Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,198

Hell. I hang up and listen to her voice mail. Her tone is crisp and concise, her doctor’s voice. “Christian, I don’t have much information on your father-in-law. I know he’s in the OR and has been there for some time. He’s in serious condition. We’ll find out more when they’re finished with him. I don’t have a time yet. If you’re at the hospital, call me.”

I scowl at my phone. My mother’s message is disturbing; serious does not sound good. “Taylor, we may have to stay overnight. Can you pick up some essentials for Ana and me?”

“Toiletries?”

“Yes. And a change of clothes or two. For both of us. Casual attire. Please.”

“Yes, sir.”

I call Andrea and she picks up on the first ring. “Mr. Grey.”

“Andrea, we may need to stay in Portland tonight. Check that The Heathman has a suite.”

“Will do. Shall I courier your laptop to you?”

“I have it. Taylor picked it up.”

Shit. It’s Ana’s birthday tomorrow.

“Call Mrs. Jones. I’m not sure we’ll be able to make dinner tomorrow. I’ll update her later.”

“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.

“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