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Even after fifteen years, it rasped down his spine. Who would have thought a voice from his past could slam into his gut like this?
Calling on all the stoicism he’d developed over his career, Cole stood and moved aside so she could take his place. Isabella Allante was more beautiful now than the last time he’d seen her—sound asleep in his bed.
For the sake of the boy, Cole used every ounce of professionalism he had to reassure the anxious mother. “Adrian is fine. Just a scrape.”
“Cole,” Bella said in a monotone, as if she’d turned off a switch to her emotions. Her face registered nothing, a mask of calm.
She had always been good at keeping her emotions in check, a trait that would have made her a good doctor if she had gone to medical school as they had planned.
He did the math. Had marriage and pregnancy, not necessarily in that order, caused her to drop out? Had it been her choice or her husband’s?
That husband should have been him.
Betrayal and anger made him turn away from her, even after all these years. No other woman had ever affected him this way. He’d hardened his heart to make sure of it.
Bella bent down to inspect Adrian’s knee.
“Doesn’t look too bad, huh?” she asked her son, the compassion switched on again.
Cole watched Adrian’s face as his eyes shifted up and to the left, then back to his mother’s mouth. Adrian’s way of agreeing, Cole guessed, when Bella gave him a gentle smile.
Feature by feature, the boy didn’t look much like his mother. His eyes were dark, almost black, while hers were a crystal shade of violet. His hair was dark, too. Thick and wavy compared to hers, straight and honey-blonde. At fourteen, he was at least three inches taller than his petite mother. Maybe it was his gestures or the way he held himself that looked so familiar.
Cole glanced at Bella’s bare ring finger. Nobody had told him that her marriage had broken up—if, indeed, that was what her ring-free state meant. But, then, he’d made it clear to everyone back in New Orleans that he didn’t want to hear the name Isabella Allante ever again.
“Worth the ribbon?” She held up a medal dangling on a red ribbon.
Again, Adrian spoke with his eyes, delight showing through their dark depths.
“Want to wear it?” She lifted the ribbon to place it around Adrian’s neck.
His left hand started to pat the air while his shoulders tensed and his eyes took on a wild and startled cast.
Bella rocked back on her heels, giving her son space. “Okay, honey. Why don’t I hold it for you?”
Adrian calmed and smiled, a sweet, pure smile like his mother’s could be. “Momma.”
Bella sucked in her breath. “Yes, honey. Momma. Thank you for that.”
The loudspeaker crackled and the commentator announced refreshments for all the athletes and their guests. Adrian’s eyes lit up. He pushed himself off his chair, not even wincing as he put weight on his injured leg.
Without looking left or right, he started for the snack bar. Abruptly, he stopped, pinned Cole with those deep, dark eyes and gestured, more a command than an invitation. Adrian might not use a plethora of words but his body language spoke volumes.
Cole could feel the tension radiate from Bella.
He had no problem reading her body language either. While Adrian clearly wanted Cole to accompany him, Isabella wanted exactly the opposite.
“Adrian, honey, Dr. Lassiter is busy. I don’t think he can take a break with us,” she said, making herself clear.
The odds were stacked against her. First off, Cole was thirsty. Secondly, Adrian wanted his company—and Cole sensed a specialness in that. And, thirdly, Bella had just issued a challenge Cole wouldn’t walk away from.
“Au contraire, Mrs. Beautemps. I’m ready for a nice cold drink.”
Cole had once lived or died by Bella’s slightest desire, but now he wanted nothing more than to prove that what she did or didn’t want had no influence on his decisions.
“It’s Allante,” she corrected.
“Divorce?” Not that it should matter. He wondered purely out of curiosity. He’d always thought she and David Beautemps would stay together forever. But, then, he’d thought that about himself and Bella, too, until she’d dumped him.
“My decision,” she clarified, as if that would mean anything to him.
He shrugged. “Not my concern.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked.”
Sorry. The flippant apology stuck in his throat.
“You’re right,” he forced out, swallowing down the bitter taste of concession.
He and Bella were ancient history—bad ancient history at that—and long since archived under “foolish youth.” Any feelings between them should have been put to bed a long time ago.
Put to bed. Not the best metaphor to choose, not when he still remembered how that honey-gold hair spread across his pillow and down her trim, bare back all those years ago.
He took in her simple T-shirt dress, flattering but not new, and her wedge-heeled sandals that showed wear around the soles. Her simple clothes were very different from the fashions she’d once worn.
Fifteen years ago, her clothes had come straight off a Paris or New York runway. From the looks of things, she would have benefitted from a better lawyer, settlement-wise.
She brushed her hand down her dress then lifted her chin. “What are you doing here?”
“Business.” The multimillion-dollar merger was the only thing that could have brought him back to his old hometown. Bella’s father had been one of the founding partners of the sports clinic a few decades previously but Cole’s lawyers had assured him that Dr. Allante had been out of the partnership for over a dozen years.
“You’re not doing business at a track-and-field meet, are you?” Her question dripped of disbelief with a tinge of suspicion.
Cole knew she had deliberately twisted his answer.
He couldn’t have told her anything even if he’d wanted to. He’d done enough of these mergers to know how tenuous early negotiations could be. Confidentiality and secrecy played a big role in making these kinds of deals run smoothly.
But, then, he had no desire to tell her anything about himself or his life. They had nothing in common anymore but a painful past.
“As you can tell, I’m a volunteer for the special games’ medical staff. I’m a last-minute substitute.” Is that what he’d been to Bella? A substitute while David was away at college?
