Page 33 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

ALISHA

I take a sip of my cappuccino, watching the steady stream of people flowing through Boston International Airport's arrival doors.

My chosen spot gives me the perfect vantage point, but even the familiar comfort of people-watching can't settle the butterflies in my stomach.

After months apart, I'm about to see my parents.

I frown into my coffee cup, thoughts drifting to Cole like they always do lately. It's been five agonizing days since I told him I needed space, and I miss him. Miss them both—him and Samantha. The ache sits constant in my chest, like a bruise I can't stop pressing.

My fingers hover over my phone, ready to text them, but I stop myself. Girl, pull yourself together. He needs to understand he can't act as a fantastic lover one minute and turn into that arrogant bulldozer the next.

A tired huff escapes me. God, that man is driving me nuts.

The memory of my conversation with Amanda floods back.

After fleeing Cole's apartment that day, I'd gone straight to our appointment.

She took one look at my face and dragged me to the nearest coffee shop.

I told her everything—well, almost everything.

I couldn't betray Cole's confidence about the piano room, but I explained how he keeps switching between hot and cold, open and closed off.

Amanda listened, really listened, then hit me with: "Honey, give him time." But she didn't stop there. She turned those knowing eyes on me and asked, "But talking about opening up, aren't you still hiding what occurred from the people who love you most? Your parents?"

Her words struck deep, resonating through me like a bell tone.

That night, I called my parents. After some awkward small talk, I blurted out what happened—the attack, the stalking, everything except the most terrifying details.

They were shocked, horrified. And this morning's early wake-up call from Dad, announcing they were flying in immediately, wasn't exactly a surprise.

So here I am, watching, waiting, my stomach doing somersaults that would impress an Olympic gymnast.

The sliding doors open again, and I scan each new group emerging into the arrival hall.

Men and women pushing baggage carts or dragging rolling suitcases stream through.

My heart catches when an attractive guy holding an adorable little girl in a pink dress strolls past. They smile and laugh together, and something about their easy affection makes my chest tight.

Stop it. Not every father-daughter pair has to remind you of Cole and Samantha.

Movement catches my eye—a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman walking a few feet behind the pair.

Dad. Even at fifty-eight, with his usually perfect blond hair slightly disheveled from the flight, he turns heads.

Several women openly admire him as he passes, but his attention is focused solely on scanning the crowd, searching for me.

My smile widens as I spot my mother beside him, elegant as always in her dark blue maxi dress and practical black flats.

Her honey-blonde hair—so like mine—is swept into a low bun, with wisps dancing around her face as she surveys the hall.

They exchange words, heads bent close together, and love swells in my chest seeing them still so in sync after all these years.

My mother's face lights up when she spots me.

She taps Dad's arm, pointing, and suddenly I'm moving.

The empty coffee cup lands in a nearby trash bin as I weave through the crowd.

It isn't until I'm wrapped in her arms, breathing in her familiar jasmine-rose scent, that I realize how desperately I needed this.

"Oh, my sweet Alisha, I've missed you so much," she mumbles against my hair.

"Hey, Mom." The words come out thick with emotion.

She pulls back, cupping my face in her palms, and I see the moment she really looks at me. Something in my expression must give me away because her eyes dampen. "Oh, baby..." Her thumbs brush my cheeks before she pulls me into another fierce hug.

"Clair, honey, give our daughter some breathing space."

I turn at my father's voice, my cheeks heating under his piercing gaze. His lips press into a thin line—his tell when he's trying to contain strong emotion.

"You, young lady, have a lot to explain."

I let out a gigantic sigh. "I know, Dad, I just..."

"Come here," he mutters. Relief floods through me as I step forward, and he wraps his arms around me. Mom immediately joins us, making it a family sandwich.

"This is the best. My two favorite girls back at my side," he whispers, his voice rougher than usual. "We missed you so much, honey."

"I missed you guys, too." The words come out wobbly, but I don't care.

Dad places a kiss on both our heads before taking his position behind the luggage cart. "Now, let's go home."

Mom and I fall into step beside him, our arms linked like when I was little. "Mom, can I stay for a day or two?"

She squeezes my side. "That is a silly question, Alisha. You are our baby. You can stay as long as you want."

