The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise Duet Book 2)

by Aly Martinez

  But that was exactly the thing with our lives—none of us wanted to go back. Our hopes and dreams were all about the future laid out in front of us.

  Images of Travis graduating high school and attending his first prom illuminated the backs of my eyelids.

  Visions of Porter holding my hand as he grew older, his hair turning gray but his infectious smile never fading.

  Hannah blossoming into a young woman who loved sleepovers, makeup, and giggling about boys until three a.m.

  And me experiencing it all right along with them, embracing every moment of the beauty I never thought I’d have.

  Porter nuzzled my jaw and I closed my eyes, reveling in the warmth as it cascaded over me, driving out the chill of reality.

  No questions.

  No judgments.

  No faking it.

  No apologies.

  We both jumped as the door cracked open.

  The darkness parted to make way for the light.

  Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.

  Lies.

  Syllables and letters may not be tangible, but they can still destroy your entire life faster than a bullet from a gun.

  However, they can also heal your wounds, tethering parts of your heart back together when all hope seemed lost.

  Words weren’t always the weapon.

  They were sometimes the sweetest remedy.

  Nine words. That was all it took to bathe my entire world in the brightest light imaginable.

  “He did great. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

  * * *

  “This isn’t fair!” Travis complained for approximately the four hundredth time since the party had started.

  Two number one candles were glowing from the top of his chocolate cake, illuminating his face as the purples and pinks of the sunset behind him faded into darkness.

  Various shades of blue, green, and brown streamers—Minecraft colors—decorated the deck at our new house. We’d only been there for a few months, but it was more of a home than I’d had in over a decade. That had little to do with the five-bedroom, three-bath house Porter and I had picked out together and everything to do with the three people who shared it with me.

  While Porter had convinced me to move in with him, I’d still had a few reservations. And, only weeks after I’d officially changed my address, I’d figured out what they were. Catherine might not have been a part of his house, but as I’d stood on our front porch watching Hannah collect fireflies in a pickle jar, the small one-story house Porter had shared with his ex-wife had taunted me from the end of the cul-de-sac.

  She didn’t get to be a part of that beauty. Not even in memories. At least, not mine.

  Porter, being the amazingly understanding man he always had been, didn’t bat an eye when I’d confessed in the darkness my desire to move. The very next afternoon, I’d sat in his lap at the kitchen table and scanned the listings our real estate agent had emailed over.

  We bought the first house we looked at. It was everything we had never known we wanted. It was further out than we had planned to move—at least thirty minutes from each of our offices. But it was nowhere near Porter’s bridge or Lucas’s park. Just the way we liked it. Though what really sold me on the property was the clear view of the horizon off the expansive back deck.

  Every morning, the rising sun would flood the living room in light. And it was just far enough outside the city that, each night, after the sun had disappeared, the stars danced in the sky, proving that there was always light to be found—even in the darkness.

  Travis peered at his father from over the top of his cake. “I already had an eleventh birthday. I’m twelve!”

  “I’m with you, bud.” Porter flicked his gaze to mine, and his bright, white smile nearly blinded me. “It’s Charlotte here who insists you’re only eleven.” He rested his hand on top of mine, but instead of intertwining our fingers, he used his thumb to play with the large, round diamond on my engagement ring.

  Porter had proposed in the most Porter way possible.

  Sweet, charming, romantic, and completely ridiculous.

  Two weeks after we’d moved into the new house, I’d run to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. When I’d arrived home, I’d opened the front door and then jumped back at least three feet, dropping all of my bags to the floor. Waiting for me on the other side of the door had been a life-size cardboard cutout of Porter wearing a…

  Wait for it…

  Pink speedo. His hands were on his hips and he was staring straight ahead with a sexy smoldering gaze. Written across his chest in what appeared to be white sunscreen was: Ian who? Once my heart had slowed, I laughed wildly and retrieved the cocktail napkin taped to his shoulder. On it was a hand-drawn map of our house, complete with arrows guiding me toward the kitchen. Suspiciously, I called for Porter and the kids, but when they didn’t answer, I followed the map to our pantry, where I found yet another cardboard cutout. This time, Porter was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that read: Charlotte’s Boyfriend. (Whether she likes it or not.) In his hand was a burger with a little toothpick flag on the top that read: Wagyu Terrier.

  My mouth had split into an epic grin, but realization that this was more than just one of Porter’s usual silly stunts dawned on me, causing my stomach to flutter. I plucked yet another cocktail napkin map off his shoulder and followed the directions down the hall to our bedroom. With caution, I pushed the door open and found yet another cardboard cutout. This one wasn’t Porter. Or maybe it was—but only his dark silhouette. Across the chest, it read: Porter in the Darkness.

  Tears welled in my eyes and nerves ignited in my veins, but I once again took the cocktail napkin off his shoulder. The map pointed to our closet.

