Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

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?”
    “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 connection?”
    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.
    I shake my head. No . . . no . . . not like Leila.
    “Shower?” His voice is choked with concern.
    Through my tears, I nod. I want to wash away the grime of the last few days, wash away the memory of Jack’s attack. “You gold digging whore.” I sob into my hands as the sound of the water cascading from the shower echoes off the walls.
    “Hey,” Christian croons. Kneeling in front of me, he pulls my hands away from my tearstained cheeks and cups my face in his hands. I gaze at him, blinking away my tears.
    “You’re safe. You both are,” he whispers.
    Blip and me . My eyes brim with tears again.
    “Stop, now. I can’t bear it when you cry.” His voice is hoarse. His thumbs wipe my cheeks, but my tears still flow.
    “I’m sorry, Christian. Just sorry for everything. For making you worry, for risking everything—for the things I said.”
    “Hush, baby, please.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry. It takes two to tango, Ana.” He gives me a crooked smile. “Well, that’s what my mom always says. I said things and did things I’m not proud of.” His gray eyes are bleak but penitent. “Let’s get you undressed.” His voice is soft. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, and he kisses my forehead once more.
    Briskly he strips me, taking particular care as he pulls my T-shirt over my head. But my head is not too sore. Leading me to the shower, he peels off his own clothing in record time before stepping into the welcome hot water with me. He pulls me into his arms and holds me, holds me for the longest time, as the water gushes over us, soothing us both.
    He lets me cry into his chest. Occasionally he kisses my hair, but he doesn’t let go, he just rocks me gently beneath the warm water. To feel his skin against mine, his chest hair against my cheek . . . this man I love, this self-doubting, beautiful man, the man I could have lost through my own recklessness. I feel empty and aching at the thought but grateful that he’s here, still here—despite everything that’s happened.
    He has some explaining to do, but right now I want to revel in the feel of his comforting, protective