Freed

by James, E L

  I’m on the edge of a dark maelstrom.

  Teetering over it.

  I fist my hand beneath my chin as I gaze at my beautiful wife, floundering for something to say as I fight the current to swim away from the pain. “No,” I whisper.

  Ana’s tears spill down her cheeks. “Yes. You did. Of course you did. It wasn’t an option. That’s why you’re so hurt.”

  All the air has left the room and my body.

  I’m being sucked down.

  “That’s why you’re able to love me,” she says. “Forgive her. She had her own world of pain to deal with. She was a shitty mother, and you loved her.”

  I’m lost in the vortex. It’s choking me.

  Hey, Maggot. Shall we bake a cake?

  Mommy smiles and ruffles my hair.

  Here you go. Mommy gives me a brush.

  She smiles down at me. Mommy is pretty.

  She has long hair. She’s singing. Happy.

  There you go, Grey.

  There were happy times…“I used to brush her hair. She was pretty.”

  “One look at you and no one would doubt that.”

  “She was a shitty mother.”

  Ana nods, her tearful eyes brimming with compassion.

  I close my eyes and confess. “I’m scared I’ll be a shitty father.”

  Ana’s fingers skim over my face, reassuring me. “Christian, do you think for one minute I’d let you be a shitty father?”

  I open my eyes and stare at her.

  And there it is…the Anastasia Steele glint.

  So aptly named.

  My warrior, fighting for me, with me, against me…for our child.

  She takes my breath away.

  I grin. In awe. “No, I don’t think you would.” I stroke her face. “God, you’re strong, Mrs. Grey. I love you so much.” I kiss her forehead. “I didn’t know I could.”

  “Oh, Christian,” she whispers.

  “Now, that’s the end of your bedtime story.”

  “That’s some story.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “My head?”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I think you should sleep now.”

  Ana is not convinced.

  “Sleep,” I exclaim. “You need it.”

  “I have one question,” Ana says.

  “Oh? What?”

  “Why have you suddenly become all…forthcoming, for want of a better word? You’re telling me all this, when getting information out of you is normally a pretty harrowing and trying experience.”

  “It is?”

  “You know it is.”

  “Why am I being forthcoming? I can’t say. Seeing you practically dead on the cold concrete, maybe.” I flinch, remembering Ana on the ground outside that derelict warehouse where Hyde was holding my sister. It’s traumatic so I turn my thoughts in a happier direction, to Junior. “The fact I’m going to be a father. I don’t know. You said you wanted to know, and I don’t want Elena to come between us. She can’t. She’s the past, and I’ve said that to you so many times.”

  “If she hadn’t made a pass at you, would you still be friends?” Ana asks.

  “That’s more than one question.”

  “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.” She blushes, and it’s good to see some color in her cheeks. “You’ve already volunteered more than I ever thought you would.”

  “No, I don’t think so, but she’s felt like unfinished business since my birthday. She stepped over the line, and I’m done. Please, believe me. I’m not going to see her again. You said she’s a hard limit for you. That’s a term I understand.”

  Ana smiles. “Good night, Christian. Thank you for the enlightening bedtime story.” She leans over and touches her lips to mine, her tongue teasing me. My body ignites, and I pull away.

  “Don’t. I am desperate to make love to you,” I whisper through my desire.

  “Then do.”

  “No, you need to rest, and it’s late. Go to sleep.” I switch off the bedside light and we’re surrounded by the darkness.

  “I love you unconditionally, Christian,” Ana whispers, as she snuggles up to me.

  “I know,” I whisper, bathing in her light.

  You…and my parents.

  Unconditionally.

  Sunday, September 18, 2011

  It’s almost midnight. Apart from some exercise, I’ve enjoyed a quiet day with my wife; our only excursion has been to see Ray, who is definitely on the mend. Other than that, I’ve insisted that Ana stay in bed and rest. She’s acquiesced but has been reading a couple of manuscripts, and no amount of cajoling on my part could persuade her otherwise.

  Mrs. Jones has returned from her sister’s, and this evening she prepared a hearty three-course meal for the two of us. She seems as anxious for Ana’s well-being as I am.

  Ana fell asleep just after ten.

  I’ve caught up on work, and now I’m poring over the notes that Mrs. Collier wrote to my mother and father while I was in her care. She has a neat and tidy hand, and her words spark small reminiscences that cast light into the dark corners of my memory.

  Kristian won’t let me wash him, but he does know how to wash himself. It has taken two baths to get him clean and I’ve had to teach him how to wash his hair. He will not tolerate us touching him at all.

  Kristian had a better day today. He still refuses to talk. We don’t know if he can or if he’s unable. He has a temper, though. The other kids are quite scared of him.

  Kristian still doesn’t let any of us touch him. He has a meltdown if we do.

  Kristian is hungry. He has a huge appetite for such a skinny little kid. His favorites are pasta and ice cream.

  Our daughter, Phoebe, has taken a shine to Kristian. She dotes on him, and he’s tolerating her attention. She sits and draws with him. I don’t think he’s had a great deal of experience drawing.

  Where Phoebe goes, Kristian will follow.

