The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise Duet Book 2) Read online

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

  Lies.

  Words destroyed me.

  “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it.”

  “Daddy, he can’t breathe!”

  “There’s nothing more we can do for your son.”

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

  More lies.

  Those syllables and letters became my executioner. I told myself that, if I didn’t acknowledge the pain and the fear, they would have no power over me. But, as the years passed, the hate and the anger left behind began to control me.

  Two words—that was all it took to plunge my life into darkness.

  “He’s gone.”

  In the end, it was four soft, silky words that gave me hope of another sunrise.

  “Hi. I’m Charlotte Mills.”

  The Brightest Sunset

  Copyright © 2017 Aly Martinez

  All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without written permission from the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others please purchase a copy for each person. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  THE BRIGHTEST SUNSET is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and occurrences are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events, or locations is purely coincidental.

  Cover Designer: Jay Aheer

  Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Editing: Mickey Reed

  Proofreader: Julie Deaton

  Formatting: Stacey Blake

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of Retrieval

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books

  About the Author

  * * *

  “Catherine, wait,” I called, tucking my wallet into the back pocket of my navy slacks. I glanced down to Hannah, who was cooing in her infant car seat and enjoying the ride as I carefully jogged out of the cardiologist’s office.

  “Buckle up, Travis!” Catherine snapped, her voice high and agitated.

  “Why can’t I ride with Dad?” he whined, slamming his door.

  Turning sideways, I shuffled between the parked cars, reaching them as she put it in gear. Quickly, I patted the hood of her car before she had the chance to back out.

  She jumped, and her chocolate-brown gaze swung to me.

  Lifting Hannah in the air, I clipped at the windshield, “Forgetting someone?”

  Her eyes flashed wide, and her mouth formed the word, “Shit.” After putting the car back into park, she swung her door open and climbed out. “I thought you had her.”

  “I did have her. But I have to go back to work.”

  She stomped over and took the baby carrier from my hand before going back to the car, snatching her car door open, and loading her inside.

  “Dad! Can I ride home with you?” Travis yelled through the open door.

  I bent low so I could see him. “Sorry, bud. I have to get back to work.”

  His face fell and a pang of guilt hit my stomach.

  “How about, when I get home, we play some video games?” I offered as a substitution.

  His face lit. “Okay!”

  Our conversation was cut off when Catherine suddenly slammed the door. She reached for the handle on the driver’s side, but I caught her arm.

  “Are you going to be pissed all day?”

  She angled her head back to look at me, attitude etched on her face. “Yeah, Porter. It’s safe to assume I’m going to be pissed all day.”

  I groaned. “Christ, Catherine. He doesn’t agree with your plan. I’m thinking we should listen to him. After all, he is the doctor.”

  Her glare turned murderous. “And he’s my son!”

  No one wanted to hear that their child needed a heart transplant, but we’d known that day was coming. Travis was four when I’d entered the picture and he’d already been diagnosed. Catherine had told me then that, with the right medications and treatments, he’d get better. But one trip through Dr. Google and I had known she was wrong. Dilated Cardiomyopathy wasn’t something that could be cured.

  Treated? Yes. Managed? Yes. Fixed? Only with a transplant.

  But, for four years, she’d convinced herself otherwise. She’d spent countless hours scouring the internet, looking for information on Travis’s condition. She binged on success stories and failures of children with a similar condition to the point of obsession. Just that morning, she’d presented the cardiologist a proposed treatment plan, complete with drug names and dosages that she believed would cure our son. It had not gone over well when I hadn’t backed her up.

  “You have no idea how much it’s going to hurt to lose him. I’m going to die right along with him. I can’t…” She trailed off when her chin began to quiver, and she nervously glanced over her shoulder to where Travis was sitting in the back seat.

  “Hey,” I breathed, wrapping her in a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Is it?” she croaked.

  “Yeah. It is,” I lied.

  “I don’t think so.” Her shoulders shook as she broke down in my arms.

  It was rare for Catherine to show that side of her emotions. But, then again, she hadn’t been sleeping well since Hannah was born. While my baby girl was healthy as a horse and slept like a dream, Catherine woke up numerous times a night to check on her. I’d spent a small fortune on at least a dozen different monitors and booties that supposedly triggered an alarm if the child stopped breathing, but nothing could quell Catherine’s fears.

  I hadn’t thought much of it in the beginning, but the older Hannah got, the worse Catherine got too. Any time I woke up in the middle of the night, Catherine was always awake, staring into the baby’s bassinet, her hand resting on her chest as if she were waiting for it to stop moving. She’d smile and play it off, saying that she liked to watch her sleep, but I knew it was more. Though, any time I tried to talk to her about it, she’d brush me off and make an excuse to change the subject.

