Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(235)

He shrugs.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to tell Ray."

"I should warn you, he's mad as hell. Said I should spank you."

What? Christian laughs at my appalled expression. "I told him I'd be only too willing to oblige."

"You didn't!" I gasp, though an echo of a whispered conversation tantalizes my memory. Yes, Ray was here while I was unconscious . . .

He winks at me. "Here, Taylor brought you some clean clothes. I'll help you dress."

As Christian predicted, Ray is furious. I don't ever remember him being this mad.

Christian has wisely decided to leave us alone. For such a taciturn man, Ray fills his hospital room with his invective, berating me for my irresponsible behavior. I am twelve years old again.

Oh, Dad, please calm down. Your blood pressure is not up to this.

"And I've had to deal with your mother," he grumbles, waving both of his hands in exasperation.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"And poor Christian! I've never seen him like that. He's aged. We've both aged years over the last couple of days."

"Ray, I'm sorry."

"Your mother is waiting for your call," he says in a more measured tone.

I kiss his cheek, and finally he relents from his tirade.

"I'll call her. I really am sorry. But thank you for teaching me to shoot."

For a moment, he regards me with ill-concealed paternal pride. "I'm glad you can shoot straight," he says, his voice gruff. "Now go on home and get some rest."

"You look well, Dad." I try to change the subject.

"You look pale." His fear is suddenly evident. His look mirrors Christian's from last night, and I grasp his hand.

"I'm okay. I promise I won't do anything like that again."

He squeezes my hand and pulls me into a hug. "If anything happened to you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and low. Tears prick my eyes. I am not used to displays of emotion from my stepfather.

"Dad, I'm good. Nothing that a hot shower won't cure."

We leave through the rear exit of the hospital to avoid the paparazzi gathered at the entrance. Taylor 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 f*cker 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.