  Today Kristian had a meltdown. He does not like to be parted from his blanket. But it’s filthy. I let him sit and watch it in the washing machine. This seemed to be the only thing that calmed him down.

  The memories flare and flicker to the surface in fits and starts, but it’s the feeling of being overwhelmed that resonates most with me. I was in a strange place, with a strange family—it must have been horribly bewildering. No wonder I chose to forget that time. But, having read through the notes, I know I didn’t come to any harm there and I do remember Phoebe. She would sing to me. Silly songs. She was kind and especially sweet to me.

  I’m grateful that my parents kept these letters. They remind me just how far removed I am from that frightened little boy. I am not him anymore. He no longer exists.

  I contemplate sharing these with Ana, then remember her reaction to the photographs. Her sorrow as she gazed at that starved, neglected child. And they’d remind of her that asshole Hyde…and how much he and I have in common.

  To hell with that.

  She’s had enough to contend with over the last few days.

  I tuck the letters, drawings, and the photographs into a manilla folder marked KRISTIAN and file them safely away in my filing cabinet for another day. Maybe when she’s fully recovered. Besides, I need to talk this through with Flynn, and I should do that before I share them with Ana. She’s my wife, not my therapist.

  I lock the filing cabinet and check the time.

  It’s late, and Ana is dozing when I slip into bed and pull her into my arms. She mumbles something unintelligible while I breathe in her soothing scent and close my eyes.

  My dream catcher.

  Monday, September 19, 2011

  Ana is curled up beside me, still out for the count. It’s 7:16 a.m. I’m normally up earlier, but the last few
days have taken a toll on me, too. It could also be the workout I did yesterday. Not only did I go for a run, but I did two circuits of the gym and an hour’s hard rowing. I smile at the ceiling while I contemplate going for another run this morning. I have all this excess energy.

  Perhaps I should let Ana have her wicked way with me.

  The thought is appealing.

  Fuck.

  Too appealing.

  Taking a deep breath, I bring my wayward body to heel, grab my phone, and ease myself out of bed. Maybe I’ll come back when she’s awake. Right now, I’m hungry.

  “Good morning, Mr. Grey.” Gail is in the kitchen; if she’s surprised that I’m still in my pajamas, she doesn’t give anything away. She moves straight to the Gaggia to make my coffee.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Jones.”

  “How’s Mrs. Grey this morning?”

  “Still asleep.”

  She nods with a satisfied smile. “What can I get you?”

  “An omelet. Please.”

  “Bacon, mushroom, and cheese?”

  “Sounds great.” She slides over a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

  I start leafing through The Seattle Times, glad that my wife isn’t on the front page, and wonder what Ana and I will do today, when I spot the real estate section.

  Of course!

  “Gail.” I get her attention once more. “Depending on how Ana’s feeling, I thought we might go out to the new house later. Could you rustle up a picnic for us?”

  “It would be a pleasure, sir. I’ll ask Taylor to take it down to the R8 when it’s ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  I call Andrea to inform her I’m not coming into the office and ask her to reschedule any of today’s meetings. She’s unfazed. “Yes, Mr. Grey. How is Mrs. Grey?” she asks tentatively.

  “Much improved. Thank you.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “I’ll be on my cell today, if you need me.”

  My omelet is everything that I hoped it would be. I am happily eating when I look up. Ana has appeared in the doorway. She looks well rested; the bruise on her cheek has faded but she’s fully dressed, as if she’s going out somewhere. She’s wearing a skirt that borders on indecent—she’s all legs and high fuck-me heels. I lose my train of thought.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Going somewhere?” I’m hoarse.

  “Work.” She throws me a smile that illuminates the room.

  I scoff at her audacity. “I don’t think so. Dr. Singh said a week off.”

  “Christian, I’m not spending the day lounging in bed on my own.” She flashes me a quick, heated look, which I feel in all the right places. “So, I may as well go to work. Good morning, Gail.”

  “Mrs. Grey.” Mrs. Jones flattens her lips, attempting to hide her amusement. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “Please.”

  “Granola?”

  “I’d prefer scrambled eggs with whole-wheat toast.”

  “Very good, Mrs. Grey,” Gail replies, with a broad grin.

  “Ana, you are not going to work.” I’m amused that she thinks she should.

  “But—”

  “No. It’s simple. Don’t argue.” I’m your boss’s boss, and the answer is no.

  She narrows her eyes, but her glare becomes a frown as she scrutinizes my attire. “Are you going to work?”

  I shake my head and glance down at my pajama pants. “No.”

  “It is Monday, right?”

  I grin. “Last time I looked.”

  “Are you playing hooky?” From her tone, I think she’s intrigued and slightly incredulous.

  “I’m not leaving you here on your own to get into trouble. And Dr. Singh said it would be a week before you could go back to work. Remember?”

  She sits down on the barstool beside me, her skirt riding up higher, exposing her upper thighs, and I lose my train of thought…again. “You look good,” I murmur, and she crosses her legs. “Very good. Especially here.” I cannot resist running my finger across the exposed skin between her stocking tops and the hem of her skirt. “This skirt is very short,” I murmur.

  I can’t keep my eyes off your legs, Mrs. Grey.

