Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 226

“Wake up, baby,” I whisper. “I need you.”

“Good morning, Mr. Grey.”

What? Again I’m startled from my doze as the nurse opens the curtains, letting the golden fall light

invade the room. It’s the older nurse—I can’t remember her name. “I’m going to check your wife’s IV

fluids.”

“Sure,” I mumble. “Do I need to leave?”

“It’s up to you.”

“I’ll stretch my legs.” Feeling like shit, I get up, and with a last glance at my wife, I stagger out into the

corridor. Maybe I can find some coffee.

Taylor arrives around 8:30 with my phone charger and some breakfast (courtesy of Mrs. Jones). I

wonder if it’s a peace offering from her. One peek into the brown paper bag confirms that it is: two ham-

and-cheese croissants. They smell divine. And I have a thermos of proper coffee. “Please thank Gail

for me.”

“Will do. How is Mrs. Grey?” He looks toward Ana, his concern obvious in the tight line of his jaw.

“All signs are good. We’re just waiting for her to wake up. I can’t believe we spent last weekend at

OHSU, and this weekend we’re at Northwest.”

Taylor nods sympathetically.

“You may as well stay and update me here. I don’t want to leave her side.” I offer him the seat beside

me. While I eat my breakfast, he recounts all that happened after the ambulances left the crime scene.

“…and the police have recovered Mrs. Grey’s cell phone.”

“Oh.”

“She placed it in one of the duffel bags with the cash.”

“Really?” I glance at my sleeping wife. That’s genius. “We were following the money?”

“Indeed,” Taylor responds, and it’s obvious he’s impressed with Ana’s ingenuity. “The police have the

cash.”

It’s the first time I’ve thought about the five million dollars.

“Will we get it back?”

“Eventually, sir.”

I roll my eyes. It’s the least of my problems. “I’ll get Welch onto the police and let him liaise with them

for the return of the money.”

“Hyde is here, being patched up. He’s under police guard,” Taylor says.

“I wish she’d finished him off.”

Taylor holds his counsel, and I remember him wrestling me off Hyde while I was beating that fucker to a

pulp. I can’t decide if Taylor’s actions were a good thing or not.

Hell. If he hadn’t, I’d be in a police cell now.

“Detective Clark would like a word with you at some point.” Taylor wisely changes the subject as I take

a bite of the second croissant.

“Now is not the time.”

“Ryan has collected Mrs. Grey’s car. Apart from a parking ticket, it’s all good.” His smile is wry. Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

“Sawyer’s mad he let her get away.”

“I’m sure.”

“There are photographers camped outside the hospital.”

Hell.

My phone buzzes. It’s Ray. Shit.

“Ray. Good morning.”

“I need to see Annie.”

Ray has heard about Ana’s heroics, courtesy of the media, and now insists on seeing her. As he’s the

only man in the world who intimidates me, I cannot say no.

I dispatch Taylor, and thirty minutes later Ray’s sitting at the end of her bed in his wheelchair.

“Annie,” he whispers as I wheel him in closer to her bed. “What was she thinking?” he says, his voice

hoarse. He’s shaved and is wearing loose shorts and a shirt, so in spite of the broken leg and bruising,

he looks more like himself.

“I don’t know, Ray. We’ll have to wait for her to wake up before we can ask her.”

“If you don’t take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?” He’s more

adamant this time.

“Trust me, Ray, I just might do that.” If she’ll let me. I clutch her hand while Ray shakes his head.

“She shot him, you know.”

His mouth drops open. “The kidnapper?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Thanks for teaching her how to use a gun. Maybe you can teach me to shoot one day.”

“Christian, I’d be honored.” We both gaze at my headstrong, reckless, brave wife. Each of us nursing

our own fearful thoughts while Ana remains unconscious.

“Let me know when she wakes up.”

“Will do, Ray.”

“I’ll call Carla,” he mutters.

“I’d appreciate it. Thanks.”

He kisses Ana’s hand, his eyes glistening with tears, and I have to look away.

When he leaves, I call the office, then Welch, who is in Detroit, following a lead on Hyde. He can’t

believe Hyde found someone to post bail. Finding out who and why they did is next on his agenda.

He’s going to call his contact at the Seattle Police Department to ascertain what they know.

I pace back and forth in front of the window to shake off my fatigue as I talk on the phone and watch my

wife. She sleeps through my calls, she sleeps through the frequent arrival of flowers from our family

and friends—so by mid-afternoon her room resembles a florist’s, and she sleeps through their calls

inquiring about her well-being.

Everyone loves Ana.

What’s not to love? I brush her soft, translucent cheek with my knuckles, fighting the urge to cry. “Baby,

wake up. Please. Wake up and be mad at me again. Anything. Hate me…whatever. Just wake up.

Please.”

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