The Complete Darkest Sunrise Series

by Aly Martinez

  My chest warmed, and for the first time in over a week, the world slowed.

  She hadn’t been able to stop it. But the realization that, in some way, shape, or form, we were still on the same team, did more for me than anything else that day.

  “Mr. Reese,” the judge called. “Do you understand?”

  I glanced at Mark, who was glaring at me, clearly unimpressed with Charlotte’s shirt as well—or perhaps the fact that we were chatting from opposite tables in the middle of a custody hearing. Whatever.

  “Yes, sir. Two weeks,” I replied.

  * * *

  Brady and I drove home from the courthouse in silence.

  Or, at least, I was silent.

  Brady talked profusely.

  Mainly, he was bitching. Complaining about the judge, the attorney, the bailiff, whoever. Then he went off on a full-blown rant, first about Porter before sparing a few F-bombs for Tanner too.

  I ignored all of this.

  I was plotting. And not Brady’s untimely demise, though the thought had crossed my mind.

  No. I was plotting how I was going to finally take my life back.

  Just that morning, as I’d sat at breakfast with Lucas while he’d talked for over an hour about Porter, Hannah, Tanner, and the rest of the Reese family, I’d finally learned a very valuable bit of information.

  Lucas was gone forever.

  It wrecked me to admit that, but it was the truth nonetheless.

  Travis Reese went to sleep in my bed every night. He called me Charlotte, not Mom. He called Brady Brady, not Dad. He called my mom Susan and Tom Tom.

  He could rattle off a million stories about his little sister, Hannah, but he refused to even hold Brady’s son, William.

  He was smart and funny and kind and witty.

  And brave. Jesus, he was brave.

  He loved ketchup but hated mustard (my favorite). And he loved pizza but hated pasta (Brady’s favorite.) But, most surprising of all, when asked what his favorite food was, he waxed poetic about the sautéed mushrooms at The Porterhouse.

  Yes. A ten-year-old’s favorite food was his uncle’s sautéed mushrooms.

  I’d had those mushrooms when I’d stolen them off Porter’s plate on our first date. Travis wasn’t wrong. They were really freaking good. But I knew they had been better because I’d eaten them with Porter.

  And, when I remembered my son picking the mushrooms out of the chicken tetrazzini I’d made one night, I knew that Porter was the reason Travis loved them as well.

  Travis had been seeing a therapist every day, and it seemed like that was helping, but I knew he was struggling. He never cried, publicly anyway. I did though. A lot. To the point where it felt like I was drowning in tears. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t breathe. Having a son I didn’t know was hard. So hard that I’d inadvertently turned the reins over to someone who I’d hoped knew what they were doing.

  Brady and Tom had been running the show since the day Lucas had been kidnapped, and that had not changed when Travis had been found. For the last week, I’d sat back and done my best to keep the drama to a minimum. But nothing had changed. And, judging by Brady’s shit fit that had nearly landed him in a jail cell for the night, it was never going to change.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” Brady asked as he put the car into park in front of my apartment and cut the ignition.

  I didn’t reply as I got out, heading straight for my front door.

  “Charlotte,” he called.

  But I was in no mood for any more of his shit.

  Or anyone’s, for that matter.

  “How’d it go?” Mom asked nervously as I marched inside, Brady right behind me.

  The door wasn’t even shut before I started shimmying, fighting against the pastel straitjacket until I got it over my head, leaving me in a cream camisole and a black pencil skirt. “This shirt is hideous,” I declared, stomping to the trashcan and slinging it inside. “Let me do my own damn shopping from now on.”

  “Uh…” Mom drawled.

  Brady stopped in the entryway and planted his hands on his hips. “New hearing in two weeks. The order of protection remained in place.”

  “Thank God,” Tom grumbled, pulling my mom into a side hug.

  “Charlotte!” Travis yelled, barreling out of the bedroom as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. “What happened? When can I go home?”

