Return of the Rebel Surgeon

“Baby. Just one.”

“A boy, right? Your father was always talking about his grandson. He was so proud. Dr. Allante was a brilliant doctor and a pleasure to work for. Please give him my regards.”

“I will. He still keeps up with the progress in his field.” The subscriptions to his favorite medical journals and newsletters cost her dearly but they fed her father’s mind and spirit even though the stroke had taken away his mobility. And they gave her a chance to keep tabs on Cole—for Adrian’s sake, of course.

“I’m afraid you’ve missed out on seeing Dr. Lassiter. I still work for the sports clinic as Dr. Wong’s office nurse. Since Dr. Wong will be in surgery all day with Dr. Lassiter, he asked if I would mind working the medical tent at the games today. I understood that Dr. Lassiter was headed back to New York after that.” The nurse gave her a lighthearted grin. “A lot of us are wishing he would stay a little longer. He certainly adds something to the scenery.”

Isabella had the strongest urge to tell the nurse that Cole was more than just another pretty face. Instead, she clamped down on her own confused feelings, a mixture of relief and disappointment.

The relief came from avoiding a confrontation. No matter how direct she learned to be, she still didn’t like confrontation.

The disappointment, she told herself, was because Cole’s departure left unfinished business between them. He didn’t owe her a goodbye, although he certainly owed Adrian that and a lot more.

“Thanks for letting me know.” Did that mean he’d left without saying goodbye to his son?

Isabella tried to suppress the thought that kept popping up over and over again. Somehow, by some weird twist of fate, could it be possible Cole didn’t know Adrian was his son?

As she headed back to her volunteer post, she shrugged away that crazy notion, just like she’d shrugged it away a thousand times in the last few days.

How many messages had she left on his voicemail all those years ago? For days and weeks she’d called, trying to reach him over and over again at all hours, hoping he’d pick up the phone so she could say what she needed to say in person. She’d written to him every day until a week before the wedding, hoping the deluge of mail would break through the barrier David’s mother had built between them.

She’d thought that if she could only make him listen, she could explain that the engagement announcement to David had been none of her doing. That she had no intention of marrying anyone but him. That she carried his child.

But the letter she sent, the one she’d poured her heart into that he’d returned in pieces, had said it all.

Anger at Cole, confusion about what to do next and relief that Cole was gone and life would eventually get back to normal warred within her, making her stomach roil.

Isabella evaluated. The only action she had to take was to tell her son his father had returned to New York.

It was a discussion she dreaded more than any other conversation she’d had in her life.

Cole walked into the doctors’ lounge, soaking in the atmosphere he thrived on. The E.R. doctor snored on the couch in front of a muted television. Two other doctors consulted quietly at a side table over cups of coffee.

Successful surgeries always sent Cole Lassiter’s spirits on a soaring high.

Still, it didn’t replace the lift Cole had gotten used to for the last few days whenever he’d seen that sweet, shy smile of Bella’s son. How could a kid worm his way into his heart so fast? Was it a pseudo-affection for what might have been?

That boy should have been his.

“Glad to have you on board, Dr. Lassiter.” One of the radiologists greeted him. Cole recognized him as a radiologist contracted with the sports clinic.

“Thanks.” He held out his hand to shake. “Call me Cole.”

He wanted to explain that he wasn’t staying. He had applied for and received hospital privileges as a matter of course since that was where the sports clinic mainly practiced. But negotiations were too tenuous.

That was the excuse he gave his office administrator when he told her he needed to stay over the weekend. That was the excuse he gave himself in the light of day.

But last night, as he’d lain in his bed, he had dreamed of Bella and woken up heavily sad when he’d realized it had only been a dream.

He needed closure and he now had a few extra days in New Orleans to find it.

He sent silent thanks to his excellent office manager, who was shuffling schedules so he could steal this time for himself, a rarity in his hectic calendar.

Walking over to the kitchenette, Cole spread out his lunch of oyster po’boy sandwich and sweet iced tea, a New Orleans specialty.

“Mind if I share this table?” the radiologist asked.

“Not at all. I would enjoy the company.” And the distraction. Normally, after a complex surgery like the one he had just finished, all he could think about was the details of the procedure and the next step to recovery.

Today, he thought about her.

Cole picked up his sandwich and took a bite, letting the flavors roll around on his tongue. Yes, it was as good as he remembered—proof that New Orleans wasn’t all bad for him. He hoped this good feeling carried over into his partnership talks.