I kiss her cheek, watching Dad stride ahead of us.

His height and commanding presence remind me so much of Cole that my chest aches.

Oh, stop thinking about that man. But even as I try to focus on my parents' vacation stories, my mind keeps drifting to piercing blue eyes and a little girl's sweet smile.

The drive home is filled with their tales of exotic places and adventures, but I catch Dad watching me in the rearview mirror more than once. He's waiting, giving me time, but I know the moment we get home, the real conversation begins.

I'm right.

The moment we arrive, Dad sits me down at the kitchen table. "Now, please, tell us exactly, from beginning to end, what happened that night. And no skipping parts, Alisha."

Mom's hand covers mine as I begin to speak, her presence giving me strength.

"It happened after I locked up the store and walked to my parked car in the alley behind the shop.

" My voice shakes, but I force myself to continue.

"The man who had been bothering me in a club a few weeks before appeared out of nowhere and pushed me against a wall.

He said a woman like me needed to learn a lesson.

Then his fists hit my face and stomach."

My entire body tenses at the memory. Dad grabs my other hand, squeezing gently. When I meet his eyes, the love and support radiating there strengthens me to continue reliving the horrific attack.

"When he let go of me, I crashed to the floor. I tried to get away but I couldn't." My mother swipes a tear from my cheek. "He dragged me to the middle of the alley, shoved me on my back and began touching me."

My mother's grip on my hand becomes painful. "Oh, my sweet baby. Did he..."

I glance at my mom, whose face has gone pale with fear. When I shake my head, she lets out a shuddering breath. "No, he didn't. A loud noise distracted him. He turned to see what it was, and as he did, I tried to crawl away, but he saw this and started kicking my ribs."

I close my eyes, my mouth going dry as the terror of that night washes over me.

"I begged him to stop... but he continued.

Just when I thought my spine would break, he stopped and walked off while saying, 'See you later.

' From then on everything is a blur. Amanda found me the next morning. She called 911."

I open my eyes when I feel a strong finger wiping away fresh tears. Dad's face is a mask of barely contained rage.

"Is he behind bars?" he asks, voice tight.

I shake my head. "No, he's still out there. The police are investigating the box and note he sent me. But as for now they have no leads."

Dad's brows slam together. "He's stalking you?"

When I nod, silence falls heavy over the kitchen.

Mom is the first to break it, standing to pull out a package of caramel walnut cookies—her go-to comfort food since I was little.

She arranges them carefully on a plate, her hands trembling slightly.

After placing them on the table, she sits back beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch.

Then Dad stands, and I bite my thumbnail as I watch him pace through the kitchen, mumbling and letting out odd noises. Mom and I both jump as he suddenly roars, "Goddamn son of a bitch!"

Mom rises, placing herself in his path. "Jim, honey, calm down."

His eyes meet hers as he throws both hands in the air. "How the hell can I do that, Clair? Our girl just told us that the piece of shit that attacked her is still out there. And now he's stalking her."

He stalks past Mom, continuing his patrol of the room. "If I get my hands on him, I will skin him alive. Nobody beats and hurts my baby girl," he shouts.

Love floods through me hearing my father call me his baby girl, even as my heart breaks watching him struggle with this news. He's now gazing out of the kitchen window, arms crossed, a deep frown etched between his brows.

"Dad?"

"I want you to come back home," he says, still staring into the garden. "You're not safe in your apartment. There's no security."

"I'm already living somewhere else." His head shoots my way. "What?"

"After receiving the letter, I decided to move. Amanda found me the perfect place, and now I'm living there."

"And where is there , Alisha?" My father squints.

I clear my throat and whisper, "The Millennium Tower."

Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "You're living in the most expensive apartment building in Boston?"

I nod, watching his face darken with suspicion.

"Alisha Alexandra McQueen, what are you hiding? You don't earn enough to pay for the rent in that place."

"It's okay, Dad. Nick Brown's best friend, Cole, lives there." My heart skips at saying his name. "He owns two apartments and knowing my situation, he doesn't mind me living there for a while. It has top-notch security."

Dad's eyes narrow to slits. "And how does this Cole expect you to pay for staying there?"