  With a racing pulse, I slowly opened the door and then burst into loud laughter. There were three cardboard cutouts. One of me and Porter taken God knew where, but he was staring straight ahead, his arm draped over my shoulders, his wide signature smile splitting his lips. The cardboard version of me was laughing beside him. And not the attractive kind. My mouth was open, my eyes were squeezed closed, and I had my arm bent so I could hold his hand where it was dangling over my chest. On his left was a cutout of Hannah. She was wearing her favorite pink floral dress paired with horrible red-and-white leggings. Her dark hair had been braided into pigtails, and she, too, was in the middle of what I was positive was a loud belly laugh. A cutout of Travis was on my right. He was wearing his typical uniform: neon basketball shorts and a plain colored T-shirt. His chin was tipped up in the air, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was smirking like a little man.

  My gaze drifted back to Porter, where I noticed the words written across the front of his shirt: Porter in the light.

  My chest warmed and my heart swelled as it filled with love. I looked ridiculous in that silly cardboard cutout, but that was Charlotte in the light too.

  After taking the cocktail napkin map, I followed it down the hall to the sliding glass back door. There, on the deck, was another version of paper-Porter. But this one stole my breath. He was gorgeous in a black tux that fit him like a glove. His jacket was open, and his right hand was shoved inside his pocket. He was smiling the way he always did, but this was the heated grin Porter reserved for me when we were alone.

  My lungs seized, and that warmth in my chest spread through the rest of my body like a wildfire.

  His left hand was resting over his heart, and on his ring finger was a thick, gold band.

  There was one of those “Hello My Name is” tags stuck on the lapel of his jacket and it read: Porter in the Future.

  Tears escaped my eyes as I slapped a hand over my mouth.

  Porter had made no secret of how much he wanted us to become a family. He’d even bought a rustic wooden picture frame, which he’d hung in the entryway, engraved with the words: The Reese family: Porter, Charlotte, Travis, and Hannah.

  After I’d lived frozen in time for almost
ten years, change scared the absolute shit out of me. But I had to admit that the idea of marrying Porter did some seriously good things to my heart.

  However, for as many times as he’d talked about us getting married, he’d never actually proposed.

  Until that moment.

  I peeled the cocktail napkin map off cardboard-Porter’s shoulder only to find it blank. Drying my tears on my shoulder, I flipped it over. Written in thick, black ink were the words: Turn around.

  With my heart in my throat, I spun faster than I knew possible.

  And then the tears came full force.

  Over the years, I’d cried a lot.

  But these were different.

  They were good tears. Happy tears. Yes-I’ll-marry-you tears.

  In the same tux, the real Porter was down on one knee. Ring box open. A diamond sparkling in the sunlight. The biggest, most beautiful smile I’d seen him wear splitting his mouth. And a “Hello My Name is…” tag on his jacket read: Porter in the present.

  He didn’t say anything.

  We just stood there staring at each other.

  Finally, when the silence became too much, I choked out through tears, “Are you going to ask me or what?”

  His smile stretched. “I think I might have been a little premature when I asked for just a little company in the darkness.”

  I laughed, and it turned into more tears. “Ya think?”

  He rose and walked toward me, removing the ring from the box. He stopped in front of me and took my hand in his. “Charlotte Mills, I’d like to spend a lifetime with you. In the darkness. In the light. And everywhere in between. Forever.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Marry me.”

  It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for my answer before sliding the ring on my finger.

  I said yes all the same.

  And, two weeks later, we were married in a small, family-only ceremony at Tanner’s pond. I’d had a lot of incredible days that year, but vowing my life to Porter was certainly near the top.

  I smiled at our son, doing my best to tamp the emotion down. “I’m sorry, Trav. Just pretend you found a time machine.”

  Brady barked a laugh from the corner, where he stood behind his wife, his arms draped around her midsection and his hands resting on top of her swelling stomach. They had found out only a week earlier that it was another boy. Judging by the way Stephanie stared at Hannah, I knew she’d been hoping for a girl. I also knew she’d love that baby no matter what.

  Things with Brady were…well, different.

  Legally, we shared custody of our son—fifty-fifty. But, after Travis’s transplant, it had been virtually impossible for him to travel back and forth between our houses. Brady hated it at first, but we all agreed Travis’s health was our number-one priority. I thought Brady was going to swallow his tongue when Porter told the entire Boyd family that our door was always open for them. As much as Brady hated the idea, we didn’t have any other options. It was awkward at first, but I should have known that my man excelled at awkward.

  The first time Brady and his family came over after Travis had come home, Porter had a big meal delivered from The Porterhouse. The visit was strained, with a lot of uncomfortable conversations and forced smiles, but it was more than I’d ever hoped for with Brady. While his attitude had changed over the last few months, Brady and I were never going to be best friends. From iPad time to nightly desserts, we disagreed on basically everything about raising Travis. But, after the hell we’d lived through and the future laid out in front of us, I’d have been willing to fight with him for the rest of my life about that inconsequential crap.

  Travis and Brady’s relationship had grown leaps and bounds since the transplant. Porter would always be his dad, but in a way Brady had come to terms with that. He just wanted to be a part of his son’s life. As soon as Travis was healthy enough to get out of the house, Porter had told me that he was going to talk to him about giving Brady a real chance. I had no idea what had been said during that discussion, but the following Saturday, Travis invited Brady to go fishing with him. Building a bond between the two of them was going to be a long process, but progress was progress.

