Page 27 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

ALISHA

Samantha licks her fingers for the third time, tomato sauce staining her lips. "This was delicious." Her innocent enjoyment of the pizza pulls a reluctant smile from me, despite the knot of worry sitting heavy in my stomach.

I lean back against the couch cushions, trying to push thoughts of Cole from my mind. "I wouldn't call it the best, but definitely top five of my favorite comfort foods." My fingers drum against my thigh. "Thirsty?"

She nods, already reaching for her phone and headphones—the ones she'd grabbed before we fled Cole's apartment. The memory of his tortured expression makes my chest ache.

"Do you mind if I listen to some music?"

"Go ahead." I push to my feet, gathering our plates. "I'll clean this up and make us something to drink."

In the kitchen, away from Samantha's watchful eyes, I let out a shaky breath. Oh, Cole. What demons are haunting you so badly? Those haunted blue eyes keep appearing in my mind, the raw pain in them making my heart clench.

I scrape pizza remnants into the trash, my movements mechanical as my thoughts spiral.

The way he'd frozen when his mother mentioned his father, how he'd practically vibrated with barely contained rage on that balcony.

.. No man has ever affected me this deeply.

The frustration and hurt from earlier have morphed into pure concern, and that terrifies me more than his anger ever could.

"Shit," I mutter as iced tea overflows the glass, spreading across my counter. Focus, McQueen. But focusing means not thinking about Cole, and that seems impossible right now.

After mopping up the spilled tea, I grab our drinks and head back to the living room. The couch is empty. Where did she go? A faint sound catches my attention, drawing me toward her abandoned headphones. Something about that melody...

Without thinking, I lift them to my ears, and the world transforms. The piano piece flows through me like autumn rain, each note precise yet achingly emotional. The melody shifts, growing deeper, more vibrant, stirring something profound in my chest. God, this is incredible.

The couch dips beside me, and I startle, quickly returning the headphones. "Great music. Surprising, but stunning. I didn't know you liked that style."

Samantha's fingers clench around the device, her eyes skittering away from mine. "I do," she mumbles, her entire body radiating vulnerability.

Understanding hits me—this means something to her, something private. I redirect, touching the soft fabric of her new dress. "I see you changed."

Relief floods her features as she stands, twirling in the beige sleeve-pleated dress we bought during our shopping spree. The transformation is immediate—her shoulders relax, a genuine smile lighting up her face. She runs her hands over the material, showing off how it complements her figure.

"Thank you, Alisha, for this amazing dress and the shopping. I loved it."

"You're welcome, sweetie. I had fun too." Watching her try on different outfits today, seeing her confidence bloom with each new piece—it had been a balm to my wounded soul. This girl has wormed her way into my heart with her gentle spirit and hidden strength.

But now she's biting her lip, fidgeting with her ponytail. Classic Walker tells when something's bothering her.

"Okay, before you destroy those lips, tell me what's up." I pat the couch beside me.

"You remind me of my mom," she whispers, tears gathering in her eyes.

My heart stutters in my chest.

"This"—she gestures between us—"reminds me of our time together. Shopping, eating on the couch, just... everything."

I grab her hand, squeezing gently. "Tell me about her. She sounds like she was an amazing mother."

"She was the best." Samantha's voice cracks. "You would have liked her. She was strong and beautiful, like you."

Samantha opens her phone, scrolling through photos until she finds one that makes her pause.

When she shows me the screen, my throat tightens.

A younger Samantha beams at the camera, wrapped in her mother's embrace on a sun-drenched beach.

The love radiating from that captured moment is almost tangible.

"Oh, Sam. You have her smile." I study the woman who'd raised this remarkable girl. "She was beautiful."

"My mom wanted to be a lawyer." Samantha's hand drifts to her chest, a gesture so like Cole's it makes my heart ache. "But when she got pregnant with me, she moved back in with my grandmother and found out Nanna was sick. She took care of both of us for years."

The weight of sacrifice colors her words. "She used all her savings for hospital bills. Instead of law school, she worked two jobs just to keep us afloat."

"That must have been incredibly hard." I keep my voice gentle, sensing there's more.

"Yeah." Her fingers twist in her lap. "Especially after Nanna died. I spent a lot of time alone when Mom had to work."

"No friends at school?"

She shakes her head, shoulders curling inward. "Rachel was my only real friend in L.A." Her nose wrinkles. "The guys at school... they found out where Mom worked."

