The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

“You must be Travis,” a thin woman with chin-length salt-and-pepper hair said as she approached, her hand extended toward him, a warm smile pulling at her lips.

Travis peered up at me skeptically before accepting her hand. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m Dr. Gina Whitehall. I came a long way to see you.” She winked then craned her head back to look up at me. “I’m so glad you could make it, Porter.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said absently, confusion ringing in my ears. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“She’s with a patient. But she’s not going to be joining us today,” Dr. Laughlin stated gruffly.

I blinked and scanned the room. “Okay. So, why are we here then?”

“I have to pee,” Hannah whispered in my ear before anyone could answer me.

“I’ll take her,” Rita offered. “I mean…if that’s okay with you? I think I’ve got some crayons in my office. We could hang out until you guys finish up here.”

I cut my gaze to hers and whispered, “What’s going on?”

She smiled tightly. “Just sit down and listen, Porter. And I’ll repeat: If you hurt her, I will kill you.” She clapped her hands together and extended them toward Hannah. “Come on, honey. Let’s go get a snack.”

I did another sweep of the room, more puzzled than ever.

“Go ahead, baby. I’ll be right there,” I said, passing Hannah off to Rita.

When my arm fell to my side, Travis took my hand and pressed into my side. I glanced down and found him staring up at me, anxiety painting his face.

“It’s okay, bud,” I assured even though I had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Travis,” the other, slightly round, woman greeted warmly. “I’m Dr. Erin Hoffman, the head of pediatric pulmonology at Texas Children’s Hospital. You can relax. We’re only here to talk to you today.” Her smile lifted to me. “Have a seat, Porter.”

I couldn’t have moved if the Earth had suddenly caught fire. “I’m sorry. Did you say you’re from Texas Children’s Hospital?”

Dr. Hoffman chuckled. “So you’ve heard of us.”

We lived in Georgia, but I knew all about TCH. When your kid was sick, you made it your job to know who the best doctors were. And, while Charlotte seemed to be Atlanta’s best, TCH was the country’s best. They were the people you sold your soul to get an appointment with.

And here they were. Halfway across the country. To see my son.

The oxygen in the room suddenly disappeared and the ground beneath my feet rumbled.

“How?” I asked, reaching down to balance myself on the back of one of the chairs.

Dr. Whitehall smiled and shrugged. “Charlotte Mills is a good friend and an even better doctor. She asks you to come see a patient, you come see a patient. Who knows when you’ll need her to return the favor.”

And, just like that, the brightest light I had ever seen illuminated the darkness.





* * *





I’d watched through my office window as Porter arrived. I’d felt like a masochist unable to look away as he’d guided his children up the sidewalk toward the door.

His little girl was beautiful. She looked just like her father, but with a darker complexion. The hole in my heart stretched painfully as she lifted her hands in the air, asking for him to pick her up, an offer he accepted without hesitation. He had a certain practiced ease about it as he fluidly lifted her off the ground and planted her on his hip, her silly rain boots brushing his thigh.

And then there was his son. It felt like a knife to the chest as I watched him intently staring up at his father, his pouty lips moving with questions, Porter’s matching set moving with replies. He didn’t have his dad’s strong jaw or broad shoulders; those would surely come with age. He did, however, have his father’s mannerisms, especially the one where he grabbed Porter’s hand as they walked. Travis was pale and thin, his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes worrying me immediately.

But he was there, and so were Dr. Hoffman and Dr. Whitehall.

I’d done all I could do for that little boy.

Letting the curtain fall back into place when they’d moved out of sight, I ambled to my desk, my chest empty and my throat burning. But there was the tiniest seed of hope sprouting in my stomach.

I’d stayed hidden in my office until I’d gotten the all clear message from Rita, letting me know Porter and Travis were in the conference room. And only then did I allow myself to open the thread of texts Porter had sent me that morning.



Porter: You don’t have to do this.

Porter: Charlotte, please talk to me. I can’t bring him up there unless you let me know where your head is at.

Porter: You have to say something or I’m not coming.

Porter: Goddamn it, Charlotte. Answer me.

Porter: I’m on my way. And I’m fucking terrified this is going to break you.



My throat was thick with emotion as I continued reading the rest, each one a similar variation of the last. He was worried about me, a thought that warmed me.

I hadn’t trusted myself to read those texts when they’d been buzzing in my pocket. I might have been tempted to reply, and there was no way Porter would have agreed to come if he had known how anxious I truly was about that morning.

In the days since I’d last seen Porter, I still hadn’t figured out the magic I needed to reclaim my life in the light, but I had decided to try. One finger at a time, I was going to let that cliff go. How could I not? Porter was waiting for me at the bottom.

Stashing my phone in my pocket, I headed to the door. My schedule was slammed on Mondays, and I was already behind. And, when I pulled my door open, I knew I was going to run a whole lot later.

Porter was standing there, looming in the doorway. His jaw hard, the veins on his neck straining, and his gaze dark—like scary dark.

“What did you do?” he accused.

My chin jerked to the side.

Was he pissed?

“Uh,” I stalled, rocking back onto my heels, giving myself time to formulate a response.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and then he repeated, “What did you do?”

Holy shit. He was mad.

My mouth fell open as a herd of angry bumble bees roared to life in my stomach. “I…I told you I can’t treat him.”

His eyebrows pinched together as he scoffed. “So you decided to fly in two of the best pediatric pulmonologists in the entire fucking country on five days’ notice without

talking to me first?”

Squaring my shoulders, I fearlessly held his angry gaze. “Well…yeah. Just because I can’t treat him doesn’t mean I don’t want him to get the best care possible.”

And that was when I hit the brick wall. Or, more accurately, Porter’s hard body slammed into mine. One hand fisted into the back of my hair, the other looping around my hips as he lifted me off my feet and stormed into my office with me dangling in his arms. He must have kicked the door shut, because it slammed with a loud crack.

Breath flew from my lungs when my back roughly met the wall, Porter’s chest hitting mine, his hips pinning me, and his hands showing the slightest of trembles.

Only then did I realize Porter wasn’t angry at all.

He was completely and utterly overwhelmed.