Flooded with relief, his gut uncoiled. She obviously loved her unborn child, already. That alone made him determined to help her out. At the very least, she needed a new car.
“No, no, no.” He stepped beside her, placing his hand on the small of her back, urging her upward. Obviously, she also needed a new place to live, something on the first floor and in a nicer neighborhood. “I don’t want to adopt a baby. I want to help you keep him.”
Her stiff posture drooped as she trudged upward. “Mr. Miller, I really don’t understand why you would do that. But right now, I’m too exhausted to argue with you.”
Two flights of stairs, followed by a long walk down and around the corner on the open balcony corridor, and they reached her apartment. The stairs seemed too far removed to be safe if there was ever a fire. He bit his tongue as she jiggled the key around to unlock the door, which didn’t even have a deadbolt. He hated this place already.
The small apartment was clean and tidy, though sparsely furnished. The paint and flooring had certainly seen better days. Brooke dropped her bag and crossed to the well-worn couch, collapsing onto it with melted bones. He stepped into the compact kitchen area and located a glass in the cabinet. His attempt to use the refrigerator water dispenser was rewarded with only a loud buzzing sound.
“That thing doesn’t work,” Brooke said, from the couch, cracking one eye open. “You’ll have to drink tap water. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a soft drink.”
He filled the glass at the sink and brought it to her. “This is for you.”
“For me?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Thank you.”
She must think he was a spoiled, inconsiderate brat if she was shocked that he would bring a pregnant woman a glass of water. As he moved the footstool and gently lifted her feet onto it, he heard a loud sniff.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” She snatched a tissue from the box on the end table and dabbed her eyes.
“Do what? Move the furniture?”
“No. I wish you wouldn’t be nice to me.” She wadded the tissue in her hand. “I’m trying to stay mad, and you’re making it hard.”
“Don’t be mad.” He gave her a pleading smile. It was worth a try, even though she seemed impervious to his charms. Perched beside her on the couch, he would’ve touched her arm, but he didn’t dare touch her with his robot hand. It might freak her out. “I’m only trying to help.”
Arms folded across her chest, her chin lifted. “And what do you want in return?”
He tried to say, “Absolutely nothing,” but his lips refused. If he lied to her now, he’d be no better than her cheating ex-husband. She’d been hurt enough.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said, his throat so tight it was hard to breathe. “There is something I want from you. But you have to trust me when I say that’s not why I’m helping you. And the real truth is I’m going to help you whether you help me or not.”
Pupils dilated, her eyes bored into his. He blinked but didn’t look away. After a short eternity of staring until his soul was laid bare, she gave a sharp nod.
“Talk to me. I’m listening.”
CHAPTER 4
Brooke wasn’t sure exactly when it happened. She’d been quite intimidated when he first started telling his story. In fact, the entire situation seemed rather surreal. But somehow, as he talked, she’d begun to think of Cole Miller not as rich and famous, but as an ordinary guy who’d had a tough childhood and come out of it with more than a few scars. Considering the cruelty of his schoolmates, it was amazing he hadn’t succumbed to depression. It seemed his friendships with the teens who eventually became his business partners had sustained him through the years.
“If you really want to talk to your birth mom, you should try locating her through one of the DNA websites.”
“Been there. Done that.” He fell back against the couch cushions. “I’ve been on three of those sites for the last six years. No leads whatsoever.”
“Listen, Cole. I wish I could help you. I really do.” It was hard to disappoint him when he looked like a forlorn little boy. “But even if I could access the records, I can’t disclose protected information about your birth mom.”
“I know. But I thought…”
His voice trailed off as his fingers pushed his hair into adorable disarray. Lost in thought, he stared at something on the other side of the wall.
“You thought what?” she encouraged.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze aimed at the ratty carpet that never looked clean, no matter how many times she vacuumed. “See, I don’t really care if I meet her or not. My parents love me, and I don’t want another mother.”
“Then why do you want her information? Are you concerned about your health history?”
“No.” His head turned, and pain-filled eyes locked with hers. “I just need to know why she did it.”
“You mean why she gave you up for adoption?” She laid her hand on his arm. “Most of the girls who come to Hayward Home are young, single, and destitute. Thirty-five years ago, when your birth mom was there, adoption was usually the only alternative. Now, we give financial support, so two-thirds of the women decide to keep their babies.”
“But maybe…” His Adam’s apple convulsed in his throat. “Maybe she was going to keep me until she saw what was wrong with me.”
“Oh, Cole! Surely not!” Brooke put her hands on her slightly-rounded belly. “I can tell you right now I would love this baby no matter what. There’s no way I would give him or her up just because there was a birth defect.”
“I was two months old when my mother got me. I think my birth mother tried to love me, but couldn’t.”
She swallowed back her growing emotional response, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. “There has to be some other explanation.”
“It could be even worse than that. I’ve been told it’s possible…” His stare shifted to some place beyond the opposite wall. “…that my missing arm is the result of a botched abortion attempt.”
Brooke’s stomach lurched, and she clutched the couch cushion. “It’s not impossible, but that has to be very rare. If that actually happened, it would’ve been at an illegal clinic by some unqualified abortionist.”
“I’m aware of that.” His tone was flat and emotionless, but his jaw muscles clenched. “I’ve done my research.”
“But you should also know that thirty-five years ago, most of the women in Hayward Home were there because a parent brought them. So whatever happened with your birth mom probably wasn’t even her decision.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “Right there—that’s all I would need. Even knowing she was underage and her parents signed her in. That would make all the difference. Can’t you find out for me?”
