Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(265)

"I'm frightened," I whisper.

"No, baby, no. I'm here. Don't be frightened. Not my strong Ana." He kisses my forehead, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that something's wrong.

"What is it?"

"What?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine. Baby, you're just exhausted." His eyes burn with fear.

"Mrs. Grey, the anesthesiologist is here. He's going to adjust your epidural, and then we can proceed."

"She's having another contraction."

Everything tightens like a steel band around my belly. Shit! I crush Christian's hand as I ride it out. This is what's tiring—enduring this pain. I am so tired. I can feel the numbing liquid spread . . . spread down. I concentrate on Christian's face. On the furrow between his brows. He's tense. He's worried. Why is he worried?

"Can you feel this, Mrs. Grey?" Dr. Greene's disembodied voice is coming from behind the curtain.

"Feel what?"

"You can't feel it."

"No."

"Good. Dr. Miller, let's go."

"You're doing well, Ana."

Christian is pale. There is sweat on his brow. He's scared. Don't be scared, Christian. Don't be scared.

"I love you," I whisper.

"Oh, Ana," he sobs. "I love you, too, so much."

I feel a strange pulling deep inside. Like nothing I've felt before. Christian looks over the screen and blanches, but stares, fascinated.

"What's happening?"

"Suction! Good . . ."

Suddenly, there's a piercing angry cry.

"You have a boy, Mrs. Grey. Check his Apgar."

"Apgar is nine."

"Can I see him?" I gasp.

Christian disappears from view for a second and reappears a moment later, holding my son, swathed in blue. His face is pink, and covered in white mush and blood. My baby. My Blip . . . Theodore Raymond Grey.

When I glance at Christian, he has tears in his eyes.

"Here's your son, Mrs. Grey," he whispers, his voice strained and hoarse.

"Our son," I breathe. "He's beautiful."

"He is," Christian says and plants a kiss on our beautiful boy's forehead beneath a shock of dark hair. Theodore Raymond Grey is oblivious. Eyes closed, his earlier crying forgotten, he's asleep. He is the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. So beautiful, I begin to weep.

"Thank you, Ana," Christian whispers, and there are tears in his eyes too.

"What is it?" Christian tilts my chin back.

"I was just remembering Ted's birth."

Christian blanches and cups my belly.

"I am not going through that again. Elective caesarian this time."

"Christian, I—"

"No, Ana. You nearly f*cking died last time. No."

"I did not nearly die."

"No." He's emphatic and not to be argued with, but as he gazes down at me, his eyes soften. "I like the name Phoebe," he whispers, and runs his nose down mine.

"Phoebe Grey? Phoebe . . . Yes. I like that, too." I grin up at him.

"Good. I want to set up Ted's present." He takes my hand, and we head downstairs. His excitement radiates off him; Christian has been waiting for this moment all day.

"Do you think he'll like it?" His apprehensive gaze meets mine.

"He'll love it. For about two minutes. Christian, he's only two."