The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise Duet Book 1)

by Aly Martinez

  * * *

  Something was wrong with me. And more than the normal bullshit that was always wrong with me. Usually by March ninth, I was done with the wallowing and I’d gotten my shit together. But it was now the tenth and I couldn’t seem to emerge from the madness churning in my head. I wasn’t sure if it was the realization that I’d had watching Tom fawn over my mom or maybe seeing Brady moving on with his new wife and son. Or maybe I’d finally gotten so lost in the darkness that I couldn’t find my way out.

  But, whatever it was, it was drowning me.

  Mr. Clark had still been at the hospital, but I hadn’t been able to drag myself up there to check on him. Instead, I’d allowed the on-call to treat him while I had lain in bed, soaking my pillow in salty tears, mourning the loss of what felt like my entire life.

  It had been ten goddamn years; it should have been getting easier to climb out of bed every morning, not harder. Yet, that morning, as I’d forced myself to get dressed and leave the house, it had seemed more difficult than ever.

  Enough was enough. I couldn’t keep living like that. That is if you could consider what I was doing living at all.

  I needed something to change.

  Anything.

  Hell, maybe everything.

  Deep down, I knew the truth. I was what needed to change. But it wasn’t going to happen without conscious and continuous effort on my part. It was only that realization that had led me to attend the office Spring Fling.

  “You came!” Rita exclaimed as I’d strolled up to the welcome table. She raked her gaze over me. “And…in a hoodie. How charming.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know cocktail attire was required.”

  I’d spent most of my free time mastering the skill of avoiding social gatherings. Baby showers. Birthdays. Weddings. Whatever. For a woman with three friends, I got invited to more shit than you could imagine. I’d found that, if I bought a gift card and sent it with my regrets, no one got pissy when I didn’t show. Unfortunately, I didn’t think it was financially responsible to mail a gift card to all thirty of the employees at our office with a note that said: Yes. You were right. I am an ice queen and would rather eat hissing cockroaches than attend a damn carnival. Here, accept this fifty-dollar Walmart gift card in my absence.

  Though, judging by the side-eyes I’d received as I’d walked up, it probably would have been a welcome substitution.

  “Why is everyone staring at me?” I whispered to Rita.

  Folding her arms on top of the table, she leaned toward me and whispered back, “Because vampires can’t walk in the sun, honey.” She laughed. “I, for one, am thrilled you decided to come.”

  “I’m sure you are. It saves you the trouble of burning my house down like you threatened on my voicemail twice yesterday.”

  She beamed. “Yes. And that.”

  Rita was crazy. All hell on wheels, beauty queen wrapped in pearls and Southern charm. She’d threatened me with worse than burning my house down over the years. Honestly, I’d been a little disappointed with her creativity with that one.

  She lifted a long strip of blue tickets into the air, her short, blond hair bouncing as she energetically explained, “Everything from lunch to face painting is one ticket. You get ten free. After that, you can purchase more right here with me. All monies collected go toward—”

  “Where’s Greg?” I asked, cutting her off. That speech was going to last for ten minutes, and she wasn’t going to take a breath the entire time.

  She frowned, her excitement about whatever charity she’d chosen to donate to this year disappearing at the mention of his name. “Dr. Laughlin is spending the day in the dunking booth.”

  I tsked in disappointment. “I thought we discussed the human dartboard?”

  “I decided it might be a tad too violent for the kids.”

  “Yeah, but the dunking booth isn’t nearly as satisfying to watch.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She leaned in close, partitioning off her mouth from the people around us and whispered, “I filled the tank with ice water and paid the pitchers from the local high school baseball team to rotate through the line for a few hours.”

  “Niiiiice,” I praised.

  Her red-painted lips split with pride. “If he’s going to fire me, I’m going to earn it.”

  My head snapped back. “What are you talking about? He’s not going to fire you.”

  “Oh please. How long do you think he’s going to keep his ex-wife employed after I take him to the cleaners in divorce court?”

  “I don’t care what happens between you two. He’s not firing you.”

  She reached across the table and squeezed my arm. “You’re sweet, honey. But it’s bound to happen. And I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can spend my days watching him parade around with whatever nurse he’s got his eye on next.”

  I scoffed. “There isn’t a woman in that office who would touch him with a ten-foot pole after the shit he and Tammy pulled on you. Besides, that office is half mine. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  Her faced warmed and saddened at the same time. “And I appreciate that, but, Charlotte, it’s time for me to move on. A man you love treats you like that, you don’t sit around pining after him. You put on your tightest little black dress and your best pair of heels, and strut into the future.” Her voice caught, but she kept right on smiling. “Life sucks sometimes. You and I know that better than anyone else, but we only get one.”

  I felt every single word slash through me.

  I loved Rita. And, thanks to a bottle of tequila on Lucas’s fourth birthday, she and Greg knew all about my situation. But my affections for her didn’t stop the familiar resentment from roaring to life within me.

