The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

“Oh, I’m not a patient. I’m here to talk to Dr. Mills.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “Sorry, son. Dr. Mills doesn’t deal with the pharmaceutical reps. You want a sit-down, you’ll have to schedule it through Rita.”

“Rita!” I exclaimed a little too loudly before clearing my throat and playing it cool. “Yes. I’d love to talk to Rita. You know…about pharmaceutical stuff.”

I pasted on a grin that I prayed came across more endearing than stalker, but I assumed I’d failed when her eyebrows pinched together suspiciously.

“Tell Rita that Porter Reese is here. She’ll know who I am.”

When she reluctantly picked the phone up, I stole a moment to glance around the office. In my experience, all doctors’ offices looked the same. Different furniture. Different magazines. Same sterile environment. While this one was nice and everything seemed new, it still screamed, Don’t get comfortable. Nothing good happens here. Though that assumption might have been based on my experiences with Travis. It was always bad news with him.

After scanning the large waiting room, I gazed at a display of pictures hanging on the wall closest to the door. Charlotte’s name had been engraved on a placard beside a photo of her staring blankly into the camera, the fakest smile I had ever seen pulling at her lips. She was wearing a navy-blue sweater paired with a set of pearls I was positive she hated. Don’t ask me how I knew, considering that two of the times I’d seen her she was wearing either an oversized hoodie or a pair of scrubs, but she looked about as comfortable as she would have been in a straitjacket.

I didn’t even try to stop the chuckle.

“Don’t you dare laugh!” a woman hissed behind me.

I spun and found Rita glaring at me.

“Hey. Sorry to stop by unannounced, but—” I didn’t get to finish my apology before she grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the front door.

“I can’t believe you would show your face here after what you did.”

I threw the brakes on. “Me? What did I do?”

“Cut the crap and leave,” she whisper-yelled before glancing around the waiting room and flashing a placating smile to the two patients watching us.

Confused, I snatched my arm out of her grasp. “I don’t know what crap you want me to cut. I’m here to see Charlotte, but the receptionist told me I had to go through you.”

She laughed without humor. “You are not here to see Charlotte.”

“Uh…yeah. I am,” I smarted.

Her jaw ticked as she glared at me, and then she exploded into a fury of hisses and angry whispers. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve done enough, okay? Just…leave.” She swung a pointed finger at the door.

I narrowed my eyes, a sick sense of unease settling in my stomach. “How about you use actual words here, Rita? What exactly do you think I’ve done to Charlotte?”

She gave me another snarky laugh. “That bullshit dinner? Christ, Porter. I think she actually liked you.”

I lowered my voice and shot back, “That’s good to hear, because I actually like her.”

She cackled like a bitch. “Right. You want me to believe this has nothing to do with that appointment for your son?”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as realization hit me. Planting my hands on my hips, I whispered ominously, “You told her about the appointment?”

“She’s my best friend! Of course I told her.”

The all-too-familiar anger swirled through me, ricocheting with no way out. Charlotte thought I was after the appointment for Travis…and I was.

But make no mistake about it: I was after her too.

“Where is she?” I growled, closing the distance between us with a menacing step.

All five-foot-nothing of Rita’s body went solid, but she pushed up onto her toes to snarl, “Leave her alone. She’s been through enough without”—she quieted, but her tone remained threatening—“an asshole like you manipulating her. I can’t believe—”

I’m sure she kept talking, but I’d heard enough. Charlotte thought I was playing her. The worst of it was that maybe I had been. Initially. But not when I’d asked her to dinner. And definitely not when I’d asked her to share the darkness with me. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to stand there for a second longer while she was somewhere in that office, thinking I had.

Turning on a toe, I stormed toward the door that led deeper into the office and yanked it open.

“You can’t go back there!” Rita shouted, but I never slowed.

With heavy steps, I blew through the halls in search of her. I, no doubt, looked like a madman. But that’s exactly how I felt. Crazed and irate. I don’t know how she did it, but Charlotte eased the ache in my chest. And I’d be damned if I was going to let her walk away without giving me a chance to ease hers too.

A woman at a small desk in the middle of the hallway rose from her chair, panic on her face. “Can I—”

“Dr. Mills,” I demanded.

“Uh…” she stammered, but her eyes flashed to the side, giving me the answer long before her mouth ever would.

Following her gaze, I came face-to-face with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. Her face was blank, but that might have been the most telling part of all. My heart stopped and my lungs burned as realization slammed into me like a Mack truck.

I’d done that to her.

“Charlotte,” I whispered in apology.

She was standing at the other end of the hall, her gaze locked on mine, a medical file clutched against her chest, her lips parted in surprise.

Beautiful.

Exhausted.

So fucking broken.

I moved closer. “We need to talk.”

She lifted a hand to stop my approach, but she didn’t say anything. Her dim eyes stared through me, unreadable and emotionless. She was the distant woman from the Fling, not the vibrant woman from our date. It fucking killed me to see her like that.

“Charlotte,” I rasped, inching closer.

“My office,” she stated. It wasn’t a question or an order. They were just words. Hollow, empty syllables.

Fuck.

She moved down the hall in my direction, but she wasn’t moving toward me. With careful and intentional steps, she made a wide berth around me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I’d expected her to be pissed. But this was worse. She hadn’t actually said anything yet, but I could tell she’d spent the last two days building that wall of hers taller than ever. Discouraged but determined, I followed her to the door at the end of the hall, preparing a million apologies with every step.

Her office was smaller than I would have expected. The desk was uncluttered, not so much as a Post-it Note in sight. Three bookshelves lined the space behind her desk, all filled with neat rows of books arranged by size, not even a knickknack to break up the monotony.

Cold and uninviting.

Just like the woman standing before me.

But she was there. Therefore, so was I.

“Talk to me,” I pleaded as she sat and motioned for me to do the same.