The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

Flashing my gaze between them, alarm bells screaming in my ears, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Honey, we need to talk,” she whispered, clutching her arms to her chest as if she were warding off a chill in the air. And, for the way the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and goose bumps pebbled my skin, she might have been.

I looked at Tom, my voice thick as I asked, “What’s going on?”

“Charlotte,” he started, only to stop when his eyes flicked to something over my shoulder. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

My mother slapped a hand over her chest, and her eyes filled with tears, but she wasn’t looking at Porter. She was watching me, and her regret was palpable. “Oh God. He’s the guy who made you so happy at the restaurant.”

Porter’s arm snaked around my hips from behind and I felt his lips in my hair, but not even his warmth against my back could drive away the frigid air swirling around the room.

“Hi. I’m Porter Reese. Nice to meet—”

I didn’t let him finish. “Tom?” I prompted, taking a step forward.

Tom’s eyebrows furrowed and he cut his gaze away uncomfortably.

My lungs began to burn, and my pulse spiked. There was only one reason I could think of to explain why Tom and my mom had shown up at my place at eight in the morning, looking like they’d seen a ghost.

And, suddenly, I was terrified they had.

Tom’s gaze flicked back to mine, and his arm tensed around my mom. “We should talk in private, Charlotte.”

I shook my head as my skin began to tingle. “Tell me.”

Tom looked over my shoulder at Porter. “I’m gonna need you to leave, son.”

I blinked, and then all of the oxygen was stolen from the room.

This was it. The truth that was going to set me free and then make me want to die.

My body became solid, but as my soul turned to liquid, I found myself drowning in everything I had once been.

Porter’s front once again hit my back and his arms closed in around me, careful and insulating. But not even Porter’s darkness could protect me from this.

“Not happening,” Porter replied gruffly.

“Tell me,” I choked.

“Honey…” my mother started, pausing long enough to collect herself before continuing. “This is a private—”

“Tell me!” I yelled. What started as a chin quiver quickly worked its way down to a full-body shake as adrenaline ravaged my system.

My mother jumped and Tom instinctively took a step toward me, but it was Porter who kept me on my feet.

“Breathe,” he urged into the top of my hair as he attempted to tuck me into his side, but I was having none of it.

I didn’t want comfort. I wanted the answers, but I was afraid I wanted different answers than they were going to give me.

Pushing out of Porter’s arms, I stood on my own two shaking legs just like I had the day my boy had been taken and looked Tom directly in the eye. “Please.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, straightened his back, and then gave me the words I was so desperate to hear. “The body of a baby was uncovered at a construction site they were breaking ground on late last night.”

My chest caved in, and a wave of nausea rolled in my stomach.

There it was.

The moment I’d been waiting so long for.

The words I’d prayed so many times I’d never hear. And then, years later, the ones that I prayed would finally allow me to let go.

“Is it him?” I asked without actually feeling anything.

Porter got close again, hovering without touching me.

My mom reached out, tears pouring from her eyes.

Tom’s face contorted as if I’d asked him to shoot me.

And I stood there, pleading for someone to finally end my nightmare.

“We don’t have a cause of death or positive ID yet, but—” Out of his back pocket, Tom produced a photo and lifted it my way.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, and the ground rumbled beneath my feet. The past roared to life even as I clung to the present. I would have recognized that pacifier clip anywhere. It had been last seen clipped to the front of my son’s shirt. I’d had it custom made for him before I’d even known he was a boy. Call it mother’s intuition or whatever, but I’d felt it in my bones.

He had been my son.

And, now, he was gone.

A dark, guilt-ridden part of my soul died as I stared at the picture of that blue-and-white-polka-dot ribbon, the pacifier he had once suckled still connected to the end, five letters monogrammed in thick block font to form what I now knew was the most painful word in the English language.

Lucas.

And then, suddenly, even though I’d had ten years of warning, the world finally stopped.





* * *





I had no idea what was in that picture, but it wasn’t hard to follow the bouncing ball, though it was impossible to grasp the reality of it all.

Her son was dead. They’d found his body, which had been buried for God only knew how long while she’d spent ten years living and breathing but buried right alongside him.

He wasn’t even my child and the pain was damn near crippling. I couldn’t imagine the hurricane blowing inside her.

When she stumbled on weak legs, colliding with my chest, I couldn’t gather her in my arms fast enough. Turning her, I supported her weight. Her back arched as she curved her front against mine. Her heart raced and her chest heaved as the unfathomable devoured her. And, through it all, I did the only thing I could. I held her tight, waiting for her to explode and cursing the moment when her guttural cries would tear through the room like a tornado of devastation, leveling us all.

I would have given anything to carry her back to the bedroom. To hit rewind and go back to when she had been peacefully sleeping at my side. Her breathing even. Her heart slow. Her body languid. Her mind still. The scars on her soul temporarily forgotten.

The truth was I could hold her until my arms fell off, but I couldn’t make this better for her. Part of her had been missing long before I’d met her, but the grieving process was just getting started, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to soften that blow.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t wail or shake her fist at the heavens.

She didn’t even move.

“I’m here,” I mumbled into the top of her hair, repeatedly kissing the side of her face. “I’ll stop with you. It’s just me and you, Charlotte.”

She didn’t respond. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure she was breathing anymore.

She was still.

Utterly. Completely. Eerily so.

“Honey.” Her mom appeared beside us.

My muscles tensed as my body screamed in objection, but when Charlotte pivoted in her direction, I let her go.

Charlotte didn’t move into her mother’s open arms.

Stepping away from us both, she stated, “I need coffee.” And then, robotically, she tilted her head back to catch my gaze. “You want some?”

Calm. Cool. Collected.

Not a tear in sight. Steady hands. Square shoulders.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.