Fifty Shades Freed

didn’t help. I halt my thoughts as I nearly recall a whispered conversation. Damn! It hovers on the edge of my memory from when I was unconscious. Christian

talking with Grace. It melts away into the shadows of my mind. Oh, it’s so frustrating.

I wonder if Christian will ever volunteer the reason he went to see her or if I’ll have to push him. I’m about to ask when there’s a knock on the door.

Detective Clark makes an apologetic entry into the room. He’s right to be apologetic—my heart sinks when I see him.

“Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey. Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” snaps Christian.

Clark ignores him. “Glad to see you’re awake, Mrs. Grey. I need to ask you a few questions about Thursday afternoon. Just routine. Is now a convenient time?”

“Sure,” I mumble, but I do not want to relive Thursday’s events.

“My wife should be resting.” Christian bristles.

“I’ll be brief, Mr. Grey. And it means I’ll be out of your hair sooner rather than later.”

Christian stands and offers Clark his chair, then sits down beside me on the bed, takes my hand, and squeezes it reassuringly.

Christian stands and offers Clark his chair, then sits down beside me on the bed, takes my hand, and squeezes it reassuringly.

Half an hour later, Clark is done. I’ve learned nothing new, but I have recounted the events of Thursday to him in a halting, quiet voice, watching Christian go pale

and grimace at some parts.

“I wish you’d aimed higher,” Christian mutters.

“Might have done womankind a service if Mrs. Grey had.” Clark agrees.

What?

“Thank you, Mrs. Grey. That’s all for now.”

“You won’t let him out again, will you?”

“I don’t think he’ll make bail this time, ma’am.”

“Do we know who posted his bail?” Christian asks.

“No sir. It was confidential.”

Christian frowns, but I think he has his suspicions. Clark rises to leave just as Dr. Singh and two interns enter the room.

After a thorough examination, Dr. Singh declares me fit to go home. Christian sags with relief.

“Mrs. Grey, you’ll have to watch for worsening headaches and blurry vision. If that occurs you must return to the hospital immediately.”

I nod, trying to contain my delight at going home.

As Dr. Singh leaves, Christian asks her for a quick word in the corridor. He keeps the door ajar as he asks her a question. She smiles.

“Yes, Mr. Grey, that’s fine.”

He grins and returns to the room a happier man.

“What was all that about?”

“Sex,” he says, flashing a wicked grin.

Oh. I blush. “And?”

“You’re good to go.” He smirks.

Oh, Christian!

“I have a headache.” I smirk right back.

“I know. You’ll be off limits for a while. I was just checking.”

Off limits? I frown at the momentary stab of disappointment I feel. I’m not sure I want to be off limits.

Nurse Nora joins us to remove my IV. She glares at Christian. I think she’s one of the few women I’ve met who is oblivious to his charms. I thank her when she

leaves with my IV stand.

“Shall I take you home?” Christian asks.

“I’d like to see Ray first.”

“Sure.”

“Does he know about the baby?”

“I thought you’d want to be the one to tell him. I haven’t told your mom either.”

“Thank you.” I smile, grateful that he hasn’t stolen my thunder.

“My mom knows,” Christian adds. “She saw your chart. I told my dad but no one else. Mom said couples normally wait for twelve weeks or so . . . to be sure.”

He shrugs.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to tell Ray.”

“I should warn you, he’s mad as hell. Said I should spank you.”

What? Christian laughs at my appalled expression. “I told him I’d be only too willing to oblige.”

“You didn’t!” I gasp, though an echo of a whispered conversation tantalizes my memory. Yes, Ray was here while I was unconscious . . .

He winks at me. “Here, Taylor brought you some clean clothes. I’ll help you dress.”

As Christian predicted, Ray is furious. I don’t ever remember him being this mad. Christian has wisely decided to leave us alone. For such a taciturn man, Ray fills

his hospital room with his invective, berating me for my irresponsible behavior. I am twelve years old again.

Oh, Dad, please calm down. Your blood pressure is not up to this.

“And I’ve had to deal with your mother,” he grumbles, waving both of his hands in exasperation.

“Dad, I’m sorry.”

“And poor Christian! I’ve never seen him like that. He’s aged. We’ve both aged years over the last couple of days.”

“Ray, I’m sorry.”

“Your mother is waiting for your call,” he says in a more measured tone.

I kiss his cheek, and finally he relents from his tirade.

“I’ll call her. I really am sorry. But thank you for teaching me to shoot.”

For a moment, he regards me with ill-concealed paternal pride. “I’m glad you can shoot straight,” he says, his voice gruff. “Now go on home and get some rest.”

“You look well, Dad.” I try to change the subject.

“You look pale.” His fear is suddenly evident. His look mirrors Christian’s from last night, and I grasp his hand.

“I’m okay. I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”

He squeezes my hand and pulls me into a hug. “If anything happened to you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and low. Tears prick my eyes. I am not used to

displays of emotion from my stepfather.

“Dad, I’m good. Nothing that a hot shower won’t cure.”

We leave through the rear exit of the hospital to avoid the paparazzi gathered at the entrance. Taylor leads us to the waiting in the SUV.

Christian is quiet as Sawyer drives us home. I avoid Sawyer’s gaze in the rearview mirror, embarrassed that the last time I saw him was at the bank when I gave

him the slip. I call my mom, who sobs and sobs. It takes most of the journey home to calm her down, but I succeed by promising that we’ll visit soon. Throughout

my conversation with her, Christian holds my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. He’s nervous . . . something’s happened.

“What’s wrong?” I ask when I’m finally free from my mother.

“Welch wants to see me.”

“Welch? Why?”

“Welch? Why?”

“He’s found something out about that fucker Hyde.” Christian’s lip curls into a snarl, and a frisson of fear passes through me. “He didn’t want to tell me on the

phone.”

“Oh.”

“He’s coming here this afternoon from Detroit.”

“You think he’s found a co

Christian nods.

“What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea.” Christian’s brow furrows, perplexed.

Taylor pulls into the garage at Escala and stops by the elevator to let us out before he parks. In the garage, we can avoid the attention of the waiting photographers. Christian ushers me out of the car. Keeping his arm around my waist, he leads me to the waiting elevator.

“Glad to be home?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper. But as I stand in the familiar surroundings of the elevator, the enormity of what I’ve been through crashes over me, and I start to shake.

“Hey—” Christian wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “You’re home. You’re safe,” he says, kissing my hair.

“Oh, Christian.” A dam I didn’t even know was in place bursts, and I start to sob.

“Hush now,” Christian whispers, cradling my head against his chest.

But it’s too late. I weep, overwhelmed, into his T-shirt, recalling Jack’s vicious attack—“That’s for SIP, you fucking bitch!”—telling Christian I was leaving

—“You’re leaving me?”—and my fear, my gut-wrenching fear for Mia, for myself, and for Little Blip.

When the doors of the elevator slide open, Christian picks me up like a child and carries me into the foyer. I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him,

keening quietly.

He carries me through to our bathroom and gently settles me on the chair. “Bath?” he asks.