12. Adrian
Chapter twelve
Adrian
L eo, Isabella, and I spill out onto the sun-soaked sidewalk, a wave of relief washing over me as the meeting with Aurora and NexGen finally ends. The city buzzes around us, its lunchtime hunger palpable in the air. Or at least, in my own stomach.
“Going to grab lunch with my wife,” Leo announces, adjusting his tie as if it might strangle him at any moment. “We’re meeting at that new bistro place down the street. Don’t wait for me.”
Isabella’s eyebrows hike up, surprise etched on her face. “You’re married?” she blurts out.
“Yeah, I thought you were still playing the field ... or at least the couch of your therapist,” I quip, earning myself a glare from Leo.
He sighs, the weight of matrimony apparently heavier than his briefcase. “Trying to work things out. You know, I really think it’s going to work out this time,” he admits, then strides off toward matrimonial duty and, presumably, a bistro with overpriced sandwiches.
“See you back at the office, Romeo!” I call after him, but he’s already lost in the crowd.
“I had no idea Leo was married. Does he have kids too?” Isabella asks, turning to me, her green eyes narrowing in that way that says this conversation is about to go deeper than I’m comfortable with before lunch.
“Never did,” I reply, hands sliding into my pockets. “That’s part of the whole drama. She wanted them, but Leo was too busy courting lady justice. Maybe now that he’s made partner, he’s ready to start a family.” I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant, though the concept feels more foreign to me than the idea of decaf coffee.
“Seems like you did the whole life thing backwards—had a kid then inherited the firm,” she observes, a note of something I can’t quite place in her voice.
“Backwards, upside down, inside out ...” I muse, leading her towards where my car is parked. “I think I skipped the instruction manual entirely.”
“Sounds about right for you,” she says, that fiery spirit crackling as she falls into step beside me. “You probably used it to prop up a wobbly table.”
“Guilty as charged,” I admit with a grin.
I press the key fob, and my SUV beeps to life, welcoming us with flashing lights.
“Come on,” I gesture, a silent invitation back into the chaos that is my life, which she seems strangely adept at navigating. “Let’s see if we can avoid any more surprises for one day.”
The leather of the driver’s seat hugs my back as Isabella slides into the passenger seat, her posture impeccable despite the cramped space. She manages to make the act of buckling a seatbelt look like a carefully choreographed ballet movement. I start the engine and pull away from the curb, still processing the revelation that Leo, of all people, is playing house again.
“Let’s not hit any pedestrians,” Isabella says dryly, her gaze fixed ahead as if she’s expecting me to turn this midday drive into a demolition derby.
“Disappointed in my driving?” I ask, feigning hurt. “I’ll have you know I’ve been accident-free for—”
The chirp of my phone interrupts, and I glance at the caller ID flashing “Caleb’s School” before answering.
“Hold that thought.” I hit “Answer” on my CarPlay. “Adrian Cole speaking.”
“Mr. Cole? It’s Mrs. Warner, Caleb’s teacher.” The worry in her voice slices through the conversation like a hot knife through butter.
“Is everything okay with Caleb?”
“Afraid we have an issue. Caleb’s holed up in a bathroom stall. He’s refusing to come out. My teacher’s assistant is covering for me right now, but I haven’t been able to convince him to come back to class.”
My chest tightens, and I shoot a glance at Isabella.
“Go,” she urges, her sharp green eyes softening with an understanding I hadn’t expected. “We can head there now, on the way back to the office.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to drag you into—”
“Adrian,” she cuts in, her tone brooking no argument. “Just go.”
“Thanks. Mrs. Warner, we’ll be there in about ten minutes.” Relief washes over me, and I swerve the car toward Caleb’s school.
“See you then, Mr. Cole,” is the last thing she says before she hangs up.
“Sorry about the detour,” I tell Isabella after ending the call. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Hardly,” she replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You can’t keep him waiting. He needs his dad. ”
Ten minutes pass by in a blur when we pull up to the school, and it’s like a punch in the gut—the same swoop of worry I felt when Caleb took his first steps, like at any second he might fall. Isabella doesn’t hesitate; she’s out of the car before I even kill the engine.
“I’ll come with you,” she says, and there’s this fierce determination in her eyes that makes me believe she could single-handedly take on the whole school if she needed to.
“Thanks,” I mutter, my stomach doing somersaults as we stride toward the main office.
Mrs. Warner is already waiting for us, lines of concern etched into her face. She’s a saint, really, handling thirty kids with the patience of a Zen master.
“Mr. Cole,” she says as soon as we walk up to her. “Follow me. Here’s the way.” She gestures toward a boys’ bathroom, and we’re moving in a matter of seconds.
“Can you catch me up to speed?”
“A few kids in class taunted Caleb over his missing tooth. I intervened, but he still bolted for the bathroom. Hasn’t come out for an hour,” she finishes, her voice tinged with helplessness.
“Thanks, Mrs. Warner. I’ll handle it from here.” I try to sound confident, but my heart’s racing as we approach the boys’ bathroom.
I can hear Caleb sniffing from inside the stall, my little guy trying to be tough.