None of this mattered anymore, he reminded himself as he swallowed down a bitterness he’d thought was long gone.
At eighteen, he’d been sure he and Bella had a soul-deep connection, more than just teenage infatuation, but he’d been wrong.
Apparently, he’d been wrong about more than one thing. Cole had expected David Beautemps to provide Bella with the high-society lifestyle she’d always had. But people changed. He certainly had.
“What’s up with David?” he asked, to prove—to himself as much as to her—that he didn’t care.
Two years older than him, and almost three years older than Bella, David had been kind, gentle and generous, as well as wealthy. When Bella had chosen David over him, Cole had understood, on a rational level.
Still, he felt raw. He thought he’d extinguished that internal firestorm long ago, but seeing Bella seemed to have stirred up embers from the ashes.
“Daddy,” Adrian said.
Next to him, Bella sucked in her breath.
Cole looked around for the man Bella had married, but didn’t see anyone approaching them. Was she wary of her ex?
If so, David would have to come through him to get to Isabella or Adrian. Cole might not be a part of her life anymore, but he would never stand by and let a woman or innocent child be hurt. Especially not these two. Cole brushed that thought away. Any honorable man would do the same.
Adrian started to flap his hand in impatience.
“Adrian, the doctor is busy. He doesn’t have time for a break with us.” A breeze blew through, plastering Bella’s dress against her, outlining her petite figure.
He couldn’t stop himself from wanting Bella now just as strongly as he had wanted her on their last night together. Though now he understood that desire was purely a sexual response. Then, he’d wanted her enough to consider giving up his lifelong dream of becoming a doctor.
But dreams hadn’t been enough for Isabella Allante. Not his dreams, anyway. Her own dreams of marrying sugarcane plantation heir David Beautemps and taking her privileged place in society had superseded his foolish plans for the two of them together, carving out their own unique niche in the world.
“I can take a break.” Now he wanted to prove to her, and—he had to admit—to himself that she had absolutely no sway over him. “Lead on, Adrian. I’m with you all the way.”
Maybe sitting across the table from her as if they were two old acquaintances with nothing more between them but a couple of sodas—and another man’s son—would close a chapter of his life that should have ended a long time ago.
After this quick encounter, he would throw the book of his youth against the wall and get on with his life—as he’d thought he already had until their chance meeting today.
Isabella forced her shaky knees to carry her. She let her steps lag as she watched father and son walk in front of her. She needed time to think—time to breathe.
How could this happen? She had spent so many nights, so many years trying to resign herself to the loss of the only man she had ever loved. And here he showed up, made an immediate connection with his son and stepped back into her heart as if he’d never been gone from it. She had thought she’d locked him out of that sacred place for ever.
Pain radiated from her chest throughout her whole circulatory system. She felt as dizzy as if she had been whirled in a fast circle for the last fifteen years.
Stop it, Isabella. You don’t have time for childish theatrics, she told herself. She used all her training as a cognitive behavior therapist to pull herself together. Taking note of her mental state and subsequent physical reactions, she exerted mind over matter to bring her heart rate under control.
Only through sheer willpower did she force her world to stop spinning. Now to evaluate the situation. She looked at the pair in front of her.
They both had that same easy, long-legged stride. Adrian’s hair was a shade lighter but in time it would darken to that deep cocoa brown like Cole’s.
Side by side, there could be no denying that Adrian was Cole’s son. Adrian had that same olive complexion and would soon have the same heavy beard that Cole had at such an early age.
Bella had taken full advantage of Adrian’s fascination with Cole in so many ways. Photos of him had convinced her son to swim, to eat his vegetables and, most recently, to shave.
She had always had a worry in the back of her mind. What would Adrian do on the off chance he ever met his father? Now that worry was a reality. But there were no fireworks, no meltdowns, no drama of any kind.
The only volatile reactions going on were inside her own heart.
Unpredictably, her son took meeting his father in his stride, accepting Cole as someone he’d known for years. And, in a way, he had.
Why was he here—and why now, fifteen years too late?
Why the cat-and-mouse game, as if he didn’t know who Adrian was to him?
Was he assessing the extent of Adrian’s autism before deciding on whether to claim him as his son or not? That seemed far too cold for the Cole she had once known. But, then, so had his abandonment of her all those years ago.
She had to face facts. A decade and a half ago she hadn’t known Cole as well as she’d thought. And she certainly didn’t know him now.
For the first time since Adrian’s birth Isabella was glad he rarely talked. She felt bad about it, but she didn’t wish it only for her own selfish purposes. She needed to find out what Cole’s intentions were.
Maybe Cole would satisfy his curiosity and simply go away, and she could get back to the steady, stable routine that served Adrian so well. What would she do if he wanted to become involved in Adrian’s life?
She might not be able to predict Cole’s behavior, but she knew what she intended to do—what she had always done. She would protect her son at all costs.
Resolution made, she glared at the back of the man who had left her and never looked back all those years ago.
She’d tracked his meteoric rise in the medical community as a leading hand and wrist surgeon. How could she help it, being the daughter of a renowned surgeon herself? He now had institutes in major cities all over the U.S. to care for his high-profile clients.
His latest patient had been a promising child gymnast with a wrist injury. Under his care she’d made a miraculous recovery. Rumors said the girl’s mother had received Cole’s personal attention as well—for a little while.
And there was her answer. Cole would be in and out of their 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.