  “Hey, bud,” Brady cooed.

  Travis flicked his gaze to his father then right back to me. “Is Dad coming to get me?”

  My heart shattered at the excitement dancing in his eyes.

  Swallowing hard, I shuffled to him. “I’m sorry, baby. The judge rescheduled another hearing for two weeks from now.”

  Tilting his head back, he blinked those big, brown doe eyes up at me. “W…why?”

  His staggering disappointment stole my breath. “I…um.”

  What the hell was I supposed to tell him? We’d tried to be honest with him since the get-go, but he was just a kid. He couldn’t possibly understand the inner workings of this kind of hell. Truth be told, I didn’t understand them, either. This whole thing was a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

  “Because the judge thinks it’s best if you stay with us,” Brady replied when words failed me.

  “Forever?” Travis croaked, training his pleading gaze on me.

  I caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. “At least for two more weeks.”

  “But hopefully forever,” Brady added. “You belong with us.”

  I bulged my eyes at him over my shoulder in a silent, Shut the fuck up, and when I turned back, Travis’s lip was quivering.

  “But I want my dad,” he whispered, barely holding tears back.

  I gave his hand another squeeze that was as much for me as it was for him. “I know. And I promise it’s going to be okay. The judge just wants a little while longer to figure all this out.”

  His shoulders shook as his breathing shuddered, not a tear falling from his eyes but sobs ravaging him all the same.

  Releasing his hand, I tried to gather him into a hug, but he struggled against me.

  “Let me go!”

  “Travis. Baby,” I whispered, desperate to erase his pain.

  He tore out of my arms and dashed to the bedroom before slamming the door behind him.

  “Shit,” I breathed, my shoulders sagging.

  “He’ll be okay,” my mom soothed, but her voice was too thick for me to believe she was telling the truth.

  “It’s better this way,” Brady said, resting his hand on my back.

  Swear to God—it burned.

  “How is it better this way?” I snapped, spinning to face him. “He’s hurting!”

  “He needs to understand that—”

  “He’s ten!” I spat, careful to keep my voice low. “Wasn’t that your big argument today at the courthouse when Porter suggested he get a say in where he should live?”

  He twisted his lips. “Yeah. But—”

  “But nothing! He doesn’t understand. And he’s never going to understand why you kept him away from a good and decent man.”

  His face turned hard. “Don’t start this shit, Charlotte. You got played. You have no fucking idea who Porter Reese really is.”

  “Neither do you!” I hissed. “But I can guarantee you our little boy does.”

  “Charlotte,” Tom called.

  “Get out!” I snarled. Stepping away from Brady, I sliced my gaze through the room. “All of you!”

  Brady looked surprised.

  Tom looked hurt.

  And I steeled myself for Mom’s reaction. Only, when my eyes made it to her, she appeared downright proud.

  “All right, boys. You heard her. Let’s get going.” She herded the guys to the door.

  “And tomorrow? Call before showing up,” I added. “Brady, I’ll bring him over to your place for dinner tomorrow night. But we need to talk.”

  As he made his way to the door, he stared at me, his jaw tic
king with what was surely a few choice words he was struggling to keep in, but I couldn’t have cared less. He could say whatever the hell he wanted or even waggle his magical finger of blame at me.

  I was done with the bullshit.

  It was time for a change, and it was starting with me.

  After a few icy goodbyes, I shut and locked the front door.

  Kicking off my shoes, I made my way down the hall.

  “Travis?” I called softly, knocking on the bedroom door.

  “Go away,” he replied, tears evident in his voice.

  I rested my forehead on the door. “They all left. It’s just me and you now. You want some dinner?”

  “I wanna go home!”

  “I know. But it’s only two more weeks and then I promise I’ll talk to the judge myself.”

  “Go…away!” he yelled on a wheeze.

  My lips thinned. See, this was exactly the problem with getting him worked up over Porter. At the end of the day, he was sick and this kind of emotional upheaval took a toll on his already frail body. This was stressful for us all, but for him, it was life-threatening.