  “What if he dies before they find a donor?” she whispered into my neck.

  My arm tensed around her. “Catherine, honey. He doesn’t even need the transplant yet. We still have options.”

  Her breath shuddered. “I can’t lose him again, Porter.”

  “Nobody is losing him,” I whispered adamantly. “I swear on my life Travis isn’t going anywhere. Let’s listen to the doctors and try to be optimistic before we worry about a transplant.”

  “You don’t understand,” she cried. “If anything happens to him—”

  I leaned away to catch her gaze. “Nothing is going to happen to him. You have to stop acting like the transplant is a death sentence. It could save his life.”

  “It could also kill him. And then where would that leave me?”

  Her. That was where all of these
conversations went. How would his death affect her? Forget about the rest of us. Hell, forget about Travis actually losing his life.

  It was always about Catherine.

  Frustrated, I blew a ragged breath out and released her. “We’re all going to be fine.” Looking over her shoulder, I found Travis’s dark gaze aimed at us, so I shot him a placating smile and added a wink to sell it. Then I whispered to Catherine, “You need to get it together. He’s watching us. We can’t expect him to be strong if we’re breaking down.”

  “Oh, God forbid he learn that his mother is imperfect.”

  Grinding my teeth, I bit out, “That is not what I meant. No one is saying you have to be perfect.”

  “I need to go,” she snipped, snatching the car door open.

  Fuck. Now, she was pissed again and upset.

  I didn’t dare say anything else as she climbed inside. I’d already set her off; there was no point exacerbating it.

  Digging my keys out of my pocket, I walked to my car, the heavy weight of guilt settling over me. I hated that she was hurting, but it was virtually impossible to deal with her when she got like that.

  Our relationship had changed so drastically over the years. I told myself that it was to be expected in marriage. Especially when you threw in the stresses of a sick child, an unplanned pregnancy, and then the exhaustion of having a new baby.

  But, if I was being honest with myself, we’d been falling apart even before that.

  I loved my wife, but it wasn’t like it used to be. Love was now a conscious decision rather than a feeling.

  I climbed into my car with a sick sense of dread rumbling in my stomach.

  I needed to go back to work, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it.

  My family needed me.

  My wife needed me.

  So, when her car turned left out of the parking lot, mine did too.

  Traffic was light, and it didn’t take more than ten minutes to get to our exit.

  “Hey, Karen. It’s Porter. I’m not going to be back today,” I told my secretary as I followed Catherine off the highway.

  “Oh no,” she said softly. “Doctor’s appointment didn’t go so well?”

  “Not really, and I think it’s best if I take the rest of the day…”

  The words died in my mouth as I watched in horror as Catherine’s car drifted to the shoulder. My skin tingled as I waited for her to correct it, figuring she’d only looked down for a moment or maybe turned to hand something to the baby.

  But not even her brake lights flashed before she hit that guardrail. The sound of metal hitting metal was piercing, but knowing my family was inside that car made it deafening. My stomach clenched as I lost sight of them over the side of that bridge.

  It all happened so fast I almost didn’t think it was real. I slammed on my brakes, my phone flying out of my hand as I came skidding to a halt.

  Darting out of my car, I raced toward the cement railing. I’d driven over that bridge every day for over two years, but in that moment, I couldn’t remember what was beneath it. All I could imagine was my family careening into oncoming traffic or a bed of rock below. As messed up as it was, a blast of relief tore through me when I saw her car sinking. Water seemed like the best-case scenario.

  Catherine could swim.

  So could Travis.

  But Hannah….

  I took off at a dead sprint, racing down the rocky embankment. I slipped about halfway down and slid the rest of the way on my ass, but I didn’t let it slow me.

  “Catherine!” I bellowed as I dove into the frigid water, fully clothed.

  Adrenaline had taken over.

  It took no less than seven hundred years for me to reach that car. And with every second that passed, when none of their heads popped up from beneath the surface, a part of me died. I was vaguely aware of people yelling from the bridge above me, and then I caught sight of a man diving in from the opposite side of the banks. But I was too focused on my never-ending journey to reach my family to find any relief in the fact that people had stopped to help.

  By the time I got to the car, the front end was underwater, the roof only partially visible and the bumper stuck up in the air like a buoy.

  My heart was beating so fast I feared it would explode. And that would have been fine by me, as long as it lasted long enough for me to pull them to safety first.

