Freed

by James, E L

  It’s weird, I never do this. It’s only when Elliot drags me out, usually with his friends—of whom there are many—that I get to enjoy the company of men my own age. Elliot is a social glue, sticking us all together and never letting the conversation lag. He’s such a people person. Our conversation moves, inevitably to the Mariners, then the Seahawks. We’re all fans, it would seem, of both teams. By the end of the second round we’ve all relaxed into one another’s company, and I’m enjoying myself.

  “Okay. Drink up. Next stop,” Elliot announces.

  Taylor is waiting outside in the SUV.

  Ethan is already buzzed. This could get interesting. I’m tempted to ask him about Mia but part of me doesn’t want to know.

  The next venue is in Yaletown, a district renowned for redeveloped old warehouses that now house hip bars and restaurants. Taylor drops us at a nightclub where dance music pulses into the street even though it’s still relatively early. Inside the dark industrial interior, the bar is doing brisk business and we have a table in the VIP area. I stick with beer, while Ethan and Mac scan the room, I think to check out the local talent.

  “You’re not interested?” I ask Elliot.

  He laughs. “Not tonight, hotshot.” He side-eyes Ethan, and I wonder if he’s holding back the “Big E” because Kate’s brother is here.

  I glance at my watch, curious to know what Ana is doing, and I’m tempted to call Sawyer. Frankly, there’s only so much socializing I can tolerate, but our conversation turns to the new house.

  After another two rounds Elliot has us on the move again.

  Taylor is ready with the SUV, and he drives us to the next venue.

  A strip club.

  Shit.

  “Dude, don’t get uptight. This stop is in the bachelor-party rule book.” Ethan claps his hands, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. I think he’s just as uncomfortable as I am.

  “Do not under any circumstances buy me a lap dance,” I warn Elliot. And I’m reminded of a time, not too long ago, when I was in the dark depths of a private club in Seattle.

  Where anything goes.

  That was a lifetime ago.

  Elliot laughs. “What happens in Vancouver stays in Vancouver.” He winks at me as we’re led to another VIP table. This time my brother has ordered a bottle of vodka, which arrives with ceremony: sparklers and a chorus of women in short red skirts and bikini tops that barely cover their nipples, who are all cheers and enthusiastic applause. I worry for a moment that they’re going to sit down with us, but once the shot glasses are lined up, they move on.

  There are beautiful women everywhere. I watch one, a lithe blonde with dark eyes. She starts to remove her clothes with athletic grace, while doing various gymnastic moves and poses on the pole. I can’t help thinking that if she were a man, this would be an Olympic sport.

  Mac is mesmerized, and I wonder if he has a partner.

  “No, I’m single. Looking,” he says when I ask. His eyes return to the energetic blonde. I nod, but I’m at a loss as to what to say, because I’m in no position to offer any relationship advice. I’m still amazed that Ana has consented to be mine. In fact, she’s consented to a great many things.

  I smirk as my mind catapults to thoughts of the Red Room last weekend.

  Yeah.

  The memory has an arousing effect on my body. I take out my phone.

  “No,” Elliot says. “Put it away.”

  “My phone?”

  We both laugh. And I sink a shot of vodka.

  “Let’s go somewhere else,” I say.

  “You don’t like it here?”

  “No.”

  “Jesus, you’re one uptight motherfucker.”

  Dude, this is not my scene.

  “Okay. We have one more stop. This was the traditional, customary part of your bachelor party. You know, it’s the unwritten law.”

  “I don’t think Ana would be very impressed.”

  Ethan claps me on the back and I freeze. “So don’t tell her.”

  And something in his tone puts my hackles up. “Are you fucking my sister?”

  Ethan jerks his head back as if I’ve hit him. Shocked, he raises both his hands. “No. No. Dude, no offense. She’s attractive and all, but she’s just a friend.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  He laughs, nervously, I think, and downs two shots of vodka.

  My work here is done.

  “You going to frighten off all her would-be boyfriends?” Elliot asks.

  “Maybe.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Let’s get you out of here. This place is doing nothing for your mood.”

  “Okay.”

  We ditch the vodka and I leave an obscene cash tip on the table.

  Back in the SUV, my humor is restored. Taylor’s at the wheel and we’re heading out of downtown Vancouver, in the direction of the airport.

  But we don’t go back to the plane. Taylor pulls up outside a sprawling, nondescript hotel-and-casino complex that flanks the Fraser River.

  “Marriage is a gamble,” Elliot says with a grin.

  “Life is a gamble, dude. But this is more my scene.”

  “I figured. You always beat me at cards,” he responds. “How are you still sober?”

  “It’s just math, Elliot. I haven’t had that much to drink, and right now, I’m grateful.”

  Elliot and Ethan head for the craps and roulette tables, while Mac favors the blackjack and I the poker table.

  There’s a respectful but expectant hush in the room. I am $118,000 up, and this is the last game I’m going to play. It’s getting late; behind me, Elliot is watching. I don’t know where Ethan and Mac are. The final hand is in play, and both players beside me fold in turn. I have two jacks, and because this is the final game and I’m on a roll, I raise, and toss $16,000 worth of chips into the pot. The opponent on my left, a woman who must be in her fifties, folds immediately. “I’ve got nothing,” she grumbles.

  My remaining opponent—who reminds me of my dad—glances at me, then back at his cards, and carefully, counting out chips, he matches my bet.

  Game on, Grey.

  The dealer collects the folded cards and briskly lays out the flop.