  I tested the doorknob, finding it locked. “Can I at least come in and listen to your lungs?”

  “No!” he shouted before breaking into a fit of coughing.

  “Listen, I’m going to set up your nebulizer. I’ll give you a few minutes, but then you have to come out. Okay?”

  When he didn’t scream at me again, I went to the bathroom to set up his breathing treatment.

  Going through the motions, I set his nebulizer up, slightly tweaking his medication to counteract the emotional damage caused by this afternoon. Thankfully, he had an appointment with his cardiologist in the morning. That would at least put my mind at ease about his heart after the last few days, but I needed to talk to Brady about maybe not laying everything out to Travis until we had firm answers. There was no reason for him to be this upset all the time.

  “All right. I’m ready!” I called down the hall.

  No reply.

  “Travis?” I said, knocking on the door. “Baby, it’s time.”

  No reply.

  I pressed my ear to the door, listening for any kind of movement, only to be greeted by the most deafening sound of my life.

  No coughing.

  No wheezing.

  No crying.

  Nothing but bone-chilling silence.

  Chills broke out across my skin, my body igniting in a wildfire while the blood drained from my face.

  “Travis!” I screamed, pounding on the locked door, fear prickling at my scalp.

  No reply.

  My heart thundered, and I frantically tried to twist the knob while pressing my shoulder against the wood to no avail.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” I chanted as I raced to the bathroom. With jerky movements, I snatched the linen closet open, dumped my entire box of makeup onto the floor, and searched through the wreckage until I found a lone bobby pin.

  After racing back to the door, I shoved it into the small hole on the lock. My hands were shaking so badly I had to try several times before it caught, visions of my son’s lifeless body flashing on my lids with every blink.

  Finally, I twisted the knob and slung the door open.

  The room was empty.

  Just like my chest.

  “Travis!” My mind fired in a million different directions as I began scouring my bedroom.

  I went straight to the ensuite bathroom. Empty.

  I snatched the covers off the bed. Empty.

  I tore through the closet. Empty.

  And then the past roared to life, swallowing me whole. The darkness washed over me, darker than ever before.

  He was gone.

  Again.

  “Lucas!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, panic consuming me.

  Racing to the window, I found it open, but he was nowhere in sight.

  On shaky legs, I climbed out the window, landing in the mulch-filled flowerbed before taking off at a dead sprint.

  “Lucas!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the surrounding apartments. When he still didn’t answer, I raced around the building, praying with my every turn that he would be there.

  Panting, I scanned the parking lot, desperate for just one glimpse of his dark hair, hope fading into agony with every passing second.

  Oh God. This was not happening.

  “Lucas!” I choked out, spinning in a tight circle.

  I was on the verge of hyperventilating when movement in the bushes caught my attention.

  “Lucas!” I shrieked with relief when I saw his tear-soaked face peering at me through the leaves.

  He was crouched, doing his best to hide, but his legs were too long to get him low enough to fully disappear.

  My heart exploded and the ground swayed beneath my feet, but nothing could have stopped me from getting to him.

  Branches cut and scraped my legs as I waded into them after him. “Oh God, Lucas.”

  He batted my hand away. “I’m not Lucas!”

  Tears finally hit my eyes, my fear transforming into anger. “What the hell are you doing?” I cried.

  “I’m going home!” he yelled before doubling over with heaving breaths.

  Using his arm, I guided him out of the bushes, but he fought me every step of the way. “Christ, Travis. I thought I’d lost you again.”

  His nostrils flared, and his lips trembled. “You’re never going to let me see him again, are you?”

  “It’s not my decision.”

  “Why not?” He gasped for air. “Why can’t it be your decision? You’re supposedly my mom, right?”

  “No supposedly about it. I am your mom, and Brady is your dad.”

  “No, he’s not! I hate him.”

