The Darkest Sunrise

“Oh lordy. What did I do this time?”

“Porter Reese,” I said pointedly, the mere mention of his name bringing a smile to my face.

The line went silent.

“Shit. Did you talk to him?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“And?”

“And I went to dinner with him.”

“Oh God,” she gasped. “Was he holding you at gunpoint?”

I laughed softly. Then I screwed my eyes shut and dropped my head back against the headrest. “I’m terrified.”

“Oh God!” she cried. “Please tell me he didn’t really have you at gunpoint.”

“No. I was a willing victim. We’re having lunch today too.”

“Holy shit. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied simply.

But there would be nothing simple about it.

Porter was wrong. I was emotionally unavailable. Because letting people in meant risking I’d lose them too.

My fears about dating weren’t about the actual act of eating food with someone. It was about lowering my skillfully crafted walls and exposing myself to the elements that raged outside of them.

What if I panicked and couldn’t get them back up?

Or what if it only gave reality another chance to ruin me?

But, then again, what if it eased the unwavering hollowness in my chest?

Or what if, at some point over the years, the sun had risen again and I’d just been too guarded to see it?

“Holy shit!” Rita exclaimed. “How the hell did he convince you to leave the convent?”

“He’s…intense.” I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.

And then it died in my throat.

“Does this mean you’re going to treat his kid?”

My whole body jerked, and my stomach dropped. Not a dip. Or a flutter. It was an all-out free fall. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I told him you weren’t going to do it. But I swear the man wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Sweat broke out across my forehead. “His kid?”

“Wait…he mentioned this, right?”

“No, he didn’t fucking mention this!”

I wasn’t stupid; most men my age had children. And, for obvious reasons, it was a deal-breaker. But, then again, there had never been a deal before. At least, not a deal I wanted to keep.

“That piece of shit,” she grumbled. “God, why are men such assholes? Oh, right. Because they think with their dicks. Shit…you didn’t put out, did you?”

I could barely breathe, much less talk. And, when I didn’t say anything, she answered her own question.

“No. No. Of course you didn’t.”

I gasped for air as I fought the sudden urge to puke. “Why the hell would you set me up with a man who has kids?”

“I didn’t set you up with him! Trust me. I learned my lesson about trying to make you happy.”

“Then how did he find me at the hospital!” I yelled, my traitorous voice breaking at the end.

“Jesus. Calm down. He’s been calling the office to get an appointment for his son. I told him you didn’t see children, but he was adamant.” She lowered her voice. “I felt bad for him, Char. From what I can tell, he’s seen every other pulmonologist in a two-hundred-mile radius of the city. He said he’d do anything. So…” She paused, and I could almost imagine her nervously twirling her hair around her finger. “When I found out he owned a restaurant, I told him that, if he catered the Fling, I’d get him a consult with you.”

I laughed, but only because it was either that or acknowledge the searing pain in my chest.

Yeah. Porter Reese was amazing.

An amazing fucking liar.

“Did you tell him about Lucas?” I asked, my voice shaking almost as much as my hands.

She gasped. “Absolutely not. You know I would never—”

“Then how the fuck does he know about the darkness!” I boomed.

It was one lunch, a dinner, three conversations, a chaste kiss on the lips, and then some humorous text exchanges. It was way too soon for my heart to be breaking.

But it was. Wholly and completely.

And not because Porter was a master fucking manipulator.

But because, once again, hope had become my greatest enemy.

Hope that I could change.

Hope that I could move on.

Hope that other people like me existed.

Hope that, even if it was only for a few hours, I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

No questions.

No judgment.

No faking it.

Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Forget about the way my nipples had peaked when he’d trailed his callused thumb over my cheek and the way his clean, masculine scent had overwhelmed my senses to the point that it had chased a thrill up my spine. And that heady combination of lust and loneliness that had hung in the air between us until I couldn’t decide if I was suffocating or breathing my first breath of fresh air.

My immense physical reaction paled in comparison to the way his words had penetrated my mind and stripped me bare.

Porter Reese understood me.

Not in sentences, but in the silence.

Or so I’d thought.

“I have to go,” I whispered.

“I swear, Charlotte. I didn’t say anything. I figured he’d cater the Fling and you’d tell him no about the kid. No harm, no foul.”

With the exception of March seventh, I didn’t cry often. Tears were usually spurred by emotion, and I went to great lengths not to feel any of those.

Good. Bad. Happy. Sad.

Numb was always better.

But I’d felt something with Porter. It was small. But, when your entire world was pitch-black, even the tiniest flicker looked like a lighthouse.

Without another word spoken, I ended the call.

Then I started my car and drove home.

All while doing my very best to ignore the twin rivers that dripped from my chin.

* * *

She never showed for lunch at Antojitos.

My mom had the kids, so I sat at that table and waited for over three hours.

I called. They went unanswered.

I texted. She never replied.

I was beyond worried.

Something had to have happened. There was no way she’d been planning to disappear on me. Not after she’d melted into me after dinner, pressing up onto her toes when I’d bent to touch our lips, her breathing labored. She’d been scared out of her fucking mind but clinging to my forearm as though she never wanted to let go.

Yet, as Sunday turned into Monday—and then into Tuesday—it appeared that was exactly what she had done.

I’d spent the weekend with the kids, using every possible distraction to keep my mind off her. But any time I’d laugh or smile, she’d infiltrated my thoughts.

I called again. This time leaving what I hoped was a witty voicemail.

Then, like the true stalker I was starting to fear I was, I texted her again complete with various pictures of Sloth, asking if she was interested in maybe a date with my brother instead. All I got was radio silence.

I told myself to erase her from my mind. It was so absurd that I didn’t even know where to start. A few meals and countless smiles didn’t constitute a connection. For all I knew, she could have been Catherine all over again. And, if I was being honest, that was what scared me the most.

No. For my own sanity, I had to let it go.

For fuck’s sake, I had two children depending on me. I couldn’t get lost chasing after a woman. They deserved more than that.

Travis was doing better—temporarily. It happened like that after he got out of the hospital. They’d jacked him up on steroids, giving his fragile body the strength to fight, but within a week, he’d crash back down to baseline, if not lower.

And, because of my insane obsession with Dr. Mills, where I’d asked her to dinner instead of for an appointment for my son, we didn’t have a plan for when that happened.

Even knowing that, I still couldn’t get her off my mind.

Tuesday morning arrived with a bright sunrise. Various shades of orange and peach danced across the horizon as I got the kids up and dressed. And warm rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, forcing me to lower the blinds so Travis could see what his tutor was teaching him. It was a truly beautiful day. Hannah had conned my mom into taking her outside to play on the swing set the moment she’d arrived.