  Flashing our son a teasing grin, Brady said, “You should count your blessings, big man. I suggested we make you start back at one.”

  Desperate for some kind of backup, Travis turned to Tom. “Isn’t there some kind of law…”

  “Hey, hey, hey! Kid, don’t drag me into the middle of this!” Tom joked. “Charlotte almost kicked me out the last time I sided with you.”

  “That’s because everyone knows mustard is the superior condiment!” I exclaimed, making nearly everyone in the room gag.

  Tanner sauntered onto the deck, a beer in his hand, the faintest tint of red lipstick smeared on his lips. “Let’s not get carried away, Charlotte.”

  I glanced over just in time to see Rita walk out behind him, dabbing at her lips.

  “Sloth, don’t start with me,” I clipped.

  The room laughed, and I even saw Travis’s frown momentarily curl into a secret smile.

  Surprisingly enough, despite the early dramas, our families had merged together seamlessly. Lynn and my mom had become fast friends, joining forces in operation Spoil Our Grandchildren Rotten. And, yes, that was grandchildren. My mom had not hesitated in taking Hannah on as her own. I kind of loved her for that. Tom was a little slower on the uptake. It took a few months, but he eventually stopped scowling at Porter, and more recently, I’d even caught them laughing and sharing a beer on the porch. It seemed no one could resist Porter Reese’s charm.

  I knew I couldn’t.

  “I seriously have to be eleven for another year?” Travis continued his argument.

  “Yes!” we all answered in unison.

  The truth was I didn’t care what age he was. Just as long as he was there.

  It was March seventh and I was celebrating with my family.

  That was a miracle in and of itself.

  “Blow out the candles, bud,” Porter urged.

  Travis twisted his lips. “Can I still get that twelve-plus game on my iPad?”

  I rolled my eyes. Porter shook his head.

  But it was Brady who yelled, “Of course!”

  Travis’s face lit, and then the candles went dark.

  But, for one single second, time stopped and the sun hung in the sky.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and reflected on those ten torturous years spent in the darkness. Each day leading me closer and closer to the most blinding of lights.

  And then time started all over again.

  On my son’s eleventh birthday, with my husband’s hand folded over mine, Travis laughing behind his cake, and a gorgeous little girl who would forever be mine sitting on my lap, I witnessed the brightest sunset of my entire life.

  The End

  The Darkest Sunrise Duet

  Keep reading for the sneak peak of the emotionally charged Retrieval Duet by Aly Martinez.

  Now available!

  The house was dark when I quietly twisted the lock so as not to wake her. God knows she needed the sleep. I didn’t know how she still functioned when her days were filled with tears and her nights weren’t much better. It was precisely the reason I stayed gone as much as I did. Or so I’d thought as I’d thrown myself into work. Money couldn’t solve my problems, but it might have been able to solve hers.

  My body ached, and my lids barely stayed open despite the pot of coffee I’d downed not even an hour earlier. It was a miracle I had been able to drive at all. I should have just crashed at the office, but after yet another failed prototype, I’d needed an escape.

  Instead, I’d gone home—the very place I’d spent so many nights trying to avoid.

  Only one foot was over the threshold when I suddenly froze.

  “Elisabeth?” I called, flipping the overhead light on.

  My shoulders fell as I found her sitting on the sofa, her long, blond hair curtaining her face and s
uitcases surrounding her feet.

  “What’s going on?” I asked as my gut wrenched, already knowing the answer.

  I had no right to be surprised. I’d all but forced her hand. If I was honest with myself, it was what I’d wanted—for her. However, none of that made the pain of reality any less agonizing.

  My heart raced. “Elisabeth?” I prompted again, needing to hear her say the words almost as much as I dreaded it.

  “I can’t stay here anymore,” she whispered at the floor.

  Acid rose in my throat.

  Out of habit, I dropped my keys into the basket she’d bought when we’d first moved in. “If you fail the key basket, the key basket will fail you,” she’d announced with an infectious smile the day we had become homeowners to the two-bedroom-two-bath starter home we could barely afford. It was just seconds before I’d swept her off her feet and made love to her on the hardwood floor of our foyer in the middle of the day.

  But such was life as a newlywed.

  Inside that house with her was the only place I’d ever wanted to be.

  Until the fantasy of forever had worn off and the walls of real life had closed in on us. Once my refuge, our home became an inescapable prison with bars built of my failures.

  I couldn’t breathe inside that house any more than I could look her in the eye.

  We’d only been married for five years. But, seeing her now, I felt like it’d been a lifetime since I’d peered into her eyes, promising to love her in sickness and in health.

  But it wasn’t like she was the same woman, either.

  Over the last six months, she’d wasted away both physically and mentally in front of my eyes.

  And I’d done absolutely nothing to help her.

  But how do you throw a lifeline when you yourself don’t even have a rope to hold on to? I might have been able to keep her afloat for another day, but I’d never have been able to pull her back to me.

  We merely existed on the same plane. Living under the same roof, eating meals at the same table, sleeping in the same bed. But we were far from sharing our lives together.