Free Eye of the Storms (Eye of the Storms #1) by Lisa Gillis Page B

in the experience?
    Fingers went up as if to fork through his hair, and a twinge of familiarity registered. On the fateful day, which forever tied us together, his hair had been long and loose, and he had pushed it from his face many times while hovering over me. Encountering no stray strands, the hand fell away, and he turned to the window. This time, he lifted Tiggy, staring into stitched eyes.
    “Does he like dogs?”
    Unable to wrap my mind around the subject change, especially since my feelings were turbulent, the word resounded in my head.
Dogs?
Realization dawned. He was speaking of the stuffed toy he had carried in, and I attempted a smile. “Yes, he likes dogs. Especially that dog.”
    Now he was the one who was uncomprehending, and he curiously looked the tiger over as if I were referring to it as a canine.
    “The dog you brought.” Rolling with the conversation change, I explained, “It’s a cartoon character, ‘Bandit.’ One of his favorite cartoons. You did good.”
    “Bandit huh?” Returning Tiggy to sit beside Bandit, he fixed his attention to me. Visibly, his features had relaxed some. “What are we going to tell your family?”
    “We?”
    Dark eyes assessed my face, moving so slowly and so intensely that they felt like a physical caress. At last, they stopped on mine. “They seem to have already guessed…”
    My breathing slowed under his intimate appraisal, yet at the same time, expelled and inhaled in short breaths. “Are you staying?” Feeling my own hopeful heart and realizing how I must be looking at him, I hurriedly clarified, wanting to make sure he knew my words related to the hospital, and not staying in general, “If you don’t want to wait around—”
    Three short raps on the door interrupted mid-sentence, and this time, I turned, ready to snap at my mother. Instead of my parent, a tall woman dressed in full scrubs, even to the booties and cap, and the mask hanging around her neck, entered. “Mr. and Mrs. Duplei?”
    “Uh, I’m Marissa. Duplei. Tristan’s mother.” For some reason, even though the surname was incorrect, the pairing of Mr. and Mrs. flustered me to stutter.
    “I have an update on Tristan’s condition. Are you his father?” In the ensuing silence, the CRNA, like all medical staff, seemed rushed, and reworded her initial speculation. “As I’ve come straight from surgery and don’t have the patient’s signed confidentiality record, I have to ask that anyone who is not a parent or guardian of the patient step out for a moment, please.”
    Jack shifted his eyes from the nurse to me, and a few tense seconds ticked by. Muted by conflict and confusion, I could only stare back. I wanted to tell him to stay. Yet another part of me was curious to see what he would do–whether he would choose to stay and insist on being the parent that he was.
    A lump of disappointment lodged in my throat when he quietly exited the room, and yet a weight of relief lifted. Surely, he had no interest in custody.
    “Ms. Duplei, the surgery went well. However, Tristan experienced an allergic reaction to the anesthesia.”
    The weight crashed back down with a crushing force, and without pause, the woman gently continued, “He’s having some breathing problems. The prognosis is good, but he gave us a scare in OR. Instead of bringing him here, we’ve moved him into a critical care unit so he can be closely monitored. We would like to move you to the waiting area there.” Darkness dimmed my vision, swiftly bleeding from the outer edges, moving to meet in the middle. Shaking it off before I blacked out, I felt the woman’s hand on my shoulder and heard her saying, “I can escort you, and one other person. If his father is here, it should be him.”
    Unable to speak, I bobbed an understanding nod. Automatically, my gaze swept the room for my shoulder bag, but it was still down the hall, forgotten with the shock of seeing Jack.
    The nurse held the door open, and when we passed