  I’m not sure I approve.

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Ana waves a nonchalant hand.

  Yanking my gaze away from her legs, I look her in the eye. Her cheeks color; she’s such a hopeless liar. “Really, Mrs. Grey?” I raise a brow. “I’m not sure this look is suitable for the workplace.”

  “Well, since I’m not going to work, that’s a moot point,” she says stiffly.

  “Moot?”

  “Moot,” she mouths, and I hide my smile.

  There’s that word again. I take another bite of my omelet. “I have a better idea.”

  “You do?”

  My eyes meet hers, and suddenly it’s there, that look I know so well—her desire responding to mine. The air between us sparks with our own special electricity.

  She inhales and I whisper, reeling her in, “We can go see how Elliot’s getting on with the house.”

  A momentary flash of disappointment crosses her face, but then she smiles at my teasing. “I’d love to.”

  “Good.”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “No. Ros is back from Taiwan. That all went well. Today, everything’s fine.”

  There are certain advantages to being your own boss.

  “I thought you were going to Taiwan.”

  “Ana, you were in the hospital.” There was no way I was leaving you.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah—oh. So today I’m spending some quality time with my wife.” I take a sip of Mrs. Jones’s great coffee.

  “Quality time?” Ana’s yearning threads through each syllable.

  Oh, baby.

  Gail places Ana’s scrambled eggs in front of her. “Quality time,” I murmur.

  Ana’s eyes dart from my lips to her breakfast. And her breakfast wins.

  Damn. Thwarted by scrambled eggs.

  “It’s good to see you eat,” I murmur, and pushing my plate aside, I step off my barstool and kiss Ana’s hair. “I’m going to shower.”

  “Um…can I come and scrub your back?” she asks through a mouthful of breakfast.

  “No. Eat.”

  I stride off to the bathroom, feeling her eyes on me. As I exit, I strip off my shirt, and I don’t know if it’s to tempt her to join me in the shower or not. Keeping my hands off her is getting harder and harder in more ways than one.

  Grey, grow up.

  Ana has insisted that we go visit Ray first, but we don’t stay long. Mr. Rodriguez is with him, watching a British soccer match from yesterday—Manchester United vs. Chelsea. Manchester United is two goals up, which seems to please Mr. Rodriguez enormously, judging by his cheer.

  I sigh. Try as I might, I don’t care for soccer.

  Ana takes pity on me and lets Ray know that we’re off.

  Thank heavens.

  I sit back and relax as we cruise in my R8 to the new house. I’m excited to see the destruction that Elliot has wrought, and hopefully the beginnings of what our home will be.

  Ana has changed her sky-high heels for more sensible flats; she’s tapping her feet to a Crosby, Stills & Nash song that blares over the Audi’s sound system, looking happy to be out and about. Two days of enforced bed rest has been good for her. She has color in her cheeks, and a soft, sweet smile for me when I glance at her, and she seems to have set aside her recent, horrific encounter with the evil Hyde.

  I push him out of my mind.

  Don’t go there, Grey.

  I want to preserve my good mood.

  Since I unburdened my soul a couple of nights ago, I’ve felt happier. I had no idea that spilling my
guts to my wife would have such a beneficial effect. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve finally laid the ghost of Elena Lincoln to rest, or if it’s because my parents have provided me with some of the missing pieces from the incomplete puzzle that was my former life, but my heart is lighter somehow—freer, even—but tethered, and as steadfast as ever, to the beautiful woman beside me.

  Ana knows me.

  She refracts my darkness and turns it to brilliant light.

  I shake my head at my fanciful thoughts.

  Flowery, Grey.

  She’s still here, in spite of all that I’ve done.

  The warmth of her love spreads through my veins.

  Reaching over, I squeeze her leg, then trail my fingers over her exposed flesh above her thigh-high, relishing the feel of her skin. “I’m glad you didn’t change.”

  Ana covers my hand with her own. “Are you going to continue to tease me?”

  I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.

  But, hey, I’ll play. “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can.” I beam at her.

  “Two can play that game,” she whispers.

  I move my fingers up her inner thigh. “Bring it on, Mrs. Grey.”

  She takes my hand and places it on my knee. “Well, you can keep your hands to yourself,” she says primly.

  “As you wish, Mrs. Grey.”

  I cannot hide my smile. I love playful Ana.

  Ha. I love Ana. Period.

  Stopping at the gates to our house, I press the entry code into the keypad. The metal gates swing slowly open, creaking a protest at being disturbed. They need replacing, and we’ll get around to it eventually. Speeding along the driveway, I wish I’d taken the top down on the car. The tall grass in the meadow is golden beneath the September sun, and the trees lining the drive are all decked in the colors of the coming fall. The Sound in the distance is a brilliant blue. It’s idyllic.

  And it’s ours.

  As the lane meanders around a wide curve, the house appears, surrounded by a number of Elliot’s construction trucks. It’s hidden behind scaffolding, and several of Elliot’s crew are at work on the roof. I park outside the portico, switch off the engine, and turn to Ana. “Let’s go find Elliot.” I’m buzzing to see what he’s accomplished so far.