  “Travis!” I frantically tried to pull open his door to no avail. “I’m coming, buddy. Hang tight!” I yelled, clueless if he could hear me or not. But I needed him to know I was there. I slammed my fists against the window, but the only thing that broke was the flesh on my knuckles.

  My mind swirled to figure a way in until I heard his garbled cry.

  “Dad!”

  My heart stopped, and the world shattered around me.

  “I’m right here! I’m gonna get you out!” Cupping my hands on either side of my face to block the sun out, I peered inside the back window.

  Catherine was holding him, his back to her chest, a trail of blood pouring from her eyebrow. Travis’s head was craned back, his hands flailing against the surface, and his mouth hung open, gasping for air as the water rose around them.

  “Catherine!” I screamed, beating on the glass. “Unlock the door. Give him to me!”

  But she didn’t move. Her cold, glassy eyes stared back at me as her chin disappeared under the water.

  “No! No! No!” I chanted. Scanning the inside of the car, I noticed the front windows had been opened an inch and water was pouring in through them.

  After sucking in a lung full of air, I went under water. The river was murky and I could only make out shapes rather than details, but I managed to find the front door. Hooking my fingers over the top of the glass, I pulled as hard as I possibly could, using my feet to add leverage. It shattered in my hands, the bite of the glass not even registering amongst the adrenaline.

  After climbing into the sinking car, I headed straight up to the air pocket.

  “Get out of here!” I yelled at Catherine, shoving her and Travis toward the window.

  Panic ricocheted through my system when I saw Hannah’s car seat completely submerged. Frantic, I went straight to her and began the tedious task of getting her out with shaking fingers. Each strap and buckle becoming a victory all of its own.

  When I got back to the pocket, I pushed Hannah into the air. She wasn’t conscious, but I prayed that air would miraculously fill her lungs. My stomach dropped when Catherine was still there, Travis kicking and flailing in her arms, his face almost completely under water.

  “Come on!” I ordered, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulling her with me as I swam out as fast as I could with my unmoving daughter tucked in the crook of my arm.

  When I breached the surface, I lifted Hannah’s tiny body high, treading water while I spun in a circle, waiting to see the tops of Catherine’s and Travis’s heads emerge.

  For those seconds, everything stopped.

  Nothing around me mattered.

  Not the freezing water.

  Not the sirens blaring in the distance.

  Not the bile clawing up the back of my throat.

  Nothing but those two dark heads I so desperately needed to pop up.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” I prayed as I swam to the bank with what I feared was my baby girl’s lifeless body.

  I didn’t even look at the person I handed her off to before I started swimming back toward that car, my heart in my throat, the weight of a thousand ships on my chest.

  Only the bumper was sticking out of the water, and it felt as though my life were slipping away with that car.

  Where the fuck were they?

  Diving back down, I swam back into the car.

  And then, all at once, every single question I never wanted answered became clear when I once again found them inside that car.

  I couldn’t make out much, but I saw her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his arms floating at his sides. I grabbed him f
irst, shoving hard off the seat of the car, but he was suddenly snatched from my grip. My lungs were on fire, but getting them out wasn’t an option. I was going to die in that car before I gave up on them.

  And as I struggled against her hold on him, I feared that was exactly what was going to happen.

  There was no more air pocket, just a sinking car trying to take my wife and son to a watery grave.

  It took a second for me to realize what was happening. At first, I thought she had to have been disoriented, maybe injured from the wreck.

  But, with every passing second, the truth became unmistakable.

  Her hands clawing at mine.

  Her feet kicking me in the stomach.

  Her hold on him fierce and visceral.

  It wasn’t an accident; every move she made was strategic to keep him with her—and to keep them both in that car. The final straw was when I felt the seat belt wrapped around the two of them anchoring them in place. She hadn’t been in that seat belt the first time I’d pulled them out. There was no possible way that could be mistaken as anything except a deliberate and calculated move.

  I froze. The day I met her at the local farmers market flashed on the backs of my eyelids. I’d gone to buy tomatoes and come home with a family.

  My vision tunneled, darkness surrounding me, my body screaming for oxygen. But what had once been an attempt to save them both became a brawl of epic proportions.

  My hands were no longer shaking, and my fears morphed into anger. I cursed and screamed that I hated her, nothing but a few bubbles carrying the message. But I didn’t stop until I was able to pry my son from her arms.

  I didn’t look back as I headed for oxygen, leaving her there to die.

  Only she wasn’t alone. Porter Reese, the man who’d vowed to love her in sickness and health, the man who’d held her when she’d cried and smiled at her when she’d laughed, the man who had promised her forever, died in that river beside her.

  And it took three dark, twisted, and hate-filled years before he was ever found.