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my final year.” José’s dark eyes are large and luminous with fear and regret.
“You could have been hurt, too. And Mr. Rodriguez . . . worse.” I gulp at the thought. My body temperature drops further, and I shiver once more. José takes my
hand.
“Hell, Ana, you’re freezing.”
Mr. Rodriguez inches forward and takes my other hand in his good one.
“Ana, I am so sorry.”
“Mr. Rodriguez, please. It was an accident . . .” My voice fades to a whisper.
“Call me José,” he corrects me. I give him a weak smile, because that’s all I can manage. I shiver once more.
“The police took the asshole into custody. Seven in the morning and the guy was out of his skull,” José hisses in disgust.
Sawyer reenters, bearing a paper cup of hot water and a separate teabag. He knows how I take my tea! I’m surprised, and glad for the distraction. Mr. Rodriguez
and José release my hands as I gratefully take the cup from Sawyer.
“Do either of you want anything?” Sawyer asks Mr. Rodriguez and José. They both shake their heads, and Sawyer resumes his seat in the corner. I dunk my
teabag in the water and, rising shakily, dispose of the used bag in a small trashcan.
“What’s taking them so long?” I mutter to no one in particular as I take a sip.
Daddy . . . Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
“We’ll know soon enough, Ana,” José says gently. I nod and take another sip. I take my seat again beside him. We wait . . . and wait. Mr. Rodriguez with his
eyes closed, praying I think, and José holding my hand and squeezing it every now and then. I slowly sip my tea. It’s not Twinings, but some cheap nasty brand,
and it tastes disgusting.
I remember the last time I waited for news. The last time I thought all was lost when Charlie Tango went missing. Closing my eyes, I offer up a silent prayer for
the safe passage of my husband. I glance at my watch: 2:15 p.m. He should be here soon. My tea is cold . . . Ugh!
I stand up and pace then sit down again. Why haven’t the doctors been to see me? I take José’s hand, and he gives mine another reassuring squeeze. Please let
him be okay. Please let him be okay.
him be okay. Please let him be okay.
Time crawls so slowly.
Suddenly the door opens, and we all glance up expectantly, my stomach knotting. Is this it?
Christian strides in. His face darkens momentarily when he notices my hand in José’s.
“Christian!” I gasp and leap up, thanking God he’s arrived safely. Then I’m wrapped in his arms, his nose in my hair, and I’m inhaling his scent, his warmth, his
love. A small part of me feels calmer, stronger, and more resilient because he’s here. Oh, the difference his presence makes to my peace of mind.
“Any news?”
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“José.” He nods a greeting.
“Christian, this is my father, José Senior.”
“Mr. Rodriguez—we met at the wedding. I take it you were in the accident, too?”
José briefly retells the story.
“Are you both well enough to be here?” Christian asks.
“We don’t want to be anywhere else,” Mr. Rodriguez says, his voice quiet and laced with pain. Christian nods. Taking my hand, he sits me down then takes a
seat beside me.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head.
“But you’re cold?” he asks, eyeing José’s jacket.
I nod. He shifts in his chair, but wisely says nothing.
The door opens again, and a young doctor in bright blue scrubs enters. He looks exhausted and harrowed.
All the blood disappears from my head as I stumble to my feet.
“Ray Steele,” I whisper as Christian stands beside me, putting his arm around my waist.
“You’re his next of kin?” the doctor asks. His bright blue eyes almost match his scrubs, and under any other circumstances I would have found him attractive.
“I’m his daughter, Ana.”
“Miss Steele—”
“Mrs. Grey,” Christian interrupts him.
“My apologies,” the doctor stammers, and for a moment I want to kick Christian. “I’m Doctor Crowe. Your father is stable, but in a critical condition.”
What does that mean? My knees buckle beneath me, and only Christian’s supporting arm prevents me from falling to the floor.
“He suffered severe internal injuries,” Dr. Crowe says, “principally to his diaphragm, but we’ve managed to repair them, and we were able to save his spleen.
Unfortunately, he suffered a cardiac arrest during the operation because of blood loss. We managed to get his heart going again, but this remains a concern.
However, our gravest concern is that he suffered severe contusions to the head, and the MRI shows that he has swelling in his brain. We’ve induced a coma to keep
him quiet and still while we monitor the brain swelling.”
Brain damage? No.
“It’s standard procedure in these cases. For now, we just have to wait and see.”
“And what’s the prognosis?” Christian asks coolly.
“Mr. Grey, it’s difficult to say at the moment. It’s possible he could make a complete recovery, but that’s in God’s hands now.”
“How long will you keep him in a coma?”
“That depends on how his brain responds. Usually seventy-two to ninety-six hours.”
Oh, so long! “Can I see him?” I whisper.
“Yes, you should be able to see him in about half an hour. He’s been taken to the ICU on the sixth floor.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Dr. Crowe nods, turns and leaves us.
“Well, he’s alive,” I whisper to Christian. And the tears start to roll down my face once more.
“Sit down,” Christian orders gently.
“Papa, I think we should go. You need to rest. We won’t know anything for a while,” José murmurs to Mr. Rodriguez who gazes blankly at his son. “We can
come back this evening, after you’ve rested. That’s okay, isn’t it, Ana?” José turns, imploring me.
“Of course.”
“Are you staying in Portland?” Christian asks. José nods.
“Do you need a ride home?”
José frowns. “I was going to order a cab.”
“Luke can take you.”
Sawyer stands, and José looks confused.
“Luke Sawyer,” I murmur in clarification.
“Oh . . . Sure. Yeah, we’d appreciate it. Thanks, Christian.”
Standing, I hug Mr. Rodriguez and José in quick succession.
“Stay strong, Ana,” José whispers in my ear. “He’s a fit and healthy man. The odds are in his favor.”
“I hope so.” I hug him hard. Then, releasing him, I shrug off his jacket hand it back to him.
“Keep it, if you’re still cold.”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” Glancing nervously up at Christian, I see that he’s regarding us impassively. Christian takes my hand.
“If there’s any change, I’ll let you know right away,” I say as José pushes his father’s wheelchair toward the door Sawyer is holding open.
Mr. Rodriguez raises his hand, and they pause in the doorway. “He’ll be in my prayers, Ana.” His voice wavers. “It’s been so good to reco
all these years. He’s become a good friend.”
“I know.”
And with that they leave. Christian and I are alone. He caresses my cheek. “You’re pale. Come here.” He sits down on the chair and pulls me on to his lap,
folding me into his arms again, and I go willingly. I snuggle up against him, feeling oppressed by my stepfather’s misfortune, but grateful that my husband is here to
comfort me. He gently strokes my hair and holds my hand.
“How was Charlie Tango?” I ask.
“How was Charlie Tango?” I ask.
He grins. “Oh, she was yar,” he says, quiet pride in his voice. It makes me smile properly for the first time in several hours, and I glance at him, puzzled.
“Yar?”
“It’s a line from The Philadelphia Story. Grace’s favorite film.”
“I don’t know it.”
“I think I have it on Blu-Ray at home. We can watch it and make out.” He kisses my hair and I smile once more.