My stomach drops, already dreading what's coming.

"She was a waitress at a strip club. Not a dancer, just serving drinks, but..." She swallows hard. "These boys, they'd wave dollar bills at me, asking how much it'd cost to make me strip. Or they'd ask if my mom would take her clothes off if they hired her."

White-hot rage burns through me. I take a long sip of tea, trying to wash away the bitter taste of fury. Why are kids so goddamn cruel?

"And school here in Boston?"

Her eyes meet mine, a small smile forming. "It's okay. I like it."

Relief floods me. Thank god, because if anyone tried that shit here, I'd personally ensure they never reproduced.

"Can I ask you something?" She's gnawing her nail now, another nervous tell.

"Anything."

"Since you always look so amazing..." She takes a deep breath. "Could you show me how to do makeup? Since my mom isn't here... I was hoping maybe you'd want to..."

The longing in her voice breaks my heart. I stand, holding out my hand. "It would be my honor."

Her face lights up as she takes it, wrapping her arm around me. "Thank you so much, Alisha. Next to my mom, you're the coolest woman ever."

I laugh to hide how much that touches me. "That's quite a compliment. But remember—" I fix her with a stern look. "We're not plastering your face with products. You don't need it. Plus, your father would have an aneurysm."

Her snort of laughter echoes down the hallway as we head to the bathroom. But underneath my smile, worry gnaws at me. Speaking of Cole... what's he doing right now? Is he okay?

I push the thought away. One Walker at a time.

"You blue-eyed girls look best in golds, bronzes, and warm browns." I lay out my makeup collection, selecting shades that will enhance her natural beauty. "These colors will make your eyes sparkle."

As I demonstrate each technique—blush, eyeliner, mascara—I watch her confidence grow in the mirror.

When she tries it herself, her hands steady with each successful stroke.

The warm brown eyeshadow makes her eyes pop, the soft blush highlighting her fantastic bone structure. God, this girl is gorgeous.

"Can I ask you another question?" She sets down the mascara, meeting my eyes in the mirror. Back to biting those lips.

"Of course. Ask me anything."

"When we were shopping earlier..." She hesitates. "I noticed you kept checking your surroundings. You looked... afraid."

My hands freeze mid-motion. She noticed. I debate what to tell her, remembering how Cole's secrecy hurt me. The choice becomes clear.

"A few months ago," I start, measuring my words, "a man attacked me. I ended up in the hospital."

Her eyes widen as I give her the condensed version. When I finish, she wraps her arms around me, the embrace fierce and protective. Surprisingly, sharing the story feels like releasing a breath I've been holding.

"Oh my god, Alisha. You're so brave." She pulls back, eyes shining. "I don't think I could go outside knowing someone who hurt me might be watching."

I swallow hard, shrugging. "Some days are harder than others. But hiding in my apartment isn't the answer. My parents taught me to be strong, to never give up. If I do, he wins."

"Where are your parents?" Curiosity colors her voice.

I grab my phone, pulling up a recent text with an attached photo. Samantha's eyes light up at the image of my parents on their cruise ship.

"Your mom is stunning too—you look just like her."

I chuckle at her enthusiasm.

"Don't you miss them?"

"Of course, but they deserve this vacation. They both worked so hard." I smile, remembering their excitement. "Mom turns fifty this year. This was Dad's gift to her. They've been traveling for six months, home in two more."

Her brow furrows as she processes this. "So they were away when you got attacked? How did they react to you being in the hospital?"

When I don't answer, realization dawns in her eyes. "They don't know?"

"No." The word comes out softer than intended. "I never told them."

"But... why?"

Guilt I've been suppressing rises to the surface. "It might sound strange, but if I'd told them, they would have taken the first flight back. The thought of ruining their dream trip just to worry about me..." I shake my head. "I had Bella, Emma, and Amanda. They helped me through it."

"You're amazing." She studies me in the mirror. "I hope Dad apologizes for yelling at you."

"You heard that?" Heat creeps up my neck.

"He's got a loud voice when he's upset." She starts braiding her hair, movements precise and thoughtful.

"His body's like this giant, solid rock foundation—intimidating on the outside, but his heart.

.." She meets my eyes in the reflection.

"It's pure. I think he's struggling with something big.

The tension between him and Grandma at the door was thick.

I bet it has something to do with Grandpa. "