The Darkest Sunrise

My breathing shuddered as I found the courage to tell him, “I’ve been going back to the park where he was taken.”

He kissed my head again, allowing his lips to linger as I kept talking.

“It’s like I’m waiting for a sign that it’s okay for me to let go.”

He tipped his head down to catch my gaze and asked, “You seen anything?”

“I see you,” I choked, the tears finally slipping from my eyes.

His hand flexed at the back of my head. “Charlotte.”

“I don’t want to watch you walk away again, Porter. Can you give me some time? A few days, a week or so tops, just to get my head on straight? I’m not saying I’ll be better and this thing between us will work. But I really want to try.”

His warm palm came to my face. “Sweetheart, I’ll give you fifty years if you need it.”

I half laughed, half cried. “Okay, don’t get crazy. Mills women don’t age that well.”

Porter didn’t laugh. He kissed me.

Apologetic and reassuring.

Deep and meaningful.

Heartbreaking even as it eased me.

It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Porter kissed me with hope.

And he didn’t stop even as I guided his hand down between my legs.

Nor did he stop as he lowered me to the wood slats on that gorgeous wraparound porch, slowly sliding my jeans off before pushing inside me.

I cried into his mouth, moans of pleasure and sadness as his hard body moved over me, waves of ecstasy colliding with the weight of gravity that had me pinned to the Earth.

And then he kept kissing me, the sweet taste of his hope tingling on the tip of my tongue long after we’d both found our releases.

Porter and I never left the porch that night.

We took turns going into the house. Me to use the restroom, him to grab a couple of beers. But, even with as beautiful as that house was, the porch was infinitely better.

We dozed in the hammock, waking up only to kiss or gather each other closer before falling back asleep.

At exactly 6:17 that morning, while held tight against Porter’s chest, his pouty lips parted in slumber, my head rising and falling with his even breaths, his warmth enveloping me inside and out, my eyes aimed at the horizon, I saw my very first sunrise in almost ten years.

* * *

“Daddy!” Hannah yelled from the other side of the door as I stepped out of the shower. “Travis stole my charger!”

“I did not! This one is mine!” he argued behind her.

“Nuh uh!” Hanna returned.

“Ya huh!”

“Give it to me!”

I stared at myself in the mirror, a small smile lifting the side of my mouth, and tied the towel around my hips.

Yep. That was my life. And, as frustrating as it could be sometimes, I fucking loved every second of it.

It had been five days since I’d watched Charlotte drive out of The Porterhouse parking lot after she’d dropped me back off at my car. She hadn’t called or texted in that time, but I knew she would when she was ready. Whenever that might be. I didn’t have the first clue how the two of us would ever make something work. But, if she was willing to try, so was I.

It wasn’t like I was in a huge rush for her to meet my kids. After everything they had been through, introducing them to a new woman in my life was a long way off. We could take it slow, learn to let our pasts go together before starting a future. Even if that was only phone calls and texts, late-night dinners after the kids went to bed, and maybe the occasional overnight at her place when my Mom could watch them. I just wanted Charlotte. Any way I could have her.

“Stop! You’re going to break it!” Travis shouted.

“Let go!”

“No, you let go!”

Careful to tuck my smile away, I yanked the door open. “Would you two stop fighting?”

Travis kept his gaze on his sister, one hand clenched around his iPad, the other tugging at the end of a white charger. “This one’s mine!”

I pulled the cord from between their warring hands. “Well, now, it’s mine.”

“Dad!” Travis whined. “I only have eight percent left on my iPad. It’s going to die.”

“I only have fifty-eleven percent left,” Hannah cried behind him, clearly needing to get back into preschool.

I sucked my lips between my teeth and bit down to stifle a laugh. Then I headed for my bedroom door, ordering, “Out. Both of you.”

“But, Dad—” they whined in unison.

I cut them off. “You don’t need to be on your iPad anyway. Travis, go get ready for your tutor. We can hash out chargers this afternoon. After you finish your schoolwork. And, Hannah, go get dressed. Grandma’s busy this morning, so you’re going to The Tannerhouse with me.”

Her eyes lit. “Is Uncle Tan gonna be there?”

I smiled. My girl did love her uncle. “Maybe. Hurry up and get out of here and I’ll text him to find out.”

“Woohoo!” she cheered, skipping out of my room.

Travis followed her, grumbling, “It was my charger, Hannie.”

“It was not!” she screeched.

“Hey!” I barked. “I said stop fighting!”

I shut my door and got dressed, strategically avoiding the picture of Catherine on my dresser. Then I headed to the kitchen to throw some frozen waffles into the toaster for the kids—okay and me too. Those things were fucking delicious. I spent an extra thirty minutes a day at the gym working those babies off.

Hannah came prancing into the room wearing a hot-pink-and-white-zebra-striped shirt and green-and-black-polka-dot leggings that clashed so loudly that it was almost deafening. Her long, curly hair was a rat’s nest, and her rain galoshes were on the wrong feet.

I smiled.

She smiled back and then climbed onto her stool at the bar.

“Travis, breakfast!” I called, cutting her waffles up as my cell started ringing.

My boy came wandering into the room, wearing basketball shorts, a T-shirt, and a pissed-off scowl on his face.

I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Mr. Reese?” a woman said.

“You got him.” I slid a plate in front of Hannah and then turned to grab one for Travis.

“Hi. I’m calling from Dr. Mills’s office at North Point Pulmonology.”

I froze at the mention of her name. “What can I, uh, do for you?”

“Dr. Mills asked me to call and see if you would be able to bring Travis into the office this morning?”

I dropped the plate on the counter with a loud clatter and nervously switched the phone to my other hand. “I’m sorry. Come again?”

“Your son, Travis. We were hoping you could—”

“Charlotte asked you to call me?” I clarified.

“Yes, sir. She—”

Hope blasted through my veins, but it was iced by immediate concern. “And you’re positive she wants me to bring my son?”

“That’s what she said.”

I blinked several times and then glanced up to Travis, who was sitting at the counter. His face was pale, his eyes sunken from exhaustion. We’d managed to keep him out of the hospital, but that didn’t mean he was doing any better. We’d been up three times last night doing breathing treatments. After the one at five a.m., I hadn’t bothered going back to sleep.

There was nothing I wouldn’t have given to get him the help he so desperately needed, but not at the risk of destroying her. She’d struggled when she’d seen Hannah’s car seat in my car, and now, five days later, she was going to treat my kid?

“I can’t,” I said, bile crawling up the back of my throat. I stood there, rooted in place, my hand gripping the back of my neck, as I stared at my children, who were once again fighting over God only knew what.

They depended on me. He depended on me.

It was my job to make the hard decisions and my job to put them first no matter the cost.

She’d decided to treat him—for me.

But I knew exactly how it was going to gut her. I felt it every time I thought about that bridge.

Then again, if she thought she could do it, who was I to argue?