The Brightest Sunset

He was wrong.

So fucking wrong that rage consumed me.

Fisting the front of his shirt, I yanked him toward me. “Yes, she will!”

He caught my wrists and squeezed painfully. “I hate it as much as you do, Porter. And I will fight to the ends of the earth to keep him in our family. But that is what we are going to have to do. Fight. If you go over there now, screw this up, and end up in jail, where does that leave your chances of getting even part-time custody?”

I gave him a hard shake. “I won’t screw this up! She’s giving him back.”

“Why? Think about it, Porter. Why would she give you her son?”

My body coiled tight, twisting the pain and anguish into a violent fury. “Because she has to!” A sob tore from my throat, and I gasped for air. “Because she fucking has to.” My voice broke. “I can’t live like this. What if he needs me in the middle of the night? What if the call comes for a transplant and I’m not there? I swore to him that I’d take care of him after Catherine died.” My shoulders shook uncontrollably. “Tanner, I gave him my word. She has to give him back. There’s no other option.” I shoved off his chest, righting myself in my seat before slamming my fist into the dashboard. “Just fucking take me to her. I can make her understand. I know I can.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “And what if she doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll play it your way and fight it out in the courtroom. But, tonight, I need to see her and get a read on where her head is at. And I need to see him so I can assure him that everything is going to be okay. He’s probably fucking terrified.”

He sighed and dropped his head back against the headrest. “It’s a bad idea, Porter.”

“Maybe. But it’s all I got.”

“But it’s not!” he implored, rolling his head so he was once again facing me. “Mark is the best. If anyone can make a court see why Travis needs you, it’s him. You break this protection order and you can kiss that goodbye. You have a shot to stay a part of his life.”

“I don’t want to be a part of his life. I want to be there every fucking day.”

“You show up to her place tonight, try to force her to hear you out, you’re going to lose him forever. And Christ, Porter? What about Hannah? She needs you at home, not warming a jail cell.”

I cringed, my heart breaking at the idea of telling Hannah. “Fuck,” I groaned, fisting the top of my hair. “I know. But I can’t just go home and wait this out. I have to do something.”

“We are going to do something. We’re going to do so many goddamn somethings these people won’t know what hit them. But not like this. You need to play it safe. No calls. No texts. No visits.”

I groaned. “I can’t.”

“You have to. First thing in the morning, I’ll go on the offense with this and set up a legal team to work on Travis. Meanwhile, you play defense. Keep talking to the police and giving them everything you have on Catherine until we can clear your name.”

I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared at the dark sky. “Do you think I have any chance of getting him back?”

“Yeah. I do. Because we’re not going to stop until that happens. I’ll call Rita, see if she can take me over there to see him. I’ll make sure he knows we love him and put his mind at ease. Okay?”

The knots in my stomach twisted tighter, but I had no choice but to agree. “Yeah. Okay.”

* * *

“You need to try to sleep,” my mom whispered, handing me a mug of coffee.

“I know,” I replied equally as soft.

I hadn’t slept all night. Even with the mental and emotional exhaustion of the day, my body wouldn’t settle. It seemed to be a common problem though. Mom and Tom had gone home around three and returned at seven.

I tipped the drink to my lips, propped my shoulder on the doorjamb, and continued to peer into my bedroom at Lucas’s form tucked securely under the blankets. It was shortly past nine a.m. and he was still sound asleep.

I could never explain how surreal it had felt to walk into my apartment with my son, his small hand wrapped in mine.

That apartment had been my home for over six years, but suddenly, it felt all wrong. It was too small. Too sterile. Too dark. Too empty.

One look around with eyes no longer shrouded by darkness and I almost didn’t want him to be there at all. The other option had been letting him go to Brady’s. And there wasn’t a chance in hell that was going to happen. The one and only time Brady had mentioned it, I’d immediately shut all conversation down.

I was well aware a one-bedroom apartment wasn’t going to cut it. Financially, I had the resources to get a new place. Something nicer. Something bigger. Maybe even a house with a backyard. Though, time was going to be my biggest obstacle.

But no one, not even his father, was going to take my son away from me again.

Thankfully, Brady hadn’t pushed the issue. However, he’d made it clear that he would be spending the night on my sofa. I understood. I couldn’t tear my eyes off our son, either.

Slowly, Lucas had warmed to Brady. The two of them had spent over an hour on a bench at the police station, Lucas teaching his father the fine art of Minecraft after Brady had downloaded the app on his phone.

Brady and I would never be friends, and nothing would erase the vile things he’d said to me over the years, but seeing him smiling and laughing with our son went a long way to start soothing the wounds.

It had been late when we’d finally been able to leave the police station, and we’d gotten home well after one a.m. But, despite the time, the first thing I’d done was unload the bag of his medications and sort them out. It was a task Lucas was all too willing to help with. Given his age, I was surprised by how much he knew. He’d correctly listed off all of his medicines, dosages (one pill or two), and how often he was supposed to take them (morning, noon, or night).

I loved that he was well educated about his condition.

I hated that he had needed that education at all.

And, with over thirty prescription bottles now filling one of my kitchen cabinets, it was a constant reminder that keeping him might be infinitely harder than getting him back had been.

I had made plans to call his numerous specialists first thing in the morning to schedule meetings and request all of his medical records. I’d been a dedicated physician since the day I’d graduated medical school, but Lucas had just become my most important patient of all.

When his medications were organized, Lucas sat on the couch and regaled my mom and Tom with silly stories about video games and pranks he’d pulled on his private tutors (more people I’d be contacting in the morning.)

So I got busy getting my bedroom ready for him.

I stripped the sheets off the bed that, only one night earlier, Porter and I had shared. I cleared the empty beer bottle he’d left on the nightstand after we’d spent the night laughing and talking, naked and alone in the darkness. His overnight bag was still in the corner, and I fought the urge to lift his shirt to my nose and fill my lungs with the comfort I’d only been able to find in his arms. I shoved it in the closet and shut the door. And, as I erased him from my room, I pretended like the thought of him truly being gone wasn’t breaking me.

I still had no clue what his role in all of this mess had been. Brady and Tom wouldn’t let up about the coincidence of it all.

Though, I was more skeptical.

The first thing I’d learned in medical school was that, when you hear hoof beats, don’t automatically assume it’s a zebra. It’s probably a horse. More often than not, the simplest, most logical answer was usually correct.

I was a pulmonologist.

And Porter had a child with a pulmonary issue.

But, even knowing that, it didn’t change our unique situation.

I knew Porter, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to get his son back.

And he knew me, so he had to be aware that there was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep him.

We were already at a stalemate, and the match was just getting started.

“Hey,” Brady whispered, sidling up behind Mom and me. He rested his palms on our backs and asked, “He still asleep?”