CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
There is only pain. My head, my chest … burning pain. My side, my arm. Pain. Pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I? Though I try, I cannot open my eyes. The whispered words become clearer … a beacon in the darkness.
“Her ribs are bruised, Mr. Grey, and she has a hairline fracture to her skull, but her vital signs are stable and strong.”
“Why is she still unconscious?”
“Mrs. Grey has had a major contusion to her head. But her brain activity is normal, and she has no cerebral swelling. She’ll wake when she’s ready. Just give her some time.”
“And the baby?” The words are anguished, breathless.
“The baby’s fine, Mr. Grey.”
“Oh, thank God.” The words are a litany … a prayer. “Oh, thank God.”
Oh my. He’s worried about the baby … the baby? … Little Blip. Of course. My Little Blip. I try in vain to move my hand to my belly. Nothing moves, nothing responds.
“And the baby? … Oh, thank God.”
Little Blip is safe.
“And the baby? … Oh, thank God.”
He cares about the baby.
“And the baby? … Oh, thank God.”
He wants the baby. Oh, thank God. I relax, and unconsciousness claims me once more, stealing me away from the pain.
EVERYTHING IS HEAVY AND aching: limbs, head, eyelids, nothing will move. My eyes and mouth are resolutely shut, unwilling to open, leaving me blind and mute and aching. As I surface from the fog, consciousness hovers, a seductive siren just out of reach. Sounds become voices.
“I’m not leaving her.”
Christian! He’s here … I will myself to wake—his voice is strained, an agonized whisper.
“Christian, you should sleep.”
“No, Dad. I want to be here when she wakes up.”
“I’ll sit with her. It’s the least I can do after she saved my daughter.”
Mia!
“How’s Mia?”
“She’s groggy … scared and angry. It’ll be a few hours before the Rohypnol is completely out of her system.”
“Christ.”
“I know. I’m feeling seven kinds of foolish for relenting on her security. You warned me, but Mia is so stubborn. If it wasn’t for Ana here …”
“We all thought Hyde was out of the picture. And my crazy, stupid wife—Why didn’t she tell me?” Christian’s voice is full of anguish.
“Christian, calm down. Ana’s a remarkable young woman. She was incredibly brave.”
“Brave and headstrong and stubborn and stupid.” His voice cracks.
“Hey,” Carrick murmurs, “don’t be so hard on her, or yourself, son … I’d better get back to your mom. It’s after three in the morning, Christian. You really should try to sleep.”
The fog closes in.
THE FOG LIFTS BUT I have no sense of time.
“If you don’t take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?”
“Trust me, Ray, I just might do that.”
Dad! He’s here. I fight the fog … fight … But I spiral down once more into oblivion. No …
“DETECTIVE, AS YOU CAN see, my wife is in no state to answer any of your questions.” Christian is angry.
“She’s a headstrong young woman, Mr. Grey.”
“I wish she’d killed the fucker.”
“That would have meant more paperwork for me, Mr. Grey …”
“Miss Morgan is singing like the proverbial canary. Hyde’s a real twisted son of a bitch. He has a serious grudge against your father and you …”
The fog surrounds me once more, and I’m dragged down … down. No!
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN you weren’t talking?” It’s Grace. She sounds angry. I try to move my head, but I’m met with a resounding, listless silence from my body. “What did you do?”
“Mom—”
“Christian! What did you do?”
“I was so angry.” It’s almost a sob … No.
“Hey …”
The world dips and blurs and I’m gone.
I HEAR SOFT GARBLED voices.
“You told me you’d cut all ties.” Grace is talking. Her voice is quiet, admonishing.
“I know.” Christian sounds resigned. “But seeing her finally put it all in perspective for me. You know … with the child. For the first time I felt … What we did … it was wrong.”
“What she did, darling … Children will do that to you. Make you look at the world in a different light.”
“She finally got the message … and so did I … I hurt Ana,” he whispers.
“We always hurt the ones we love, darling. You’ll have to tell her you’re sorry. And mean it and give her time.”
“She said she was leaving me.”
No. No. No!
“Did you believe her?”
“At first, yes.”
“Darling, you always believe the worst of everyone, including yourself. You always have. Ana loves you very much, and it’s obvious you love her.”
“She was mad at me.”
“I’m sure she was. I’m pretty mad at you right now. I think you can only be truly mad at someone you really love.”
“I thought about it, and she’s shown me over and over how much she loves me … to the point of putting her own life in danger.”
“Yes, she has, darling.”
“Oh, Mom, why won’t she wake up?” His voice cracks. “I nearly lost her.”
Christian! There are muffled sobs. No …
Oh … the darkness closes in. No—
“IT’S TAKEN TWENTY-FOUR YEARS for you to let me hold you like this …”
“I know, Mom … I’m glad we talked.”
“Me too, darling. I’m always here. I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother.”
Grandma!
Sweet oblivion beckons.
HMM. HIS STUBBLE SOFTLY scrapes the back of my hand as he squeezes my fingers.