After that morning’s surgery, he was more convinced than ever that merging his institute with the sports clinic was the right thing to do—even if the practice had originally been built by Dr. Allante.

Who would have ever thought he wanted a relationship with anything that had to do with an Allante?

What role had Bella’s father played in their break-up? Once he had gotten over the immediate pain, he had been grateful to David’s mother for sending him that engagement notice. Just when had Bella intended to tell him about David? Would Bella have continued to play him the whole time she’d been planning her nuptials with the Beautemps heir?

Thinking of Bella made his stomach churn. Even the delicious sandwich lost its appeal.

“Filling, isn’t it?” the radiologist asked as he took his last bite.

Cole stared at the half-eaten meal before him. “Yes, it’s certainly a full plate. Much more than I want.”

What an analogy for all the emotional trauma seeing Bella was causing him. All the stirring up of old hurt was much more than he wanted, much more than he had expected.

“So how did a New Orleans boy end up going to college in New York? We’ve got so many great medical schools here.”

“I got a scholarship.” But he’d had local scholarships, too. “I wanted to get away.”

He’d never been further north than the Louisiana state line. Going to the big city of New York had seemed like a grand adventure. He had taken it for granted that Bella would wait for him.

The engagement announcement had come at the worst possible time. He’d been having a tough time adjusting to the rapid pace of New York after the slower pace of New Orleans. The accelerated undergraduate program he had thrown himself into required keen focus to stay caught up, let alone to excel.

“I’d like to see New York, but the wife always wants to go the beach on our vacations.”

“Hmm.” Cole gave a noncommittal grunt.

The radiologist took the hint and ate the rest of his meal in silence.

Cole turned his attention back to his meal but couldn’t turn his thoughts away from Bella.

Bella had always seemed content to Cole. That was one of the qualities he’d liked best about her, always willing to go along with whatever he’d wanted to do. But, then, he hadn’t been that special after all. She had gone along with whatever anyone had wanted her to do.

He had been at school a few short weeks when he’d received the newspaper clipping with Bella’s beautiful smile in black and white along with the announcement of her marriage to David. The notice had included details of both their pedigrees and social standings, and it had been the only answer Cole had needed as to why she had chosen David over him.

The thick French bread of his sandwich sat too heavily in his stomach and the highly seasoned Cajun fries tasted flat and cold.

He’d made the official break-up as quick and painless as possible, a fast call that had gone directly to her voicemail—the fact that he hadn’t had to speak to her in person had been his only break. That should have been the end of it.

But then she had started in. Call after call. Letter after letter. How many times had she called him? Hundreds?

They had all finally stopped after he’d written his own letter, making it perfectly clear there could be nothing between them anymore.

He took a sip of his sweet tea, trying to rinse the bitterness from his attitude.

He had deliberately got drunk on Bella’s wedding day—for the first and only time in his life. For his own sanity as much as for the sake of his grades, he’d exerted great willpower and erased each call, destroyed each letter, before reliving the betrayal over and over again.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into his studies, the one thing he could always count on in his life to distract him from his grief.

Cole gathered up the remains of his meal and threw it in the trash.

Nothing about Bella should matter to him. How could he make himself stop wanting her? Why, after fifteen years, was he still asking himself that question? It was about time he found an answer.

Cole stretched, trying to stop the dull throbbing in his left shoulder that traveled down his arm to his fingertips—the results of tensing during surgery.

“Long surgeries will cramp you up, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will. Occupational hazard.” Only the surgery hadn’t taken that long, a mere hour and a half compared to the five and six hours of reconstructive surgery Cole was used to performing. And he’d been a consultant while Dr. Wong had done most of the work.

He flexed his numb fingers.

Strained shoulder muscles took a while to right themselves. He’d give it a few more weeks before he had it checked out. Of course, that was what he’d told himself a few weeks ago. Maybe he should schedule a therapeutic massage soon.

Some pain-management specialists studied massage, didn’t they? He reined in that runaway thought. It didn’t really matter what Bella had studied, did it?

The natural high Cole felt after that morning’s successful surgery was starting to fade, replaced by a need he wanted to deny.

Bella.

After only a few short days he had become addicted to that jolt of energy the sight of her gave him.

Neither of them fit with his old memories of a more pubescent, hormonal time. She had changed even more than he had. Why did it matter to him? How could he make it stop mattering?