Page 8 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

COLE

I stare at the open cake box I put on the dining table, and sigh. "Fuck, I screwed up, Nick."

I walk out onto the terrace and take in the city view. There's something in the movement and different colors in the sky that calms me. From up here, Boston looks deceptively peaceful—like a place where fathers don't completely mess up with their teenage daughters.

Nick stops beside me, and for a few minutes, we enjoy the scenery.

The fact that he gives me room and doesn't push me to talk shows how well he knows me.

An hour after I received the phone call from Emily telling me I might have a daughter, I called Nick and Brian.

They listened and told me to go to L.A. and find out.

Since then, they've been nothing but supportive friends, texting me daily to check in.

When he recognizes my calmer state of mind, he speaks.

"Alisha isn't a pushover, Cole. She shows her claws when she feels intimidated or scared.

And the moment you threatened to take back the apartment she longed for, she reacted.

" He shifts, leaning against the railing.

"Emma told me how eager she was to move.

She admitted she hopes this place can help her with her anxiety. "

Shit. The guilt hits harder than a shot of cheap tequila. I've been a real dick.

"I believe you two need to have an open and honest conversation," Nick continues, his voice steady. "You have to apologize and explain why you reacted the way you did. If I've learned one thing about women, it's that they appreciate honesty."

My hands grip the baluster until my knuckles turn white, and I throw my head back while letting out a long exhale. "God, I miss my uncomplicated life." The words taste bitter, selfish.

Nick places a hand on my shoulder, the weight grounding me.

"Come on, man. You're doing the best you can.

I'm proud that you took on the parent role, without hesitation.

Give yourself credit." He removes his hand and leans with his back against the guardrail.

His eyes inspect me like he's reading a complicated contract.

"Most important for you now is patience and accepting help. " A pause. "Have you told your mom?"

My head twists to my friend so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. "God, no. She'll explode and stand on my doorstep next. I'll tell her, but I'm not in the mood for that hurricane today."

We turn our heads at the sound of incoming footsteps, the click of shoes against hardwood growing louder.

"Oh, hello. You must be Samantha," Nick says, flashing his signature grin as she stands in the door opening of the terrace.

I chuckle, watching my daughter's cheeks flush pink.

Guess no woman can resist that smile—a fact Brian and I never let him forget.

But next to being best friends, we're business associates.

His talent lies in making and closing deals, and I'm the pro at creating watertight contracts.

Together we're an unbeatable team. We've built our partnership and friendship on trust and respect—two key factors in my book.

I pat my friend on the shoulder while introducing him. "Samantha, this is one of my best friends, Nick Brown."

Samantha's eyes widen, and the color on her face intensifies. "H-Hello," she whispers, suddenly looking every bit the shy fifteen-year-old she is.

Nick walks over to her and sticks his hand out. With a shyness I haven't seen before, she shakes it. "Nice to meet you, Samantha. You're more beautiful than Cole described."

Samantha giggles at his reaction and brushes a hand through her hair—a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. I see her mother in that movement, in the way she ducks her head when she's pleased.

Two knocks get our attention.

"Can you get that, Samantha? That may be the girls."

"No problem," she chirps while traveling to the front door.

Through the window, I see how Emma introduces herself to Samantha the moment she walks in.

Alisha stands next to Emma, and as they walk our way, another round of laughter glides through the air.

Samantha holds the box with tompouces, and for the first time, she sends me a genuine smile.

"Did you see this? Alisha asked Emma to make these for us. Isn't that sweet?" Her eyes light up like Christmas came early, and something in my chest constricts. When was the last time she looked at me like that?

"Yeah." The word comes out gruffer than intended.

The guilt of going overboard on Alisha earlier weighs on me like a concrete suit. Nick gives me a knowing stare, and I know what to do. Honesty.

I clear my throat and turn my attention to the fiery blonde, who's talking with her best friend.

My gaze travels over her and halts at her black, open toe high heels with an ankle strap.

An image of her wearing only these shoes flows into my brain, and my lower body reacts.

Shit. Not the time, Walker. Not the goddamn time.

I let my eyes go up while stopping next to them, trying to ignore how the sunlight catches in her hair, how her lips curve when she laughs. "Uh, could I have a word with you, in private?"

Her attention darts to me before going to her best friend, where they exchange a conversation without words—that female telepathy thing that never fails to amaze me. When they're done, she replies, "Okay."

Emma walks to Samantha and wraps her arm around her. "Ready to try the tompouce? I would love to hear your opinion."

"Sure, they look delicious," Samantha exclaims with a bright smile that hits me right in the gut. That smile—so open, so genuine—is what I've been trying to earn for weeks.

Emma turns and makes eye contact with both of us, her expression saying she knows exactly what's about to go down. "While you two talk this out, we will spend time with your lovely daughter, Cole."

As Alisha strides inside, I can't help but follow and scan her movements.

My gaze goes from her sexy ankles to her toned calf muscles.

From there, they trail up to her thighs and end on her gorgeous, round derriere.

I ball my hands into fists. Alisha's clothing style is sublime.

Everything she wears enhances her natural feminine beauty.

She halts, and I break free from my hypnotizing stare to discover we're standing in my kitchen.

"You wanted to talk?" she says, taking a few steps further before making a one-eighty to face me. The way she moves—like she owns the space, like she belongs here—does something to my insides I'm not ready to examine.

I rub my palms against each other as I try to find the right words. How do I do this? Nick's suggestion echoes in my brain. Be honest. Her red lips distract me, so I bring my focus to the window and start talking while staring outside.

"I owe you a proper apology. My behavior towards you at your apartment was unacceptable." The words feel rough in my throat, like whiskey that's too strong.