“Hey, buddy. It’s Dad. I heard about what happened.” When he doesn’t respond, I keep going. “You know, Caleb, those kids are just a bunch of insecure—” I start, ready to impart some fatherly wisdom about bullies and their own insecurities.
But Isabella cuts me off with a gentle hand on my arm. “Adrian, let me try?”
I step back, giving her space. Part of me wants to argue, to say that I’m his dad, I should fix this. But another part of me—probably the smarter part—knows that Isabella might just have the right touch for this. So I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, watching as she kneels by the stall door, her voice low and soothing.
Isabella crouches down, her eyes level with the tiny gap beneath the stall door. “Caleb,” she says, and it’s like she’s got this superpower to make her voice sound like a warm blanket—something I’ve never managed. “It’s Isabella King. You remember me, right?”
“Yes,” he whimpers. “What are you doing here?”
“I work with your dad. We just got out of a meeting when your teacher told us what happened. Say … did you know that your missing tooth makes you unique?”
“Unique” is not the word I’d use. Heck, I was about to launch into a lecture on bully psychology. But Isabella’s got the floor now.
“Like a superhero?” Caleb’s voice wobbles from behind the metal door, his words bouncing off porcelain and tile.
“Exactly!” Isabella claps her hands once, her excitement echoing in the small space. “And do you know what’s cool about being different?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles, but I can tell he’s listening. Kids always have a soft spot for superheroes.
“Everything, Caleb. It’s what sets you apart from the crowd.” She leans in closer, as if sharing a secret. “Sometimes, people don’t get that. But who wants to be boring and the same as everyone else?”
“Well, I don’t,” he whispers, and I’m starting to see the light at the end of this crappy tunnel.
“Right. So, when someone tries to make fun of you for it, instead of getting upset, throw them off with a joke. Show them it doesn’t bother you. ”
“Can I do that?” His voice is so hopeful it punches me right in the feels.
“Of course, you can.” Isabella’s tone never wavers. “When I was your age, I was taller than all the other girls in my class. They used to tease me about it until one day, I just started laughing along and made jokes about how I could reach things they couldn’t.”
“Really?” The skepticism in Caleb’s voice matches the raised eyebrow I can imagine him sporting.
“Yep. And because I didn’t let it upset me, they had nothing to tease me about anymore. You see, bullies—they’re insecure. Your dad’s right about that.” She taps the stall door rhythmically, adding, “If you show them you’re proud of what makes you ‘you’, they can’t touch you. What do you say? Do you want to give it a try?”
“Okay ... I’ll try.” That’s my boy.
“Great! Now, how about we get out of this bathroom and back to class? You’ve got a superhero image to maintain, kiddo.”
The lock clicks, the door swings open, and there stands Caleb, one tooth short of a full set, looking up at Isabella like she hung the moon. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, a prideful smirk playing on my lips that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the woman who’s just talked my son out of a bathroom stall with nothing but a few kind words and an anecdote.
Caleb’s little face breaks into a grin, shining with relief. “Thank you, Isabella,” he chirps, sounding nothing short of grateful. He shuffles out from the stall, looking at her like she’s just pulled off some sort of Houdini act. “I’m glad my dad has such a cool friend.”
“Anytime, champ,” she says, ruffling his hair in a way that makes him beam even wider.
Mrs. Warner reaches for Caleb’s hand and leads him back towards the classroom. I hang back, watching them go, feeling this unfamiliar tightness in my chest loosen a bit. Isabella just defused a crisis that would’ve had me fumbling for a playbook that didn’t exist.
“Thanks,” I say as we start back toward the car, the sun warm on our shoulders. “Truth is, I would have been lost in there without you.”
She gives me this half-smile that’s all modesty and no ego. “You’re doing fine, Adrian. You just need to speak “kid”, that’s all. Even the best lawyers have to adjust their arguments for the audience.”
“Kid language, huh?” I muse, unlocking the car with a beep. “Guess I have to work on that.” My smile feels shaky because it’s new territory—admitting my shortcomings doesn’t usually sit well with me. Caleb’s always been intelligent. It’s easy to talk to him like a little grown-up most of the time. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong this whole time.
“Kids are quite brilliant,” she continues, sliding into the passenger seat as I hold the door open for her, “but their emotions are straightforward. They don’t do hidden agendas or read between the lines. Not yet anyway.”
As I close the door and circle around to my side, I can’t help but think how effortlessly maternal she seems. Here’s Isabella, who could argue the sky down from the heavens if she wanted, revealing a side softer than any courtroom could handle. And damn if it doesn’t suit her.
Settling behind the wheel, my thoughts drift unbidden to the future. I imagine Isabella, not just as Caleb’s champion in bathroom standoffs, but as someone I wake up next to, someone who challenges me over breakfast and backs me up in life.
She’d make a hell of a mom, that’s a given. But a partner? A co-conspirator in the grand heist of living happily ever after? The idea doesn’t sound so far-fetched—not anymore. The question now is whether I’m brave enough to cross that line .
“Ready to head back?” I ask, starting the engine, the low rumble grounding my wayward thoughts.
“Let’s do it,” she replies, her focus already shifting back to business.
But in that split second, I catch something in her eyes—a flicker of something more—and it’s enough to stoke the embers of possibility.