Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,59

like he’s asleep.

“It’s been a pleasure, sir.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and even in the surrounding darkness I notice the amused crinkles in the corners. I take my phone out of my jacket pocket.

No messages.

“Have you heard from Sawyer or Reynolds?”

“Yes, sir,” Taylor responds. “Miss Steele and Miss Kavanagh are still out.”

What? I check my watch. It’s after one o’clock in the morning.

“Where is she?” I swallow my alarm and glance at a comatose Elliot.

“At a nightclub.”

“Which one?”

“Trinity.”

“Pioneer Square?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take me there.”

Taylor’s eyes flick to mine, his expression doubtful.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” I ask.

“No, sir.”

Damn.

Count to ten, Grey.

I remember the one and only time I’ve been in a nightclub with Ana was at that bar in Portland, where she was celebrating her final exams.

She got so drunk she passed out.

In my arms.

Shit.

“Sir, Sawyer and Reynolds are with her.”

This is true.

Put yourself in her shoes. Flynn’s words nag me.

This is her night. With her friends.

Grey, leave her be.

“Okay, take us back to Escala.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hope I’ve made the right decision.

I rouse Elliot as we pull into the underground garage at Escala.

“Wake up, we’re here.”

“I wanna go home. But if you wanna nightcap or something, I’m up for it.” He can barely open his eyes.

“Taylor will take you home, Elliot.”

“I’d like to see you into the apartment first, Mr. Grey,” Taylor says.

“Okay.” I sigh, knowing that he’s still in mother-hen mode, concerned about my safety. He parks beside the elevator and climbs out of the car.

Elliot opens his eyes. “I’ll stay in the car,” he mutters. I reach over to shake his hand, but he grabs it, forcibly. “Fuck off with your fucking handshake,” he grumbles, and tugs me into an awkward embrace, which is clumsy and male and…welcome.

“Don’t crease the suit,” I warn, feeling oddly touched by his gesture. He releases me.

“Good night, bro.”

I slap his knee. “Thanks again. Do you need the stuff you left here?”

“I’ll be back Friday night for the rehearsal dinner.”

“Okay. Good night, Lelliot.”

He grins and closes his eyes.

Taylor accompanies me up to the penthouse.

“You know you don’t have to do this, Taylor.”

“It’s my job, sir.” He looks straight ahead.

“Are you armed?”

Taylor’s eyes flick in my direction. “Yes, sir.”

I loathe firearms; I wonder if he took the gun to Canada and, if so, how he got it through security, but I don’t want to know the gory details.

Plausible deniability.

“Why don’t you ask Ryan to take Elliot home? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m good, Mr. Grey.”

“Thank you again for your part in all the organization of today.”

He turns to me with a warm smile. “It was a pleasure.”

The doors to the penthouse open and I wander in. Ryan is standing, waiting for me.

“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

“Ryan, hi. All quiet tonight?”

“Yes, sir. Nothing to report. Do you need anything?”

“No. I’m fine. Good night.” I leave him in the foyer and amble into the kitchen. From the fridge I pull a bottle of sparkling mineral water, unscrew the top, and start to drink directly from the bottle.

My apartment is quiet. The low hum of the fridge and the distant rumble of traffic are the only sounds I hear. The place feels empty.

Because Ana’s not here.

My footsteps echo across the room as I meander to the window. The moon is high, and it shines in a clear night sky with the promise of another halcyon day, like today. Ana is near, under the same moon. She’ll be home soon. Surely. I lean my forehead against the glass. It’s cool, but not cold. As I let out a long sigh, my breath mists the pane.

Shit.

I saw her a few hours ago, and yet I’m missing her.

For fuck’s sake, Grey. You’ve got it bad. Pull yourself together.

I’ve had the most fulfilling day. Carefree. Adventurous. Sociable.

Flynn would be proud. I remember when we first sailed on The Grace, Ana asked me if I had any friends. Well, now I can say yes. Maybe.

I don’t understand why I’m suddenly feeling despondent; a familiar sense of loneliness is creeping into my psyche. I recognize its key ingredients: the emptiness, the longing, like I’m missing something. I’ve not felt it since I was a teenager.

Hell.

I haven’t felt lonely for years. I’ve had my family, though I’ve kept them at a distance. And there was Elena, of course, and I’ve been content with my own company and the occasional company of my submissives.

But now, without Ana here, I’m lost.

Her absence is an ache—a scar on my soul.

The silence is becoming intolerable.

I would