Her heels click as she moves my way, and when I glance sideways, she tilts her head to the side while inspecting me. Like she's trying to read between the lines of a contract. When she's done, she turns and speaks while gazing outwards. "What caused your outburst?"

I run my fingers through my hair, probably making it worse. "My emotions got the better of me."

"Which emotions?" Her voice is softer now, less defensive.

"Frustration."

Alisha pivots her body towards me, and the movement sends a wave of her perfume my way—something floral and warm that makes my head spin. "Is the fact you said yes to me living in the apartment frustrating you? If that's the case..."

"No!" The word explodes out of me. "I'm fine with that. I know you need a safe place. It was a cheap shot to threaten to take it away." I force myself to meet her eyes, to own my mistake.

"Thank you," she mumbles while staring at my chest. This is the first time we're talking without shouting or throwing nicknames, and I have to admit, it's a pleasant change. The air between us feels different—charged but not hostile.

"What frustrates you, Cole?"

The way she pronounces my name makes me gaze at her lips.

I quickly focus on something else, anything else, and knowing honesty works, I answer.

"I suck at being a parent. Samantha is miserable with me.

I haven't been able to make her crack a smile since she moved here.

And you..." I swallow hard. "When I arrived at your door after I called her, you two were laughing, and that just got to me.

" I let out a huff and clench my jaw while returning to observing the world outside.

"Cole, you're too hard on yourself." There's that softness in her voice again, the one that makes my defenses crack.

"You said it yourself. She has difficulties living with me. What if she hates me?"

The words hang in the air between us, raw and honest in a way I didn't mean to be. But there they are—my biggest fear laid bare before this woman who drives me crazy in more ways than one.

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the city below. I wait for her response, for her judgment, for whatever's coming next.

Because that's the thing about honesty—once it's out there, you can't take it back. You just have to stand there and weather whatever storm follows.

* * *

Alisha

My breath hitches. Oh, I never expected this.

As I glance up at Cole, I see the tension in his posture, and a sense of guilt washes over me.

I blamed him for being insensitive, but to be honest, I've been compassionless myself to him and his feelings.

It touches me knowing his key goal is to make his daughter smile.

Thinking back to today, I understand his reaction.

He's been walking on eggshells for the last fourteen days, trying his best, with no results at all.

I place my hand on his arm as I give him my opinion.

"She doesn't hate you, Cole. Samantha is a teenager who's adjusting to having a father instead of a mother.

And don't forget she's mourning and adapting to living in Boston, too. "

He clenches his teeth harder, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

"Did she mention her mom these two weeks?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle.

He lowers and shakes his head. "We've had no proper conversation since she got here." He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture I'm starting to recognize as his tell when he's vulnerable. "Every time I try, she leaves for her room."

He turns and paces through his kitchen like a caged lion. I haven't seen this honest, more sensitive side of him before, but I have to admit, it appeals. He's not the grumpy, arrogant man I thought he was. There is more to him. Yes, he's serious, but it's just one part of his personality.

Now I ponder the question, how can I help them?

After Nick and Cole had left the apartment earlier, I poured my heart out to Emma.

I told her everything, and she came up with a surprising idea.

If he agrees to this, it means I'll be spending more time with them.

I bite the inside of my lip. Am I ready for that?

Yes, I'm willing to try it. This sweet girl deserves to have a home.

So I turn my attention back to the imposing man and speak.

"Do you still want my help with Samantha?" His eyes scan my face, and I force myself not to squirm under that intense blue gaze.

"Yes." The word comes out rough, like he had to fight to say it.

"Okay. Next question. Can you cook?" He squints. "Why is that important?"

"Just answer the question. Can you cook?"

He places his hands in his pockets before taking a step towards me and answering, "Yeah, I can cook."

My lips curl. "Perfect."

"Why is that perfect?"

His confused face only enhances my enthusiasm. Without thinking, I step closer to him and pat my palms on his chest. "As of tomorrow, we will start cooking our meals together with Samantha. It will help make her feel more at home with you."

The solid warmth of his chest under my hands sends a jolt through my system. Focus, Alisha. This is about helping them, not about how good he feels under your hands.

"And by we, you mean you, Samantha, and myself?"

"Yeah, that way, I can help you with the conversation part. She might open up quicker since I'm a woman. Emma came up with the idea, and I love it. What do you think?"

Instead of answering, he stares at my fingers drumming on his torso.

The moment stretches between us, charged with something I'm not ready to name.

My flamingo pink nails catch the light as they tap against the crisp white fabric of his shirt.

His chest rises and falls under my touch, steady but quickening.

His hands come up slowly, deliberately, to cover mine. The warmth of his skin seeps into my palms, and suddenly the kitchen feels too small, too warm.

"Alisha." My name in his voice sounds different—rougher, deeper. I drag my gaze up to meet his, and oh —there's something in those blue eyes I haven't seen before. Something that makes my heart skip and my breath catch.

For a heartbeat, I let myself wonder how those hands would feel trailing down my spine, how that voice would sound whispering against my neck—

"Oh, sorry for interrupting."

Cole releases me as he steps back, his attention snapping to Samantha in the doorway. I'm still trying to remember how to breathe normally.

"You didn't interrupt. Do you need anything?"

"Uh, yes, Nick and Emma want coffee." Her eyes dart between us, a hint of a knowing smile playing at her lips.

I press my hands to my cheeks, hoping to cool the flush I can feel rising there. What just happened? More importantly—what almost happened?

Focus, Alisha. Focus.

But as I watch Cole help Samantha with the coffee, trading awkward but genuine smiles, I realize I might be in more trouble than I thought. Because this man—this grumpy, protective, trying-his-best father—is becoming harder to resist with every passing minute.

And that scares me more than any stalker ever could.