  It happened when people tried to sympathize with me, comparing whatever sucky situation was plaguing their lives at the moment to the utter devastation that had destroyed mine. Sure, they were usually well meaning, but the words felt like a low blow, trivializing everything I’d experienced. Even coming from someone as kind as Rita, it felt like an insult.

  She was losing her husband. I’m sure her heart was breaking, but it was still beating. It hadn’t been ripped from her chest. Hope wouldn’t become her greatest enemy, nor would guilt be her only company. Her days might be gray, but they wouldn’t be midnight, every sunrise darker than the last. She had no comparison to the hell that was my life. I hated that Greg had turned out to be such a dick. It had pained me for her when the truth had come out.

  But it wasn’t the end for her.

  One day, she’d get over him and start her life again. She’d smile and laugh and realize that it had all been for the best. She’d find someone better and start a family, thanking her lucky stars that he’d let her go so she could bask in the sunlight of her new life.

  Meanwhile, I’d still be frozen in time, holding my breath for a future that would never come.

  Unless…I could figure out how to change.

  Swallowing hard, I faked a smile and tried to keep the cyclone of pain hidden.

  “Enough heavy for one day,” I urged quietly.

  “Yes. Yes. You’re right.” She sniffled and swiped under her eyes, though no tears had escaped. “Go on. Get out of here and have some fun.”

  Like that’s going to happen.

  Lifting my tickets, I pointedly shook my them at her and made my escape.

  “Oh, wait, Char!” she called.

  Reapplying my mask, I turned back to face her. “What’s up?”

  “Do me a favor and take this over to the guy at the grill?” She thrust an empty pickle jar in my direction. “He needs a way to collect the tickets for lunch.” She smiled—like, huge.

  So huge that I went on alert. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?” she said innocently, but that fucking smile stretched even wider.

  I swirled my finger in the air to indicate her face. “Like that.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking a
bout?”

  Swear to God.

  Her.

  Smile.

  Grew.

  Suspiciously, I glanced over my shoulder at a large, white tent positioned next to a grill with a pluming cloud of smoke floating out of it. There was a tall man with unruly, blond hair sticking out in all directions. The cause was clear as he fisted the top of it in frustration. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white apron that had large, black handprints smudged across the front. His mouth moved a mile a minute as he scraped whatever he was massacring into a cardboard box at his feet.

  Rita pressed the jar into my hand. “You should go talk to him.”

  I should have gone and rescued what I feared was going to be lunch from its fiery death. Instead, I continued watching him with curiosity as he slapped another round of raw burgers down, sparks shooting up around them.

  “What the hell is he doing?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Go ask him.” She nudged my shoulder.

  Understanding dawned on me and I swung my gaze to her. “Are you trying to set me up with that guy?”

  “Dear God, no.” She slapped a hand over her heart. “I’m about to reenter the dating world for the first time in eight years. I can’t afford to risk that you’ll praying-mantis a hot one like that.” She shoved me forward. “Stop being so damn suspicious. He looks like he could use some help, and I’m smart enough to know that you’re about to find somewhere to hide for the next hour until you can leave. So do us all a favor and do it”—she pointed a perfectly French manicured nail at the man—“over there.”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but she had been pretty much spot-on, so I quickly closed it.

  “Go make sure there will be edible food to serve people and then you have my full permission to leave in two hours.”

  “One hour,” I countered.

  “One and a half.”

  “One hour, Rita. I need to get up to the hospital.” Totally the truth. Mr. Clark was raising hell, and the nurses had been blowing my phone up while waiting for a discharge order.

  “One hour and fifteen minutes,” she bargained.

  I extended a hand toward her. “One hour and I’ll pay to keep the baseball team until five.”

  Her eyebrows shot up and her hand landed in mine so fast that I almost laughed.

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  “Son of a…” I trailed off before I had the chance to scandalize the ears of any children nearby. “Sorry, Porter. I can’t make it. Angie needs me. You at least know how to grill, right?” I mocked my brother’s voice while scraping another burnt burger off the fire and into the hidden bin at my feet, where at least ten others were in similar condition.

  No. The answer was no. I didn’t know how to grill—at least, not effectively. I must have missed that day in Manliness 101. But did I tell Tanner that? Fuck no. My brother was a jackass. He’d bailed on me only fifteen minutes before we were supposed to start because the woman he had been dating for approximately seven seconds needed him for moral support because her dog had died. I was a dog lover as much as the next guy, but come on. He’d known how much I was depending on him.

  Then, in another show of astounding maturity, he’d hung up on me and turned his phone off.

  I plopped another hand-molded patty on the grill. Using the long, metal spatula, I pointed at it and ordered in a low voice, “Don’t fucking burn.”

  It was safe to say that I was seriously stressing out. Burning over a hundred burgers was hardly going to carry me into the good graces of the ageist Dr. Mills. But, just that morning, I’d held Travis as he’d struggled through yet another worthless breathing treatment. Something had to give.

  Turning my attention away from the sizzling grill, I scanned the crowd. Children ran rampant through the grassy park, weaving between games and refreshment stands. That should have been Travis. Instead, he was at home with my parents, laid up in bed, too sick to even attend school anymore. His immune system was shot, and I’d been forced to make the decision to pull Hannah from the daycare she loved to keep her from bringing germs home to her brother. She would have loved that damn Spring Fling too.

