Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

he says he’ll never see her again? How on earth am I supposed to believe that? I glance at the radio alarm—eight thirty. Shit! I’ll don’t want to be late. I take a deep breath.
    “Round Two was a stalemate, Little Blip,” I whisper, patting my belly. “Daddy may be a lost cause, but I hope not. Why, oh why, did you come so early, Little Blip? Things were just getting good.” My lip trembles, but I take a deep cleansing breath and bring my rolling emotions under control.
    “Come on. Let’s go kick ass at work.”
    I don’t say good-bye to Christian. He’s still in the shower when Sawyer and I leave. As I gaze out of the darkened windows of the SUV, my composure slips and my eyes water. My mood is reflected in the gray, dreary sky, and I feel a strange sense of foreboding. We didn’t actually discuss the baby. I have had less than twenty-four hours to assimilate the news of Little Blip. Christian has had even less time. “He doesn’t even know your name.” I caress my belly and wipe tears from my face.
    “Mrs. Grey.” Sawyer interrupts my reverie. “We’re here.”
    “Oh. Thanks, Sawyer.”
    “I’m going to make a run to the deli, ma’am. Can I get you anything?”
    “No. Thank you, no. I’m not hungry.”
    Hannah has my latte waiting for me. I take one sniff of it and my stomach roils.
    “Um  . .  .can I have tea, please?” I mutter, embarrassed. I knew there was a reason I never really liked coffee. Jeez, it smells foul.
    “You okay, Ana?”
    I nod and scurry into the safety of my office. My BlackBerry buzzes. It’s Kate.
    “Why was Christian looking for you?” she asks with no preamble at all.
    “Good morning, Kate. How are you?”
    “Cut the crap, Steele. What gives?” The Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition begins.
    “Christian and I had a fight, that’s all.”
    “Did he hurt you?”
    I roll my eyes. “Yes, but not the way you’re thinking.” I cannot deal with Kate at the moment. I know I will cry, and right now I am so proud of myself for not breaking down this morning. “Kate, I have a meeting. I’ll call you back.”
    “Good. You’re all right?”
    “Yes.” No. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
    “Okay, Ana, have it your own way. I’m here for you.”
    “I know,” I whisper and fight the backlash of emotion at her kind words. I am not going to cry. I am not going to cry.
    “Ray okay?”
    “Yes,” I whisper the word.
    “Oh, Ana,” she whispers.
    “Don’t.”
    “Okay. Talk later.”
    “Yes.”
    During the course of the morning, I sporadically check my e-mails, hoping for word from Christian. But there’s nothing. As the day wears on, I realize that he’s not going to contact me at all and that he’s still mad. Well, I’m still mad, too. I throw myself into my work, pausing only at lunchtime for a cream cheese and salmon bagel. It’s extraordinary how much better I feel once I’ve eaten something.
    At five o’clock Sawyer and I set off for the hospital to see Ray. Sawyer is extra vigilant, and even oversolicitous. It’s irritating. As we approach Ray’s room, he hovers over me.
    “Shall I get you some tea while you visit with your father?” he asks.
    “No thanks, Sawyer. I’ll be fine.”
    “I’ll wait outside.” He opens the door for me, and I’m grateful to get away from him for a moment. Ray is sitting up in bed reading a magazine. He’s shaved, wearing a pajama top—he looks like his old self.
    “Hey, Annie.” He grins. And his face falls.
    “Oh, Daddy . . .” I rush to his side, and in a very uncharacteristic move, he opens his arms wide and hugs me.
    “Annie?” he whispers. “What is it?” He holds me tight and kisses my hair. As I’m in his arms, I realize how rare these moments between us have been. Why is that? Is that why I like to crawl into Christian’s lap? After a moment, I pull away from him and sit down in the chair beside the bed. Ray’s brow is furrowed with concern.
    “Tell your old man.”
    I shake my head. He doesn’t need my problems right now.
    “It’s nothing, Dad. You look well.” I clasp his hand.
    “Feeling more like myself, though this leg in a cast is bitchin’.”
    “Bitchin’?” His word prompts my smile.
    He smiles back. “Bitchin’ sounds better than itchin’.”
    “Oh, Dad, I am so glad you’re okay.”
    “Me, too, Annie. I’d like to bounce some grandchildren on this bitchin’ knee one day. Wouldn’t want to miss that for the world.”
    I blink at him. Shit. Does