat beading on her forehead. And because I obviously needed to max myself out on awkwardness for the day, I told her, “You’re hot.”

Jesus, Porter.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she set the jar down on the side of the grill. “Right. Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Shit. Wait. I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is you have to be hot. It’s, like, eighty degrees today.”

“Right,” she said dryly as she continued her retreat.

“Seriously, I didn’t mean… Oh shit!” I yelled when flames shot up out of the grill.

Grabbing a bottle of water, I dumped it onto the flames. Then I threw my hand up in front of my face when it caused them to flare out to the sides.

Yep. It was official. I was going to set the park on fire.

Good news: There was medical personnel onsite.

Bad news: I could kiss that appointment for Travis goodbye.

“Watch out.” The woman appeared at my side, sliding into the narrow space in front of me. Her long, dark hair smacked me in the face as she twisted the knobs until the fire died down.

A ragged breath of relief flew from my lungs. “Christ, that could have been bad.”

She turned to face me, sporting a scowl that I had no doubt could cause frostbite.

With a tight smile, I said, “I think the grill is defective.”

“The grill or you?” she retorted.

“Definitely the grill.”

Swiftly, she lifted the box of burnts off the ground and pointedly thrust it in my direction. “You do know that the cow is already dead, right? There’s no need to punish it any further.” The words kinda-sorta sounded like they might have been a joke, but her voice held no humor.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out how to respond. My gut told me to be a dick, but my better judgment won out.

“You’re rude,” I stated.

She twisted her lips. “Says the man staring at me like he just got out of prison.”

I wanted to laugh. I liked dry humor, and she wasn’t wrong. I was absolutely checking her out.

But again…I had no fucking idea if she was even trying to be funny.

The woman was unreadable.