Chapter 2 - The Gray Eyes
Griffin abandoned his car in the emergency loading zone.
He didn't care about the parking ticket. He didn't care about the security guard shouting after him.
He walked into the ER waiting room and demanded to see Sloan Callaway.
The triage nurse looked at him over her glasses.
“Family only, sir.”
“I am her emergency contact,” Griffin said. His voice carried the icy authority that usually made CEOs back down. “And her children are with her. Where is she?”
The nurse checked her screen.
“Room 4. But she’s still unconscious.”
Griffin pushed past the double doors.
He found Room 4.
Sloan lay on the narrow hospital bed. She was pale, an IV line taped to her hand, and dark circles shadowed her eyes.
She looked exhausted.
Beautiful, but entirely depleted.
And sitting in two plastic chairs beside the bed were the twins.
Griffin stopped in the doorway.
Hazel and Iris looked up.
They had Sloan’s dark hair. They had Sloan’s small, determined chin.
But when Iris looked at him, Griffin stopped breathing.
Her eyes.
They were not Sloan’s warm brown.
They were piercing, stormy gray.
The exact same color Griffin saw every time he looked in the mirror.
Hazel stood up. She was clutching a small, worn stuffed rabbit.
“You’re Griffin,” she said.
“I am.”
He slowly crouched down so he was at eye level with them.
For a man who managed billions of dollars and commanded thousands of employees, he had never felt so entirely out of his depth.
“Is she going to die?” Hazel whispered, tears finally spilling over.
Griffin reached out.
His hand trembled slightly as he placed it on Hazel’s small shoulder.
“No,” he said firmly. “She is just very, very tired. The doctors are giving her medicine to make her strong again.”
Iris stepped closer.
She studied his face.
She looked at his gray eyes, then at her own reflection in the dark hospital window.
“You are him,” Iris said.
“Who?”
“The man in the box. Our daddy.”
Griffin’s throat closed.
He pulled both girls into his arms.
He didn't care about the lost years right then. He didn't care about the anger, or the betrayal, or the secrets.
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He only cared that he was holding his daughters.
“Yes,” Griffin whispered into their dark hair. “I’m your daddy.”
