Page 4 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

COLE

After a seven-hour flight, I stride through LAX with a head full of questions and a growing knot in my gut. Jessica Davis had a daughter and listed me as the father. The same Jessica who'd dreamed of changing the world one court case at a time. What the hell happened?

My rental—a black Land Rover Discovery—pulls into the parking lot of a grey office building that screams government bureaucracy. Time to sort this mess out so I can get back to my peaceful life of contracts, sunsets, and solitude.

The receptionist's eyes travel over my body as I approach her desk. "I'm looking for Ms. Emily Miller."

She gives me another head-to-toe inspection before picking up her phone. "I'll get her. Please wait there." She points to a row of chairs that look designed to numb asses.

I lean against the wall instead, listening to the symphony of ringing phones and murmured conversations. A small woman with light brown hair emerges from one of the rooms, her steps purposeful but cautious. There's something in her eyes—a protective glint that makes my spine straighten.

"Mr. Walker?"

I shake her outstretched hand. "Call me Cole."

"Emily." She leads me to her compact office, closing the door with a soft click. "I'm glad you came, though I'm sorry about the circumstances."

"Where is she?"

Emily's chin lifts slightly, her posture shifting from social worker to guardian. "Before we get to that, I need to verify your identity."

Emily's eyes study my license with the intensity of someone who's seen too many people try to game the system.

"She's staying at my house," Emily finally says.

"Is that allowed?"

Her arms cross. "That sweet girl needed a safe place after finding herself alone in the world."

"What about grandparents?"

"Gone. No aunts or uncles either." Emily pulls out a document and slides it across her desk. "Samantha mentioned two days ago that her mother put her father's name on her birth certificate. I've been working around the clock to find you since then."

My eyes scan the legal record. Mother: Jessica Davis, with her familiar looping signature. Father: Cole Walker, but no signature. Just my name, written in Jessica's hand, tying me to fifteen years of absence I never knew about.

"How do I know she's mine?" The words taste bitter. "Yes, my name's there, but—"

"I understand." Emily's voice softens. "A paternity test would be wise. But before that..." She meets my gaze. "See her."

I lean back, crossing my arms. "And why would I do that?"

"Humor me, Cole." There's something in her tone—a challenge wrapped in concern.

Standing, I gesture to the door. "Take me to her."

The L.A. sun hits like a physical force as we exit the building. Emily hesitates when I offer her a ride, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"I'm not a serial killer or planning to hurt you. Just being a gentleman."

She chuckles, tension bleeding from her shoulders. "Fine, let's go."

During the drive, questions bubble up. "What happened to Jessica? Last I heard, she was headed to law school."

Emily's fingers twist in her lap. "She... she waited tables. By day at a restaurant, and at night..." She bites her lip. "At a strip club."

The steering wheel creaks under my grip. "What?"

That brilliant, ambitious woman who'd lectured me about civil rights over midnight pancakes... reduced to serving drinks in a strip club? What the hell happened to derail her so completely?

Emily's driveway crunches under the SUV's tires as questions ricochet through my mind. Before I can voice any of them, Emily's already out of the car, heading for her front door.

"Samantha?" she calls out as we step inside.

My eyes sweep the living room, taking in the homey touches—family photos, a worn leather couch, books stacked on coffee tables. Not the sterile environment I expected from a social worker.

"She's outside." Emily gestures toward broad windows overlooking a small garden.

A teenager sits cross-legged in the grass, back turned to us, head bobbing to whatever's playing through her headphones.

She's wearing a mint green shirt, her dark blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail that catches the afternoon light.

Something tugs in my chest—a recognition I'm not ready to acknowledge.

"Let me talk to her first," Emily says, already moving toward the back door.

"Go ahead." My voice sounds rougher than intended. "I'll wait here."

Emily crosses the lawn, positioning herself where the girl can see her. The teenager removes her headphones, and even from here, I catch the way her spine stiffens at whatever Emily says. When Emily points toward the house, the girl rises slowly, turning to face us.

Sweet Jesus.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. It's like looking in a mirror and seeing my features softened, feminized. Those distinctive Walker eyes—clear blue as a summer sky—stare back at me with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability that hits like a sucker punch to the gut.

Emily guides her inside, hand protective on her back. The girl's eyes stay fixed on the floor as they approach, but there's a stubborn set to her jaw that's painfully familiar.

"Why don't we sit?" Emily suggests, her tone gentle but firm.

The silence stretches between us like pulled taffy as we settle—the girls on the couch, me in an armchair that suddenly feels too small for my frame.

I find myself studying her features, cataloging the pieces of myself I see reflected back: the high cheekbones, the slight furrow between her brows, even the way she holds herself—shoulders back, chin tilted slightly up despite her downcast eyes.

