Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 183

“Shall I turn the Gulfstream around?”

“No. Let them land in Savannah. Ana may want her mother here. I’ll come back to you when I know

more.” I hang up.

What to do?

Taylor catches my eye.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Sir, I could drop you at the hospital. Shop for your essentials. Leave the shopping bags at your hotel,

then fly back to Seattle with Stephan and bring the R8 down for Mrs. Grey so it’s here tomorrow

morning.”

“That’s an idea. Let’s see how her father is before we do anything. But yes, that’s a good plan. You

could also collect a few items for me, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

Perhaps we’ll have to reschedule Ana’s birthday celebrations to later in the month. While I chew on

that, I remember that Mia starts her new job today. I send her a quick good-luck text as Taylor pulls up

outside the main OHSU building.

I gird my loins. In spite of my mother’s chosen profession, I loathe hospitals.

In the elevator, on my way to the OR floor, my phone buzzes with a text from Andrea. She’s reserved

my usual suite at The Heathman. A nurse at the reception desk on the third floor directs me to the

waiting room. Taking a deep breath, I open the door. Inside the stark, utilitarian room I find Ana seated

on a plastic chair. Pale, scared, and swamped in a man’s leather jacket, she’s clutching José

Rodriguez’s hand. His father sits in a wheelchair beside him.

“Christian,” she cries. The relief and hope on her face as she leaps up to greet me extinguish the brief

flash of jealousy that flared in my gut. When she’s in my arms, I close my eyes and hold her close. She

smells of apples and orchards and Ana, and the unmistakable aroma of cheap cologne and sweaty

nights out.

José’s jacket?

I wrinkle my nose and hope no one notices. José stands, but José Rodriguez senior remains in the

wheelchair, looking pretty banged up.

Shit. He must have been in the accident, too. Text © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“Any news?” I direct my question at Ana.

She shakes her head.

“José.” I nod a greeting while keeping hold of my wife. Sawyer is seated in the corner. He

acknowledges me with a quick nod; I’m grateful that he’s been here with Ana.

“Christian, this is my father, José Senior,” José says.

“Mr. Rodriguez—we met at the wedding. You were in the accident, too?” Gently, I shake his free hand.

“We all were,” José replies. “We were driving to Astoria for a day’s fishing.” His face hardens, and his

fresh-faced boyishness disappears, revealing the menacing man beneath. “But we were hit by a drunk

driver on the way. He totaled my dad’s car. Miraculously, I was unharmed. My dad got beat up, but Ray

—” He stops and swallows to collect himself, then, with a swift, anxious glance at Ana, continues, “He

was bad. He was airlifted from Astoria community hospital to here.”

I tighten my arm around Ana.

“After they patched my father up, we followed,” he finishes, and I raise my brows in surprise. Mr.

Rodriguez Senior has a leg and an arm in casts, and one side of his face is bruised. He doesn’t look fit

to travel.

“Yeah.” José shakes his head in exasperation, as if he can read my mind. “My dad insisted.”

“Are you both well enough to be here?” I ask.

“We don’t want to be anywhere else.” Mr. Rodriguez’s face contorts; he looks and sounds like he’s in

pain.

Maybe they should go home.

But I don’t press them; they’re here for Ray. Taking Ana’s hand, I guide her back to one of the seats

and sit down beside her. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you hungry?”

She shakes her head.

“But you’re cold?” I ask, catching another whiff of José’s jacket. She nods and wraps the offending

garment more snugly around her. The door opens and a man in scrubs enters—dark-haired, tall, and

with a weary air of battle fatigue; his expression is grave.

Shit.

Ana stumbles to her feet, and I stand quickly to steady her. All eyes in the room are on the young

doctor.

“Ray Steele,” Ana says with quiet trepidation.

“You’re his next of kin?” the doctor asks.

“I’m his daughter, Ana.”

“Miss Steele—”

“Mrs. Grey,” I mutter, correcting him.

“My apologies,” the doctor stammers. “I’m Dr. Crowe. Your father is stable, but in critical condition.”

Ana crumples in my arms as the doctor delivers each blow about Ray’s condition. “He suffered severe

internal injuries, principally to his diaphragm, but we’ve managed to repair them, and we were able to

save his spleen. Unfortunately, he suffered a cardiac arrest during the operation because of blood loss.

We managed to get his heart going again, but this remains a concern.”

Jesus!

“However,” Dr. Crowe continues, “our gravest concern is that he suffered severe contusions to the

head, and the MRI shows that he has swelling in his brain. We’ve induced a coma to keep him quiet

and still while we monitor the brain swelling.”

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