The Darkest Sunrise

But it wasn’t, and my body jolted.

“Mom?” I answered before the phone had the chance to ring again. “Everything okay?”

“Hey, baby. Bad news.”

My stomach dropped as Travis’s face flashed through my mind. “What’s wrong?”

“Relax. He’s fine,” she said, reading my anxiety.

I blew out a hard breath and shifted the phone to my other ear so I could anchor my hand on Charlotte’s thigh.

Her palm quickly covered my hand, her fingers tangling with mine.

“It’s Hannah, actually. She woke up with a fever earlier, so I gave her some Tylenol. But she’s coughing so badly she made herself throw up.”

“Shit,” I breathed, dropping my head back against the headrest.

“Don’t worry. I sent Travis to his room and disinfected everything she could have possibly touched in the last twenty-four hours. I’m sure it’s just a little bug, honey. But maybe she should come back to my house for a couple of nights.”

It should be noted that my mother was a saint.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Okay. I’ll get her bags packed. And I know you’re at work, but she asked if we could call you.”

Flashing my eyes to Charlotte, I found her studying me carefully.

And then I realized our biggest problem.

It was next to impossible to keep two such integral and important facets of my life separate at all times.

No matter how hard I tried, there would always be a crossover. Moments when the kids would be talking or fighting in the background while she and I were on the phone, forcing me to hurry into my room so she wouldn’t have to hear it. Or, now, while she sat silently at my side, my daughter wanting to talk to me because she didn’t feel well.

Those things were out of my control.

I didn’t want to hurt Charlotte.

But, at the end of the day, I would always be a father who had to do what was best for his children.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed to her.

She tipped her head in question, her eyebrows knitting together.

I squeezed her thigh as I said into the phone, “Yeah. Put Hannah on.”

Charlotte’s body turned solid, and it fucking killed me, but I forged ahead when my baby girl’s voice came through the line.

“I threw up.”

Keeping my eyes on the car inching forward in front of me, I replied, “I heard. You feeling any better, sweet girl?”

“No,” she groaned and then broke into tears. “Now, I can’t have a Popsicle.”

“What?” I laughed at the randomness of the statement.

“Grandma said I could have a Popsicle after dinner. But, when I threw up last time, you told me not to eat it because it would make my belly hurt.”

I grinned. “But Grandma said you only threw up because you were coughing. So I don’t think an ice pop is going to hurt anything. Tell Grandma I said you could have one.” I paused before amending, “Just don’t make it a red one on the off chance I’m wrong and you do throw it up.”

“What about yellow?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. A yellow sounds perfect.” And easy to clean.

She sniffled. “When are you coming home?”

I sighed and slid my gaze to Charlotte, who was chewing on her thumbnail like she had a personal vendetta against it, her eyes aimed out the window.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I was desperate for time with her.

But my baby needed me more.

“Soon,” I whispered.

Her voice perked up. “Can I sleep in your bed until you get home?”

“Of course.”

“Yay! Daddy said…” Her voice trailed off into the distance.

I rolled forward another few feet and put my blinker on so I could take the next turn back to the restaurant.

“Porter? You still there?” my mom asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I need to go before she beats down the door to get to Travis. But I’ll see you when you get off tonight.”

I stepped on the brakes as traffic once again became a standstill and closed my eyes. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too,” she replied, and then, just before she hung up, I heard her yell, “Hannah Ashley Reese, do not open that door!”

I put the phone in my lap and twisted to Charlotte. “I have to go home. Hannah’s sick.”

She didn’t give me her eyes. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“Charlotte, I’m sorry about that.”

Suddenly, she turned and her empty eyes leveled me. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “No apologies. Not in the darkness, but especially not in the light.”

My eyebrows shot up. “We’re in the light?”

She blinked, and tears sparkled in her eyes. “I’m wherever you are, Porter. And, for you, the darkness didn’t even exist when you were on that phone.”

“Sweetheart,” I breathed, my heart breaking even as it swelled.

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

I pulled her toward me and kissed her forehead. “I know you are.”

“She’s coughing?”

My hand spasmed, and I mumbled, “I’m sure it’s just a cold.”

Her fingers tensed at my arm, and then she shocked the hell out of me. “If you stop at the drug store, I’ll help you pick out a good cough medicine and get you the proper dosage for her weight.”

I blew out a hard breath as my stomach pitched. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah. I do, Porter. I really, really do.”

That was the exact moment I felt the seed plant in my chest.

My body roared to life, and an unbelievable calm washed over me.

It was warm and dense, a vast difference from the empty chill I usually carried. Eventually, it would overtake me and I’d be forced to recognize it. But, until then, I was going to lie back and let it grow.

We sat like that for several minutes.

Bumper-to-bumper traffic.

My lips to her forehead.

Her hand clinging to my arm.

But she was right.

We had done it in the light.

* * *

Sunlight poured in through the curtains when I was suddenly dragged out of sleep by a knock at my front door.

I was on my side, knees bent, hand tucked under my pillow, one leg over the covers, the other under, but even after I’d pried my eyes open, I was still very much in a dream world.

A hard, naked body was pressed against my back, one arm stretched out beneath my neck, the other wrapped around my ribs, his hand holding my breast, his heat enveloping me.

Porter had surprised me the night before by announcing that he’d not only taken the night off (to spend with me), but that he’d also asked his mom and dad to stay with his kids so we could have a whole twenty-four hours to ourselves. My heart had nearly leapt from my chest, and my body had definitely leapt into his arms. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been that excited about something.

We’d worn clothes for all of thirty minutes total that night. And that hadn’t included drinking beers and eating Chinese food on my couch. (Begrudgingly, Porter had agreed to put pants on before opening the door for the delivery guy.)

I smiled and rolled against him, praying that whoever was at the door would disappear.

“What time is it?” he murmured without opening his eyes.

I lifted my head off his arm to look at the clock on the nightstand. “Eight fifteen.”

“Mmmm,” he purred sleepily. “Too early.”

I pecked the tip of his nose. “See, this is what happens when you insist on the four-a.m. quickie.”

His lids were still closed as he said, “Don’t you dare try to blame me. You initiated that.”

I grinned. I totally had. But I’d woken up much in the same way as I had moments earlier, only this time, it wasn’t just Porter’s hard body that was pressed up against me.

I kissed him again, this time on the lips—morning breath be damned.

He smiled and finally lifted his lids. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I breathed, running my hand over the top of his messy, blond hair.