lives so fast they would barely notice the blip. She just had to keep everything as smooth as possible for Adrian—and for herself.
Isabella caught up to them as Cole and Adrian stood before the counter. Quietly, she observed them, still not sure what she should do, what she should say in front of her son.
“Want a drink?” Cole asked, intently watching Adrian’s face.
As Adrian looked down and to the right, Cole tried again. “Ice cream?”
Seeing a positive response, Cole narrowed the choices. “Vanilla? Chocolate? Whipped cream?”
While it took Adrian’s new aides days to learn his subtle form of communication, it had taken Cole only minutes.
Of course he could communicate with his son. They were so much alike in so many ways. Cole had always been a man of few words—the ultimate strong, silent type.
And Adrian had spoken to him. Isabella waited weeks, sometimes months, for a single sound from her son. Cole had known him for only a few minutes and had already been gifted with one of Adrian’s few words. Daddy.
Without turning around, Cole asked, “Bella, what would you like?”
You, Isabella thought before she could stop herself. “A diet drink, please.”
Cole ordered for her while Isabella deliberately amended her thoughts. What did she want?
You, fifteen years ago.
Answers.
This day never to have happened.
But Isabella had learned a long time ago about wanting something, wanting someone. She couldn’t always have her heart’s desire just because she asked nicely. Cole had taught her that lesson well.
Isabella warred within herself. Her ingrained etiquette insisted she make small talk, but her protectiveness cautioned that an effort to communicate could be misconstrued as an effort to forge a bond.
They ate in silence. In the past, Isabella had been comfortable with Cole’s contemplative moods. But today she knew he wasn’t thinking. He was seething. Fire was in his eyes as he stole glances at her between bites. But why?
She was the one with the right to be angry. He had left her, accepting the scholarship for pre-med and, eventually, the residency at New York’s Hospital for Special Surgery when she’d thought he would come back to New Orleans for her.
She’d been sold out for a ten-thousand-dollar grant. If Isabella had known that was how much money Cole could be bought for, she would have written the check from her own trust fund.
But, then, she hadn’t known she’d needed to buy his love.
Adrian looked up at Cole, happiness shining in his eyes as he sat with his real-life hero in the flesh.
Cole returned the look, adding a smile and passing Adrian a napkin. Adrian took it from Cole’s hand instead of insisting Cole lay the napkin on the table. That kind of trust usually took a carer weeks to establish.
The intercom blared, paging Dr. Lassiter to the first-aid tent. “I’ve got to go.”
As he stood, a storm built in Adrian’s face.
Please, not a meltdown. Not now. Isabella braced herself for the scene she would be dealing with the moment Cole walked away. At fourteen, Adrian’s pubescent temper tantrums were becoming more and more difficult to deal with. She began digging in her purse for Adrian’s scarf, hoping the scrap of fabric would have a calming effect should Adrian’s emotions overcome his learned behavior.
Cole turned to face Adrian, without doubt noting the mottled red in his face.
Would Cole judge her to be a bad mother? Many people would, if they had never had to cope with autism.
He looked Adrian in the eye, not flinching away as his son’s whole body started to shake. While taking the scarf from Isabella and handing it to Adrian, he subtly put himself between her and her son. Did he realize his protective maneuver? Did he think she needed to be shielded from her own son?
Isabella herself prayed that day would never come.
Adrian twisted both hands in the scarf, his thumbs tracing the pile of the heavy cut velvet while he raised the satin side to his lips, taking deep breaths like they’d practiced.
Isabella held her own breath as she watched Cole.
If Cole showed any sign of belittlement or disdain for Adrian’s self-soothing, it could set off Adrian’s barely restrained emotions.
Cole gave Adrian a respectful nod. “Good job, Adrian. A man controls his temper around a woman.”
He took a card from his wallet, scribbling on the back. “Here’s my cellphone number, in case you ever need me.” His glance took in both of them.
He put the card down within Adrian’s reach then once again walked out of her life, leaving his empty promise behind.
CHAPTER TWO
COLE walked away, feeling Bella’s eyes burn into his back.
Maybe he had overstepped the mark, giving Adrian his card. But an inexplicable compulsion deep within him had prevented him from cutting off his connection with the boy.
There was no connection—could never be a connection—between him and Isabella. She had severed that with a knife in the back.
The rest of the morning dragged by with only one other patient, a mother with a minor ankle sprain. While he tried to explain that four-inch heels and bleachers didn’t mix, she attempted to seduce him with invitations for drinks on the veranda after her ex-husband picked up the children that evening.
She was exactly the kind of Southern belle he always imagined Bella would have turned into. Not that he thought of Bella often. He’d had to train himself quickly to put her out of his mind or he would have never made it through medical school.
But forgetting about her after seeing her today took all his mental prowess.
While he’d rather head to the hotel to put a heat pack on his aching neck, he headed toward the classrooms instead. He’d promised his office manager he would pick up some information on early recognition of learning difficulties. Her daughter’s pediatrician was starting to suspect a problem. And heat packs wouldn’t cure his problem anyway. Only time would heal a neck and shoulder strain—just like only time would heal his heartache. But how much time? Fifteen years should have been long enough.
He ducked into a full auditorium and leaned against the door frame. The man next to him handed over a sheaf of lecture notes that Cole took with a politely absent nod, intending to drop out as quickly as he dropped in.
That was when he noticed the speaker, Isabella Allante, at the podium. A video on a giant screen behind her showed Adrian in his younger years, staring into the camera, while other children enjoyed a birthday party.
“So you see, I understand. I’m one of you.” She met the eyes of parents scattered around the room. “My