Emily clears her throat. "Samantha, this is—"

"You're my father?" Her chin snaps up, those Walker-blue eyes blazing.

"Yeah, the chances of that being true have grown significantly."

"You thought my mother was a liar!" The thickness in her voice catches me off guard.

Emily jumps in. "Samantha, what Mr. Walker tried to say is—"

"He believed my mother was a liar." She's on her feet in a flash, storming back to the garden. The headphones go back in place—a clear dismissal if I've ever seen one.

"I'll talk to her," Emily starts to rise, but I'm already standing.

"Can I?" The word surprises us both.

Emily studies me for a moment before stepping back. I cross to where Samantha sits, deliberately placing myself in her line of sight. No response. Great. The stubbornness is definitely a Walker trait too.

"Samantha?" I keep my voice calm, steady. Still nothing. Frustration bubbles up, and I find myself reaching down to pull the headphones from her ears.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing. But giving me the cold shoulder won't make it better."

She keeps her gaze fixed on her hands as they stroke through the grass. Something about the gesture—so young, so uncertain—softens the edge of my irritation.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your mom. And I can imagine you've got millions of questions running through your head. I know I do."

"What are you thinking?" The question comes out barely above a whisper.

"I wonder how I have a daughter I never knew existed."

"You think I'm your daughter? Why?"

A half-smile tugs at my mouth. "Because you're blessed or cursed with what I call the Walker Genes. Two major ones: First, height. I bet you're taller than most of your peers."

She nods, fingers stilling in the grass.

"Second? Eye color. The Walkers' eyes have a distinctive blue color. And yours are clear as the blue sky on a bright summer's day."

"Wow," she murmurs. "No one has described them like that..."

She rises abruptly, heading back inside. I run my hands through my hair, wondering if I've somehow made things worse. When I follow her in, she's already asking Emily the question that's been hanging in the air.

"What happens now?"

Emily shifts forward in her seat. "You'll need to take a paternity test to establish Cole is your biological father.

I've contacted a DNA lab nearby—they can get results in one or two days.

If it confirms Cole is your father, you can stay with him.

If not..." She hesitates. "We'll need to find you a foster family. "

"Fine. Let's do the stupid test." Samantha's voice cracks.

"I don't have another choice, do I?" She whirls to face Emily, arms crossed tight against her chest. "Why can't I take care of myself?

I'm fifteen. I'm not a baby." Her eyes flash with that Walker fire I know too well.

"I don't want to live with strangers. If that happens, I'll run away and live on the street. "

Her words slice through me like a blade.

Memories surface—ones I've spent years burying.

The hollow ache after my father's death, the suffocating weight of being alone, the desperate need to prove I could handle everything myself.

I see that same lost look in Samantha's eyes, and something shifts in my chest.

The thought of her on the streets or lost in the foster system makes bile rise in my throat. Fuck. This isn't how I planned my day to go, but plans change. Life changes. Sometimes in the space of a single conversation.

"I'm not doubting you're my daughter." The words come out before I fully process them, but they feel right. "And I'd like you to come with me to Boston. My place is sizable enough, and you can go to school there."

Emily squeezes Samantha's hand, and we head to the DNA lab. The next twenty-four hours pass in a blur of cotton swabs and paperwork until I'm standing back in Emily's living room, staring at an envelope that's about to change everything.

The paper trembles slightly in my hands as I pull out the results. My eyes lock onto the bottom line: Based on analysis of STR locus listed above, the probability of paternity is 99.99999999%.

I pass the paper to Samantha, watching as those eyes— my eyes—scan the document. Her breath catches when she reaches the results.

"When will we leave?" Her voice is steady, but her fingers grip the paper too tight.

"Tonight. I can book an extra seat for the flight."

She stands, shoulders squared. "Fine." And like yesterday, she walks outside.

I sink onto a stool, running my hand through my hair. "God, this will be fun."

Emily snickers. "I'll be honest with you, Cole. Samantha is acting this indifferent because she's afraid of getting hurt. This is her way of coping with her emotions." Her gaze pins me in place. "Are you sure you want to take her with you? It's an enormous responsibility and—"

"Emily." I cut her off. "I'm a man of my word and take my responsibilities seriously. Even if I just found out about this, she's my daughter, and I'll never turn my back on my kid."

She nods, standing. "I'll arrange the paperwork you need to fill in before you leave." A faint smile crosses her face. "But one piece of advice for you, Cole. Get help when you're home. Having a teenager in your house can be quite the challenge."

I wave off her concern. "Oh, I'll manage, don't worry." My eyes drift to where Samantha sits in the garden, headphones firmly in place, walls up higher than my penthouse. "How hard can it be?"

Fuck. Even I don't believe that one.