Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(173)

"You'll have to wait for one of the attending doctor to brief you, ma'am."

"Thank you," I mutter—but inside I am screaming, I want to know now!

I open the door to reveal a functional, austere waiting room where Mr.

Rodriguez and José are seated.

"Ana!" Mr. Rodriguez gasps. His arm is in a cast, and his cheek is bruised on one side. He's in a wheelchair with one of his legs in a cast too. I gingerly wrap my arms around him.

"Oh, Mr. Rodriguez," I sob.

"Ana, honey." He pats my back with his uninjured arm. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles, his hoarse voice cracking.

Oh no.

"No, Papa," José says softly in admonishment as he hovers behind me. When I turn, he pulls me into his arms and holds me.

"José," I mutter. And I'm lost—tears falling as all the tension, fear, and heartache of the last three hours surface.

"Hey, Ana, don't cry." José gently strokes my hair. I wrap my arms around his neck and softly weep. We stand like this for ages, and I'm so grateful that my friend is here. We pull apart when Sawyer joins us in the waiting room. Mr.

Rodriguez hands me a tissue from a conveniently placed box, and I dry my tears.

"This is Mr. Sawyer. Security," I murmur. Sawyer nods politely to José and Mr. Rodriguez then moves to take a seat in the corner.

"Sit down, Ana." José ushers me to one of the vinyl-covered armchairs.

"What happened? Do we know how he is? What are they doing?"

José holds up his hands to halt my barrage of questions and sits down beside me. "We don't have any news. Ray, Dad, and I were on a fishing trip to Astoria.

We were hit by some stupid f*cking drunk—"

Mr. Rodriguez tries to interrupt, stammering an apology.

"Cálmate, Papa!" José snaps. "I don't have a mark on me, just a couple of bruised ribs and a knock on the head. Dad . . . well, Dad broke his wrist and ankle.

But the car hit the passenger side and Ray."

Oh no, no . . . Panic swamps my limbic system again. No, no, no. My body shudders and chills as I imagine what's happening to Ray in the OR.

"He's in surgery. We were taken to the community hospital in Astoria, but they airlifted Ray here. We don't know what they're doing. We're waiting for news."

I start to shake.

"Hey, Ana, you cold?"

I nod. I'm in my white sleeveless shirt and black summer jacket, and neither provides warmth. Gingerly, José pulls off his leather jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.

"Shall I get you some tea, ma'am?" Sawyer is by my side. I nod gratefully, and he disappears from the room.

"Why were you fishing in Astoria?" I ask.

José shrugs. "The fishing's supposed to be good there. We were having a boys' get-together. Some bonding time with my old man before academia heats up for 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.