Eye of the Storms (Eye of the Storms #1) by Lisa Gillis

through, Jack, who was slouched against the wall with his fists in his jacket pockets, straightened to attention. Politely, the woman slowed her steps, and wordlessly, I grabbed at Jack’s jacket and quickly followed, dragging him along.

CHAPTER 11
    J ack’s head tipped inquiringly down, but he silently matched my strides, and I let the fabric drop.
    We were traversing the hallway away from the seating area, and I wondered if my parents’ and Olivia’s eyes were on us, but I didn’t dare turn to look. Sure enough, my phone buzzed from my pocket, quietly announcing a text. We stepped into the elevator as a trio, and ignoring the text for now, I looked up at Jack as the doors met and the floor began to lift.
    There was one other occupant, and that man was intent on the newspaper in his hand. Clearing my throat, I croaked out an explanation to Jack. “Tristan had a reaction to the anesthesia. He’s in critical care, and that’s where we’re headed.”
    Keeping my gaze pinned on the lit and unlit buttons to the various floors, I refused to watch his reaction. As he had chosen not to be a part of that news in the first place, I was afraid of seeing indifference. Grabbing him upon exiting the room had been instinctual, something that if I had given it even a second of thought, I wouldn’t have done.
    “There’s a comfortable area where you can be closer until he wakes.” Extending the explanation, the nurse filled the silent gap.
    “Can I see him right away?” I begged, stepping aside enough for the man with the rolled up ‘Herald’ in his hand to exit onto his selected floor.
    “For just a few minutes.” Gently and concisely, the ICU rules were explained, and when Jack asked a question, the CRNA repeated the full brief on the allergic reaction.
    Jack seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he looked at me and remained quiet. The tone announced our level, and we stepped out into the hall of the new floor. Once again, when my phone buzzed in my pocket, I ignored it, and in less than a minute, I was standing at the foot of Tristan’s bed.
    Hyperventilation threatened my own breathing as I beheld the ventilation tubes, the IV tubes, and various machine paraphernalia around my boy’s bed. Dark hair strands were a contrast against the crisp, white pillow– a pillow that was half his size or more.
    In a flash, I edged around the bed, and my fingers softly settled on his hot forehead to brush at his soft hair. His breathing was slow and even, as if he were napping, but the hiss of the oxygen flowing into the tube attachment beneath his nose wheezed over the sound of his breath.
    Leaning and crouching to his level, I whispered my love and just crazy nonsense to keep talking. “Tiggy is looking out the window in your room, and guess what? He found a friend here. Wait till you see his new friend…”
    For the last couple of minutes, I had completely forgotten Jack. But, as I spoke of the new stuffed toy, Bandit, the image of his placement of it beside Tiggy on the window ledge replayed in my mind.
    Twisting my head, I found Jack frozen at the foot of the bed. Those dark eyes, which I could stare into forever, remained trained on Tristan, and the unguarded look took my breath away. So many vulnerable expressions played in their brown depths, creating a mixture that left me guessing as to what I was seeing.
    Only one thing was certain. Recognition and acknowledgment of his own flesh and blood.
    Feeling my assessment, his gaze skittered to mine, and his shields went up. For a second or two, there was nothing to see and then empathy lit the dark depths of his gaze as it roved my face.
    A nurse appeared, checking vitals, and with a heartening lilt in her voice, related that the numbers she recorded were all good. However, her next words were firm. “Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting area, and we'll let you know as soon as he wakes.”
    “Can I just stand here? I won’t get in the way…” Unwilling to