The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

It wasn’t just her face anymore. Her whole aura was blank. Not even I could find the emotion hidden within.

It was worse than the cries I’d expected because it was the first time since I’d met Charlotte that I realized there wasn’t even enough of her left to explode.

“Charlotte,” I rasped. “Come back, sweetheart.”

But I didn’t mean physically. She was gone, and it scared the hell out of me.

Reaching out to catch her hand, I tangled our fingers together, desperately trying to get a read on her. She didn’t grip it tight with anxiety. Nor did she give it a sweet squeeze. But, worst of all, she didn’t even pull it away in an attempt to hide.

She just held it, limp and loose.

Physically there but mentally and emotionally a million miles away.

I moved closer, worry ricocheting inside me, and whispered, “Let’s go sit in the darkness.”

She offered me a reassuring smile so fake that it appeared as though it were made of plastic. “Let’s stay in the light today, Porter.”

I searched her face. “I don’t know where you are right now, but I promise you this isn’t the light. Let me in. I’ll come with you, wherever you want to go. I’m there.”

After pulling her hand from mine, she rested her palms on my chest. Then, keeping her gaze down, she absently traced the seam at the neck of my T-shirt. “I’ve been waiting a long time to know where my baby was. Now, I know. This is as close to the light as I’m ever going to get.”

The breath rushing from my lungs felt as though I’d been hit with a sledgehammer.

She had a point. A sad, depressing, tragic point. But a point nonetheless.

I held her empty gaze, searching for a glimmer of the woman I’d been falling in love with over the last month, but if she was in there, I couldn’t be sure.

Unfortunately, she didn’t give me long to look. Spinning, she briskly headed for the kitchen.

“Charlotte, let me get the coffee,” her mom said, following after her.

I stood frozen, unable to move.

Everyone reacted different to tragedy. I knew this firsthand. Hell, I’d fought a pond one time.

But this was different, and I had no fucking idea what to do.

Did I give her space?

Did I follow her and insist she talk to me?

Did I carry her to the bedroom, close the blinds, and force her into the darkness confessional with me?

If I stuck with the rules, my only option was to wait for her to come to me, but that felt like the impossible.

But, if I broke them, I risked breaking her too.

I watched her over the bar as she plundered around her small kitchen. Her mother frantically tried to stop her, but Charlotte ignored her pleas and went about gathering coffee, retrieving mugs from the cabinet, filling the carafe with water, and then pouring it into the machine. Her face was emotionless, and her movements were smooth, not at all jerky or rough with distress. She was on autopilot.

When she’d finished filling two mugs to the brim, she hand-delivered one to me in the exact same spot she’d left me, but this time, she was standing an arm’s length away.

I took the coffee but kept my gaze trained on hers and said the only thing I could think of. “Let me in.”

She kept her eyes aimed at her cup as she swirled the creamy, brown liquid inside, muttering, “Trust me. You don’t want in on this one.”

I painfully closed my eyes and shook my head. When I opened them, I glanced over at Tom, who was standing a few feet away, watching her, his eyes narrow and assessing.

“Charlotte,” he called. “I’m gonna wait for more information before going to talk to Brady. He’s gonna want answers that I don’t have right now. You want to go with me when I do that?”

She looked up at me, but her words were for Tom. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Then her words were for me, and they formed the most ridiculous statement I had ever heard. “You should probably go.”

“No,” I answered firmly. Inching forward, I switched my coffee to my left hand and curled my right around the back of her neck. Then, bending at the knees, I lowered myself into her line of sight. “If you want me to leave, sweetheart, that’s one thing. I won’t like it. And it will fucking kill me. But, if that’s what you need, I’m gone. However, short of you kicking me out, I’m not going anywhere. I told you: I’d stop with you.” I gave her neck a squeeze. “Always, Charlotte.”

A wave rocked through her empty eyes, revealing the tiniest flicker of my Charlotte hiding within. Relief blasted through me.

“You want to stop?” I asked. “Pretend this isn’t happening right now?”

Her chin quivered as she nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

Using her neck, I guided her against my front, her body plastering to mine. Coffee sloshed to the floor as she looped her arms around my hips. Not even then did she cry, but she held me so tight that I thought she was trying to meld our bodies into one. Which, I had to admit, I wouldn’t have minded.

“Then we’ll stop,” I whispered before kissing the top of her head.

Her mom rushed over, taking both of our mugs. Tears streamed from her chin as she watched her daughter tightening her hold on me and her fists clutching the back of my shirt. She kissed the back of Charlotte’s head, and then looked up at me.

“I’m going to stay, but I’ll keep out of your way.”

I nodded.

Tom walked over and rubbed Charlotte’s back before giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I need to get back to work, babe. I’ll check in later.”

When Charlotte didn’t reply or acknowledge him, he dipped his chin at me, pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s mom’s temple, and headed for the door.

And then we were alone.

Well, almost. Charlotte’s mom, whose name I would later learn was Susan, got busy cleaning the already spotless apartment. Charlotte was a minimalist. There were only so many times you could rearrange the two knickknacks on the bar or dust the four framed pictures on the wall. But, true to her word, Susan stayed out of our way.

And, true to my word, I pretended that nothing had happened that morning.

Seriously, for the way my chest ached and my mind swirled, it was an Oscar-worthy performance.

Charlotte and I sat on the couch, my feet propped on her coffee table, her legs angled over mine. She didn’t own a TV, but I grabbed her laptop and put on some mind-numbing comedy I’d found on Netflix. Neither of us watched it.

Her dark browns stared off into the distance, lost in thoughts, and my blues stared at her, lost in worry.

She absently played with my fingers, weaving them together before letting go, only to start the process over again, while I lazily drew circles on her legs.

We talked occasionally, but about nothing.

She even half laughed once when I made a joke about the train wreck that was Rita and Tanner.

As the minutes turned into hours, Susan offered to make breakfast. Charlotte declined, but she accepted coffee, which she held against her chest, untouched, until it got cold. Then she discarded it.