“Oh, baby, please come back to me. I’m sorry. Sorry for everything. Just wake up. I miss you. I love you …”
I try. I try. I want to see him. But my body disobeys me, and I fall asleep once more.
I HAVE A PRESSING need to pee. I open my eyes. I’m in the clean, sterile environment of a hospital room. It’s dark except for a sidelight, and all is quiet. My head and my chest ache, but more than that, my bladder is bursting. I need to pee. I test my limbs. My right arm smarts, and I notice the IV attached to it on the inside of my elbow. I shut my eyes quickly. Turning my head—I’m pleased that it responds to my will—I open my eyes again. Christian is asleep, sitting beside me and leaning on my bed with his head on his folded arms. I reach out, grateful once more that my body responds, and run my fingers through his soft hair.
He startles awake, raising his head so suddenly that my hand falls weakly back onto the bed.
“Hi,” I croak.
“Oh, Ana.” His voice is choked and relieved. He grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly and holding it up against his rough, stubbled cheek.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I whisper.
He gapes, then frowns at me for a moment. “Okay.”
I struggle to sit up.
“Ana, stay still. I’ll call a nurse.” He quickly stands, alarmed, and reaches for a buzzer on the bedside.
“Please,” I whisper. Why do I ache everywhere? “I need to get up.” Jeez, I feel so weak.
“Will you do as you’re told for once?” he snaps, exasperated.
“I really need to pee,” I rasp. My throat and mouth are so dry.
A nurse bustles into the room. She must be in her fifties, though her hair is jet black. She wears overlarge pearl earrings.
“Mrs. Grey, welcome back. I’ll let Dr. Bartley know you’re awake.” She makes her way to my bedside. “My name is Nora. Do you know where you are?”
“Yes. Hospital. I need to pee.”
“You have a catheter.”
What? Oh, this is gross. I glance anxiously at Christian, then back to the nurse.
“Please. I want to get up.”
“Mrs. Grey.”
“Please.”
“Ana,” Christian warns. I struggle to sit up once more.
“Let me remove your catheter. Mr. Grey, I am sure Mrs. Grey would like some privacy.” She looks pointedly at Christian, dismissing him.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He glares back at her.
“Christian, please,” I whisper, reaching out and grasping his hand. Briefly he squeezes my hand, then gives me an exasperated look. “Please,” I beg.
“Fine!” he snaps and runs his hand through his hair. “You have two minutes,” he hisses at the nurse, and he leans down and kisses my forehead before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
CHRISTIAN BURSTS BACK INTO the room two minutes later as Nurse Nora is helping me out of bed. I’m dressed in a thin hospital gown. I don’t remember being stripped.
“Let me take her,” he says and strides toward us.
“Mr. Grey, I can manage,” Nurse Nora scolds him.
He gives her a hostile glare. “Damn it, she’s my wife. I’ll take her,” he says through gritted teeth as he moves the IV stand out of his way.
“Mr. Grey!” she protests.
He ignores her, leans down, and gently lifts me off the bed. I wrap my arms around his neck, my body complaining. Jeez, I ache everywhere. He carries me to the en suite bathroom while Nurse Nora follows us, pushing the IV stand.
“Mrs. Grey, you’re too light,” he mutters disapprovingly as he sets me gently on my feet. I sway. My legs feel like Jell-O. Christian flips the light switch, and I’m momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lamp that pings and flickers to life.
“Sit before you fall,” he snaps, still holding me.
Tentatively, I sit down on the toilet.
“Go.” I try to wave him out.
“No. Just pee, Ana.”
Could this be any more embarrassing? “I can’t, not with you here.”
“Mr. Grey!”
We both ignore the nurse.
“Please,” I beg.
He raises his hands in defeat. “I’ll stand outside, door open.” He takes a couple of paces back until he’s standing just outside the door with the angry nurse.
“Turn around, please,” I ask. Why do I feel so ridiculously shy with this man? He rolls his eyes but complies. And when his back is turned … I let go, and savor the relief.
I take stock of my injuries. My head hurts, my chest aches where Jack kicked me, and my side throbs where he pushed me to the ground. Plus I’m thirsty and hungry. Jeez, really hungry. I finish up, thankful that I don’t have to get up to wash my hands, as the sink is close. I just don’t have the strength to stand.
“I’m done,” I call, drying my hands on the towel.
Christian turns and comes back in and before I know it, I’m in his arms again. I have missed these arms. He pauses and buries his nose in my hair.
“Oh, I’ve missed you, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers, and with Nurse Nora fussing behind him, he lays me back on the bed and releases me—reluctantly, I think.
“If you’ve quite finished, Mr. Grey, I’d like to check over Mrs. Grey now.” Nurse Nora is mad.
He stands back. “She’s all yours,” he says in a more measured tone.
She huffs at him and then turns her attention back to me.
Exasperating isn’t he?
