Return of the Rebel Surgeon. Connie Cox
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?
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER a long, leisurely swim and a nice parboil in the whirlpool, Cole checked his messages before making rounds.
His office manager had made sure his tuxedo was delivered to his hotel room for that night’s special games reception.
He could tell himself he was staying to firm up the partnership, but in reality today’s observance of Dr. Wong in surgery had put all his fears to rest. The lawyers could now go forward without further input from him.
Bella. His own personal temptress. But he was no longer that insecure boy hiding behind bravado. That was what he had to prove to himself. That was why he’d changed his plans. That was why he’d stayed.
He donned his best bedside manner and pushed open the door.
Without a greeting, his patient, Heath Braden, confronted him. “Tell me the truth, Doc. What are my chances of regaining full use of my hand?”
Heath no longer had the grip of a fireman.
Cole made himself look into Heath’s eyes. “Slim. You will be able to do tasks that don’t require as much strength or dexterity as you’ve had in the past, but passing the assessment tests to get back to active duty may not be possible.”
Cole inwardly winced at the fear crossing the young man’s face. He’d seen it time after time—would his loved ones still love him if he wasn’t the man he used to be? Sadly, too often the answer was no, but Heath wasn’t a highly paid athlete with a high-maintenance spouse.
Heath’s wife leaned down to kiss her husband’s forehead. “I don’t love you for your hand. I love you for your heart.”
The emotion between the two made Cole feel superfluous.
He excused himself and headed to the nurses’ station.
Heath’s nurse gave him a rundown of the report. “Mr. Braden’s condition could be easier on him but he doesn’t want to take his pain meds, Dr. Lassiter. He says he doesn’t want his son to see him all drugged up. He wants to be able to focus enough to enjoy his son’s visits.”
Cole understood completely. “The pain meds are for his comfort. Taking them won’t affect the surgery or his recovery as long as he keeps taking the anti-inflammatories. But he will be in quite a bit of pain when he starts his physical therapy rehab. Do we have anyone who could do pain-management counseling with him?”
The nurse nodded. “We have a great therapist on staff who works wonders with biofeedback and hypnotherapy. Her schedule is always booked with a waiting list, though.”
Having enough personnel to go around was always an issue, especially in a teaching-charity hospital like this one.
“Surely she could be convinced to add one more patient to her list. Give me her name and number and I’ll have my staff set up an appointment for Mr. Braden.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re open to cognitive behavior therapy, Dr. Lassiter,” the nurse said as she scrolled through the contact list. “Not everyone is willing to give CBT a chance. But we’ve seen great results as long as the patient trusts and believes in the therapy.”
“I’m open to whatever works.”
The