  Strings of uncaught cotton candy floated in the air while the sporadic grinding of the snow cone machine interrupted the sound of Disney classics playing on a loudspeaker. A circle of little girls was letting it go when movement to my right caught my attention.

  A woman ducked under the ropes partitioning the grilling area off, and her long, black hair whipped into her face as the wind curled around her.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice almost robotic.

  As she fought to get the hair out of her face, I took the moment to rake my gaze over her thin frame. She was cute, understated, in a pair of dark jeans and an oversized hoodie that hugged her about as well as a lawn and leaf bag, and not even a hint of makeup covered her olive complexion. She reminded me of a girl I might see cozied up in one of the overstuffed chairs at a coffee shop in the middle of August, desperately pretending it was December: sweatshirt wrapped around her, eyes aimed down at a book, plump lips sipping a steaming-hot chocolate while the hot sun blazed in from the window behind her.

  Intriguing enough for you to notice.

  Closed off enough to keep you from approaching.

  Beautiful enough to keep you thinking about her for days after.

  “Um…hi,” she repeated awkwardly when I continued to silently stare at her. “Pickle jar?”

  I blinked and traced my gaze down her delicate arm to her hand. Sure enough, she was offering me an empty pickle jar, complete with a green top, a narrow slit carved out of the center.

  “It’s a ticket-holder thingy. Rita told me you’d need one.”

  I raked my gaze over her again, noticing a small line of sweat beading on her forehead. And because I obviously needed to max myself out on awkwardness for the day, I told her, “You’re hot.”

  Jesus, Porter.

  Her eyebrows shot up, and she set the jar down on the side of the grill. “Right. Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”

  “Shit. Wait. I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is you have to be hot. It’s, like, eighty degrees today.”

  “Right,” she said dryly as she continued her retreat.

  “Seriously, I didn’t mean… Oh shit!” I yelled when flames shot up out of the grill.

  Grabbing a bottle of water, I dumped it onto the flames. Then I threw my hand up in front of my face when it caused them to flare out to the sides.

  Yep. It was official. I was going to set the park on fire.

  Good news: There was medical personnel onsite.

  Bad news: I could kiss that appointment for Travis goodbye.

  “Watch out.” The woman appeared at my side, sliding into the narrow space in front of me. Her long, dark hair smacked me in the face as she twisted the knobs until the fire died down.

  A ragged breath of relief flew from my lungs. “Christ, that could have been bad.”

  She turned to face me, sporting a scowl that I had no doubt could cause frostbite.

  With a tight smile, I said, “I think the grill is defective.”

  “The grill or you?” she retorted.

  “Definitely the grill.”

  Swiftly, she lifted the box of burnts off the ground and pointedly thrust it in my direction. “You do know that the cow is already dead, right? There’s no need to punish it any further.” The words kinda-sorta sounded like they might have been a joke, but her voice held no humor.

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out how to respond. My gut told me to be a dick, but my better judgment won out.

  “You’re rude,” I stated.

  She twisted her lips. “Says the man staring at me like he just got out of prison.”

  I wanted to laugh. I liked dry humor, and she wasn’t wrong. I was absolutely checking her out.

  But again…I had no fucking idea if she was even trying to be funny.

  The woma
n was unreadable.

  Until she wasn’t.

  The song on the loudspeaker changed and a round of children’s squeals and cheers signaled their exuberant approval.

  It happened so fast that, had I been anyone else, I would have missed it.

  But it was there. And I recognized it immediately.

  I saw it in the mirror every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed.

  Lowering my voice, I inched toward her, desperately hoping for a better look. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course,” she clipped.

  Cool, calm, collected.

  Hiding in plain sight.

  It was almost as intriguing as it was heartbreaking.

  She peeked up as I hovered over her. “What are you doing?” she snapped, swaying away from me.

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  Everything, I thought.

  I loomed closer and her dark gaze lifted to mine.

  Holy. Shit.

  There it was, blazing in her eyes.

  The emptiness.

  My emptiness.

  I’d perfected the ability to lock my every emotion away. Hiding them from not only the world, but myself as well. If I didn’t enable the pain and fear, they had no power over me. But, as the years had passed, the hollowness left behind had been worse.

  My smile had become a mask for the kids.

  My laugh a guise to throw my family off the beaten path.

  Going through the motions of carrying on—all the while, I was withering away.

  And there it was, like a beacon of light shining within her too.

  “Hi,” I whispered as if we were long-lost friends.

  She blinked and craned her head back to peer up at me. “Hi?”

  She thought I was insane, and I couldn’t give the first damn. Hell, I thought I was insane too.

  But that didn’t stop me from smiling and repeating, “Hi.” When she stared up at me blankly, I added, “For the record, I do have other words in my vocabulary, but I seem to be stuck on that one right now.”

  The tiniest smile I’d ever seen played at her lips.

  She’d been beautiful before. But, in that second, she became extraordinary.