“How do you feel?” she asks me, her voice laced with sympathy and a trace of irritation, which I suspect is for Christian’s benefit.
“Sore and thirsty. Very thirsty,” I whisper.
“I’ll fetch you some water once I’ve checked your vitals and Dr. Bartley has examined you.”
She reaches for a blood pressure cuff and wraps it around my upper arm. I glance anxiously up at Christian. He looks dreadful—haunted, even—as if he hasn’t slept for days. His hair is a mess, he hasn’t shaved for a long time, and his shirt is badly wrinkled. I frown.
“How are you feeling?” Ignoring the nurse, he sits down on the bed out of arm’s reach.
“Confused. Achy. Hungry.”
“Hungry?” He blinks in surprise.
I nod.
“What do you want to eat?”
“Anything. Soup.”
“Mr. Grey, you’ll need the doctor’s approval before Mrs. Grey can eat.”
He gazes at her impassively for a moment, then takes his BlackBerry out of his pants pocket and presses a number.
“Ana wants chicken soup … Good … Thank you.” He hangs up.
I glance at Nora, whose eyes narrow at Christian.
“Taylor?” I ask quickly.
Christian nods.
“Your blood pressure is normal, Mrs. Grey. I’ll fetch the doctor.” She removes the cuff and, without so much as another word, stalks out of the room, radiating disapproval.
“I think you made Nurse Nora mad.”
“I have that effect on women.” He smirks.
I laugh, then stop suddenly as pain radiates through my chest. “Yes, you do.”
“Oh, Ana, I love to hear you laugh.”
Nora returns with a pitcher of water. We both fall silent, gazing at each other as she pours out a glass and hands it to me.
“Small sips now,” she warns.
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter and take a welcome sip of cool water. Oh my. It tastes perfect. I take another, and Christian watches me intently.
“Mia?” I ask.
“She’s safe. Thanks to you.”
“Yes.”
All the madness was for a reason. Relief spirals through my body. Thank God, thank God, thank God she’s okay. I frown.
“How did they get her?”
“Elizabeth Morgan,” he says simply.
“No!”
He nods. “She picked her up at Mia’s gym.”
I frown, still not understanding.
“Ana, I’ll fill you in on the details later. Mia is fine, all things considered. She was drugged. She’s groggy now and shaken up, but by some miracle she wasn’t harmed.” Christian’s jaw clenches. “What you did”—he runs his hand through his hair—“was incredibly brave and incredibly stupid. You could have been killed.” His eyes blaze a bleak, chilling gray, and I know he’s restraining his anger.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.
“You could have told me!” he says vehemently, fisting his hands in his lap.
“He said he’d kill her if I told anyone. I couldn’t take that risk.”
Christian closes his eyes, dread etched in his face.
“I have died a thousand deaths since Thursday.”
Thursday?
“What day is it?”
“It’s almost Saturday,” he says, checking his watch. “You’ve been unconscious for more than twenty-four hours.”
Oh.
“And Jack and Elizabeth?”
“In police custody. Although Hyde is here under guard. They had to remove the bullet you left in him,” Christian says bitterly. “I don’t know where in this hospital he is, fortunately, or I’d probably kill him myself.” His face darkens.
Oh shit. Jack is here?
“That’s for SIP you fucking bitch!” I pale. My empty stomach convulses, tears prick my eyes, and a deep shudder runs through me.
“Hey.” Christian scoots forward, his voice filled with concern. Taking the glass from my hand, he tenderly folds me into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice hoarse.
“Christian, I’m so sorry.” My tears start to fall.
“Hush.” He strokes my hair, and I weep into his neck.
“What I said. I was never going to leave you.”
“Hush, baby, I know.”
“You do?” His admission halts my tears.
“I worked it out. Eventually. Honestly, Ana, what were you thinking?” His tone is strained.
“You took me by surprise,” I mutter into his shirt collar. “When we spoke at the bank. Thinking I was leaving you. I thought you knew me better. I’ve said to you over and over I would never leave.”
“But after the appalling way I’ve behaved—” His voice is barely audible, and his arms tighten around me. “I thought for a short time that I’d lost you.”
“No, Christian. Never. I didn’t want you to interfere and put Mia’s life in danger.”
He sighs, and I don’t know if it’s from anger, exasperation, or hurt.
“How did you work it out?” I ask quickly to distract him from his line of thought.
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I’d just touched down in Seattle when the bank called. Last I’d heard, you were ill and going home.”
“So you were in Portland when Sawyer called you from the car?”
“We were just about to take off. I was worried about you,” he says softly.
“You were?”
He frowns. “Of course I was.” He skirts his thumb over my bottom lip. “I spend my life worrying about you. You know that.” Oh, Christian!
“Jack called me at the office,” I murmur. “He gave me two hours to get the money.” I shrug. “I had to leave, and it just seemed the best excuse.”
Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line. “And you gave Sawyer the slip. He’s mad at you, as well.”
“As well?”
“As well as me.”