  Hallelujah.

  A jack and a pair of nines. I have a full house.

  I stare impassively at my rival as he fidgets, checks his cards once more, his lively, dark eyes flitting to me and back to his cards. He swallows.

  He’s got jack shit.

  “Check,” my challenger says.

  Showtime, Grey.

  Slowly, for full effect, I tap my finger on the green baize, then gather my chips together and place $50,000 into the pot. “Raise,” I state.

  The dealer responds, “Fifty-thousand-dollar raise.”

  My opponent huffs, picks up his cards, and tosses them in disgust into the center of the table. Inside, I’m dancing. I’ve made $134K. Not bad for forty-five minutes of play.

  “I’m done,” says the lady beside me, and she nods in my direction.

  “Thanks for the game. I’ve got to go, too.” I toss a generous chip to the dealer as a tip, gather the rest of my winnings, and stand.

  “Good night.”

  Elliot steps forward and helps me with my chips.

  “You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” he says.

  Just before midnight, we board the plane.

  “I’ll have an Armagnac, Sara, thank you.”

  “Now you start drinking!” Elliot exclaims.

  “We all came out on top,” Mac observes. “Must be your luck rubbing off on us, Christian.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” says Ethan.

  I smile, settling into the plush leather of my seat. Yes. My win is a good omen. What a great way to end a most enjoyable evening.

>   Sunday, July 24, 2011

  As we begin our descent into Boeing Field I reach for my seat belt and chuckle to myself. I’ve spent most of today buckling and unbuckling.

  Elliot, sitting opposite me, looks up. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to say thank you. For today. It’s been amazing.”

  Elliot glances at his watch. “Technically, it was yesterday.”

  “I had a blast. You’ve acquitted yourself well as best man. Your one remaining duty is to make a speech. Doesn’t have to be a long one.”

  Elliot pales. “Dude. Don’t remind me.”

  “Yeah.” I make a face. “I’ve still got to write my vows.”

  “Shit. That’s heavy.” He’s horrified. “But this time next week it’ll all be over. You’ll be married.”

  “Yeah. And on this plane.”

  “Cool. Where are you taking Ana?”

  “Europe. But it’s a surprise. She’s never left the U.S.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. I never thought that I, I would…I can’t…” My voice trails off as a sudden unexpected surge of emotion sweeps over me. Is it fear, exhilaration, anxiety, or happiness? I don’t know, but it’s overwhelming.

  Fuck. I’m getting married.

  Elliot frowns. “Dude, why? You’re a good-looking guy. You’re a douche, but, hey, that’s because you’re a master of the universe with a big swinging dick.” He shakes his head. “I never understood why you weren’t interested in any of Mia’s friends. They were always crushing on you. Man, I thought you were gay.” He shrugs.

  I smile, knowing my whole family thought I was gay. “I was just waiting for the right woman.”

  “I think you found her.” His expression softens, but there’s a wistful look in his vivid blue eyes.

  “I think I have.”

  “Love suits you,” Elliot says, and I roll my eyes at him, because it’s possibly the sappiest thing he’s ever said to me.

  “Get a room, boys,” Mac exclaims, and we touch down on the tarmac.

  “I’m never going to let you forget that you’re the only groom in the Pacific Northwest who remained sober at his own bachelor party.”

  I laugh. “Well, I’m just grateful I’m not handcuffed naked to a lamppost somewhere in Vegas.”

  “Dude, if I ever get married, that’s exactly how I’d like to finish my bachelor party!” Elliot says.

  “I’ll make a mental note.”

  Elliot laughs. “Time to wake Ethan.”

  Taylor is at the wheel of the Q7, driving Elliot and me back to Escala. Mac and Ethan, after some backslapping good-byes, have already left in a waiting cab. “Thanks for this evening, Taylor,” I say as I stretch out in the back. Elliot looks 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 n
ot 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 have thought after all the noise of this evening—the bars, the night club, the casino floor—I would welcome some quiet.

  But no.

  The silence is oppressive, and it’s making me melancholy.

  Fuck this.

  I stalk over to the piano, lift the lid, and settle onto the stool. Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I place my hands on the keys, enjoying the grounding feel of the ivory beneath my fingertips. I begin to play the first piece that comes to mind; the Bach-Marcello, and I’m soon lost in the morose melody that perfectly reflects my mood. The second time through the composition I’m distracted by a noise.

  “Shh…”

  I look up, and Ana is standing by the kitchen counter, swaying slightly. She’s carrying her strappy high heels in one hand and she’s wearing what looks like a plastic tiara that may have perched on the top of her head at one time, but is now looking decidedly lopsided. A sash with the word bride in an elaborate serif hangs over her shimmering black dress. She has her index finger at her lips.

  She is without doubt the most beautiful girl in the world.

  And I’m delighted she’s home.

  Behind her, Sawyer and Reynolds are stony-faced. Rising from the stool, I tip my chin at them in thanks. They smile as one and leave us.

  Ana turns and stumbles a little to watch them leave. “Bye!” she almost shouts, and waves them away with a wide sweep of her arm.

  She’s clearly intoxicated.

  Turning back to face me, she rewards me with the biggest, warmest, most drunken smile and stumbles toward me. “Mr. Christian Grey!”

  I catch her before she falls and fold her into my arms, and she gazes up at me with unfocused joy. Her expression feeds my soul. “Miss Anastasia Steele. How lovely to see you. Did you have fun?”

  “The best!”