The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

“Dr. Mills? It’s Patty.”

I shot straight up, my tired body suddenly coming fully awake as a blast of adrenaline shot through my veins.

“What do you have?” I rushed out, jumping to my feet.

“The transplant team is being called in. Caucasian male. Dilated Cardiomyopathy. A-pos…” She continued to rattle stats off as I tied my long hair into a ponytail.

After sliding my shoes on, I weaved a hurried path through my small apartment and snagged my keys off the bar. “How old?” I snapped, a sharp pain of anticipation piercing me. She didn’t immediately answer, so as I attempted to lock the door with shaking hands, I repeated, “How old, Patty?”

One word.

“Ten.”

My throat closed and I stared at the front door while blinking tears back.

One word.

“Lucas,” I breathed, rational thought fleeing my system almost as fast as hope filled me.

“Dr. Mills, if I may—” Patty started, but I didn’t have the time or the desire to hear her out.

“I’m on my way.” I hung up.

The rain poured down in sheets, soaking me to the bone as I jogged to my car. The leather seat of my BMW was cool, but that wasn’t why a chill traveled down my spine. I hit his number on my favorites and then lifted my phone to my ear.

“Detective—” he answered, but I didn’t let him finish.

Throwing the car into reverse, I yelled, “I found him!”

“Come again?” Tom said.

“I need you to meet me at the hospital. There’s a kid,” I told him, speeding out of my apartment complex.

“Son of a bitch. I knew it. You aren’t all right. Go home, Charlotte. I’ll meet you there.”

My voice shook as my anxiety grew. “He’s ten. Caucasian. Dilated Cardiomyopathy. A-pos. All just like Lucas.”

“And just like the last three kids you’ve dragged me up to the hospital to see over the last ten years. You promised me you’d stop doing this shit.”

I had. I’d been managing my hopes well over the last few years. Keeping them so low that they were almost nonexistent. In that time, I’d turned down two middle-of-the-night calls from Patty and the transplant team. Each time, I’d still swing by recovery the next morning, just to be sure it wasn’t him. It was never my son though.

But I’d been spiraling out of control over the last few weeks, and I’d actually convinced myself that maybe this time was different.

“This shit is finding my son!” I bit out, gripping the steering wheel tight as I floored it through a yellow light.

“No, Charlotte. This shit is you punishing yourself.” He quieted before taking a needle to my bubble of happiness. “It’s not him.”

My frustration flashed to rage. “You don’t know that! If Lucas is still out there, he’s going to end up on that operating table one day. And goddamn it, Tom, I’m going to be there when he does.”

“Sweetheart,” he said gently.

I sucked in a deep breath, refusing to allow his negativity to extinguish the only strand of optimism I’d had in years. “It’s him,” I said resolutely.

“It’s not—”

“But what if it is? Isn’t it at least worth checking out?”

He laughed without humor. “What are we checking out, Charlotte? A kid? Who is about to get a transplant? You want me to show up there and interrogate his terrified parents? Slap them in a pair of cuffs and haul them down to the station because their son happens to be the same age and blood type as a baby that was taken ten years ago?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to do!” I yelled, knowing how irrational it sounded but completely unable to stop myself.

“Well, it’s not going to happen. Everyone in the world with a kid on the donor registry is not a suspect.”

That was where Tom and I disagreed. As far as I was concerned, they should have been. The cardiac team at the Emory Transplant Center knew me well. I’d called in favor after favor to get the heads-up when a patient matching Lucas’s description was brought in. I despised the pity-filled glances they gave me when I’d show up frantic and haggard, but it was well worth it to get those precious phone calls.

I continued to break every traffic law known to man as I merged onto the highway. “Are you coming or not?”

“Don’t do this, Charlotte,” he said in a low, fatherly warning. “Go home.”

“Not until I see him. I’ll know if it’s Lucas.”

His voice grew louder. “Do not go up to that hospital.”

“I’ve got to go, Tom.”

“Charlotte!” he shouted, but I ended the call.

Tossing my phone to the seat beside me, I focused on the road. It rang repeatedly during the rest of my drive to the hospital.

With my heart in my throat, I scrambled out of my car and sprinted toward the doors. My stomach was in knots, but I never slowed as I hurried deeper into the hospital, scanning my badge when necessary to get to restricted areas. Nurses spoke as I weaved my way through the hallways, my shoes squeaking against the tile floor with every turn. Excitement and anticipation fueled me forward, my mind reeling with possibilities.

All of them positive.

And all of them ending with me finally waking up from this nightmare.

But, as I snatched the curtain in pre-op open, I realized that the nightmare was only getting started.

Three pairs of eyes swung my way.

All of them blue.

Two of them matched.

None of them were Lucas’s.

I gasped and slapped a hand over my mouth as ten years of pain, hopes, and heartbreak collided, melded together, and then joined forces in a mission to finish me once and for all.

The child’s mother rose to her feet, her face filled with concern.

I couldn’t begin to imagine what I looked like on the outside, because on the inside, I was a virtual wasteland of despair.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

My glassy eyes flicked to her, my hands shaking and my knees buckling.

One word.

“No.”





* * *





“How are you doing, baby?” my mom asked through the phone.

I rocked back in my office chair and propped my feet up on my desk. “It’s been a crazy night. Raul called out, two of the waitresses got into a spat over tips, and we ran out of parsnips.”

“Well, all of that sucks, but I asked how you were doing, not the restaurant.”

How was I doing?

I was functioning. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I smiled on cue, worked more than I would have liked, and obsessed about Charlotte Mills more than I would ever admit.

The minute after I’d gotten home from her office, I’d Googled her.

I’d convinced myself it wasn’t a betrayal after she’d told me about Lucas, but as I’d pored over articles and stared at old photos of her hollow eyes leaving the police station, it had still felt like an invasion of her privacy.