  “No, you don’t,” I whispered.

  He balled his fists at his sides and planted his weight on one foot as he leaned toward me and screamed, “Yes, I do! I hate all of you!”

  I blanched, rocking back on a heel. He was a kid. A scared, confused, angry kid.

  But that still seared through me like a scorching hot knife to the chest.

  I didn’t let it show. “I know this is hard, but we love you.”

  “You don’t love me!” His face crumbled, and his shoulders shook violently. “You love Lucas. And my mom, she just wanted me to replace her dead son, Travis. But my dad—my real dad—he’s the only one who ever wanted me!” He collapsed to his knees in the grass before falling forward to his hands, sucking in sharp, heaving breaths.

  I followed him down, rubbing his back, because quite honestly, I had no idea what else to do.

  Every word he’d said had cut me like the rusty, jagged blade of reality.

  Because, as much as I wanted to deny it…

  He wasn’t wrong.

  * * *

  “Here, you be Ken,” Hannah offered, holding out a naked male doll who thankfully had a pair of tighty-whities painted on. She’d been desperately trying to change the subject since the conversation had started.

  I couldn’t blame her. I wanted to change it too.

  Today hadn’t gone well at the courthouse. And, while staring down the barrel of at least two weeks before we even had the possibility of seeing Travis again, I had to tell her something.

  Her questions weren’t going to stop, but honestly, I didn’t have many answers. So I told her the facts. Travis wasn’t staying with a friend—he was staying with his birth parents. Why I’d thought her naïve mind could understand that when I could barely comprehend the madness of it all, I had no idea.

  Her first question had been if Travis was in heaven with their mom. With that, a whole new pain had taken up residence inside me. But I’d been forced to finish the conversation.

  I took the doll from her and set it aside. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Hannie?” I asked, my voice rough like sandpaper.

  I was lying flat on my back in the middle of her bedroom floor, a discarded tea party on my left, a Barbie dr
eam house on my right, my daughter straddling my stomach as she sat on top of me.

  Thanks to my mom, her long, unruly, brown hair had been braided to look like her favorite princess, and she toyed with the end of it over her shoulder. Her chocolate-brown eyes, which matched her mother’s, lifted to mine. “Does he still love us?”

  I’d changed out of my suit the minute we’d gotten home and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that was going to have to be burned after this conversation. There was no way I’d ever be able to wear it again with the memories of her devastation clinging to it.

  “Of course,” I assured her, sitting up and wrapping her in a hug. “He’s always going to love us. And we’re always going to love him.”

  “Do I have to get a new mommy and daddy too?”

  An ache filled my hollow chest. “No. Never,” I swore. “I’m your only daddy. And your mom was your only mommy.”

  “So, why does Travis have two?”

  I sighed, kicking myself in the ass for not asking my mom to be a part of this discussion. “Well…” I started only to trail off when my phone rang in my pocket.

  And, much like her offer for me to play Ken, I, too, was suddenly desperate for a way out of not only this conversation, but this situation as well.

  “Hold that thought,” I said, digging into my back pocket.

  I lifted the screen into my line of sight, and then all at once, the oxygen was sucked from the room. Shifting her to one side, I burst up off the floor with her still in my arms.

  One word flashing on my phone sent an avalanche of adrenaline crashing down on me.

  “Charlotte?” I said, pressing my phone to my ear.

  “Come over,” she pleaded in a hushed and urgent tone.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, dashing from the room to collect my keys and wallet.

  “Everything,” she cried. “God, Porter. Everything.”

  My heart lurched, and fear iced my veins. “What’s going on? Talk to me. Is Travis okay?”

  “He’s fine,” she choked out through tears. “He’s doing a breathing treatment. Please, just come over. Come over. Come over.”

  Relief only washed the fear away—the anxiety was permanent.

  Hannah held tight to my neck as I jogged through our house, pausing only to slip a pair of shoes on before I was out the door.