Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian

Chapter 233

When I wake, it takes me a moment to remember that I’m in Ana’s hospital bed. She slumbers at my

side, facing me, her head on the pillow. Eyes closed, lips parted, her cheek pale except for the faint

purple blemish from Hyde’s cruel blow. The sight of it twists my gut in anger.

Don’t dwell, Grey.

She’s here. She’s safe.

I blink the sleep from my eyes, feeling rested but grimy. I’m in dire need of a shower, a shave, and

clean clothes. My watch says 6:20 a.m. I have time. Now that Ana’s back in the world of the living, I

don’t mind leaving her for a little while. With any luck, she’ll continue to sleep until I return. Carefully, so Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

as not to wake her, I slide out of bed and slip on my shoes. I brush my lips to her forehead in the

semblance of a kiss, then grab my phone, charger, and jacket and tiptoe out of the room as if I’m

fleeing a crime scene.

I’m doing the walk of shame.

The thought amuses me.

We’re married, for fuck’s sake.

Fortunately, Nora and her colleagues are not at the nurses’ station, so my escape is unnoticed.

It’s my lucky day—there’s a cab waiting at the entrance of the hospital, and no photographers. And

because it’s early, I make good time to Escala. By the time the elevator doors open to the penthouse,

my mood is buoyant.

Taylor is in the foyer, on his way out. He steps back, mouth open, surprised to see me, but he recovers

quickly. “Mr. Grey. Welcome back.”

“Good morning, Taylor.”

“I would have picked you up—I was bringing you a change of clothes as per Mrs. Grey’s instructions,

and The Seattle Times.” He brandishes a leather duffel.

“It’s fine. I need a shower. We’ll head back when I’m done.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll ask Sawyer to join us.”

“We’ll pick up some breakfast for her on the way.”

He nods.

The steaming water cascades over me.

Washing away my sins.

Damn. After all that I’ve done, I wish it were that simple. And to cap it off, Ana wants to know everything

about my discussion with Elena. What the hell am I going to tell her?

The truth, Grey.

She’s not going to like it. But I owe her that, especially considering my recent awful behavior. My

effervescent humor fizzles and dies. While I shave, I contemplate the asshole who stares back at me in

the mirror.

You owe her more than that.

After all that Ana’s done for you.

She saved your sister.

She saved YOU.

I close my eyes.

It’s true. This woman has disarmed me at every turn. She’s broken through all my barriers, cracked me

wide open, and shined her light inside. She doesn’t take any of my shit. She’s driven out my darkness

like the warrior she is—and offered me hope because she loves me. I know it.

And she’s carrying my child.

Fuck. A child.

The gray-eyed asshole stares back at me, bewildered.

She’s done all of this for the simple reason that she loves me, and because she’s a decent human.

And how do I treat her?

Badly doesn’t cover it, Grey.

Her words haunt me. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That’s what any loving parent does.

That’s what your mother should have done for you. And I’m sorry that she didn’t—because we wouldn’t

be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now. You need to grow up and

smell the fucking coffee, and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.

And I thought she was leaving me.

I wipe my face.

Make this right, Grey.

On the way to the hospital, we stop and Taylor hurries into the café that he phoned for takeout. He

returns with what looks like a breakfast feast for Ana; I hope she’s hungry. Sawyer pulls up at the

entrance to the hospital, but when I climb out of the car, I’m ambushed by a couple of photographers,

who start snapping away.

“How’s your wife, Mr. Grey?”

“Mr. Grey, will you be pressing charges?”

I ignore the assholes and dart inside the lobby. Taylor follows, carrying Ana’s breakfast.

We head to the nurses’ kitchen on Ana’s ward, where we lay out her breakfast on a tray. Damn, why

didn’t I bring a small vase, and I could steal a flower from one of the many bouquets she’s received. It

would go some way toward an apology.

“Sir,” says Taylor, as I lift the loaded tray, “before she left, Gail made Mrs. Grey’s favorite chicken stew,

if I need to bring that in later for lunch, sir.”

“Good to know. I’m hoping I can take her home this morning.”

Taylor nods his affirmation and pushes open the door to Ana’s room to let me in, and I’m hoping for a

warm welcome.

She’s gone.

Shit.

“Ana!” I shout as my heart catapults into overdrive.

“I’m in the bathroom!”

Oh, thank God.

Taylor bursts through the door, as alarmed as I was. “We’re good,” I reassure him, and he steps out

again, presumably to sit in the corridor. I place the food on Ana’s rolling tray and wait, again, for Mrs.

Grey…patiently, this time. A moment later she appears and rewards me with a broad grin—I’m relieved

to see her up and about.

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