She studies me for a moment. “I’ve made some mac and cheese. I’ll leave it in the fridge.”
Mac and cheese. My favorite.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“I’m going to retire to my room now.”
“Good night, Gail.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile and leaves.
I check the time: 9:15.
Damn it. Ana. Come home.
Where is she?
Gone.
No.
I dismiss the thought and sit down at my desk and activate my computer. I have a few e-mails, but try as I might, I cannot concentrate. My concern for Ana is growing. Where is she?
She’ll be back soon.
She will.
She has to come back.
I call Welch and leave a message that Leila has been found and is now getting the help she needs. I end the call and get up, unable to stay seated. It’s been one hell of an evening.
Perhaps I should read.
In my bedroom, I pick up the book I’ve been reading and take it back into the living room. And wait. And wait.
Ten minutes later, I throw the book onto the sofa beside me.
I’m restless and the uncertainty about Ana’s whereabouts is becoming unbearable.
I head into Taylor’s office. He’s there with Ryan.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Can you send one of the guys to Ana’s place? I want to check if she’s returned to her apartment.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
I head back to the sofa and pick up my book again. I keep glancing at the elevator. But it remains quiet.
Empty.
Like me.
Empty except for my growing unease.
She’s gone.
She’s left you.
Leila frightened her off.
No. I can’t believe that. It’s not her style.
It’s me. She’s had enough.
Having said she’d move in, she’s now reneged.
Fuck.
I get up and begin pacing. My phone buzzes. It’s Taylor. Not Ana. I quash my disappointment and take the call. “Taylor.”
“The apartment’s empty, sir. No one here.”
There’s a ping. The elevator. I turn and Ana walks a little unsteadily into the living room.
“She’s here,” I snap at Taylor and hang up. Relief. Anger. Hurt. All combine in a rush of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. “Where the fuck have you been?” I bark at her. She blinks and steps back. She’s flushed.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask.
“A bit.”
“I told you to come back here. It’s now fifteen after ten. I’ve been worried about you.”
“I went for a drink or three with Ethan while you attended to your ex.” She spits out the last word like venom.
Hell. She’s mad.
She continues. “I didn’t know how long you were going to be with her.” She lifts up her chin with a look of righteous indignation.
What?
“Why do you say it like that?” I ask, confused by her response. Did she think I wanted to be with Leila?
Ana looks down and stares at the floor, avoiding eye contact.
She hasn’t come completely into the room.
What’s going on?
My anger subsides as anxiety ripples through my chest.
“Ana, what’s wrong?”
“Where’s Leila?” She looks around the room, her expression chilly.
“In a psychiatric hospital in Fremont.” Where the hell does she expect Leila to be? “Ana, what is it?” I take a couple of cautious steps toward her, but she stands her ground, distant and aloof, and doesn’t reach for me.
“What’s wrong?” I press her.
She shakes her head. “I’m no good for you,” she says.
My scalp tingles, pricked by fear. “What? Why do you think that? How can you possibly think that?”
“I can’t be everything you need.”
“You are everything I need.”
“Just seeing you with her—”
Christ. “Why do you do this to me? This is not about you, Ana. It’s about her. Right now, she’s a very sick girl.”
“But I felt it. What you had together.”
“What? No.” I reach for her and she steps back, away from me, her cool eyes on mine, assessing me, and I don’t think she likes what she sees…
“You’re running?”
My anxiety rises, tightening my throat.
She looks away and her brow furrows, but she says nothing.
“You can’t,” I whisper.
“Christian, I—” She stops and I think she’s struggling to say her good-byes. She’s going. I knew it would happen. But so soon?
“No. No!” I’m on the edge of the abyss once more.
I can’t breathe.
This is it, what I’d predicted from the beginning.
“I…” Ana mutters.
How do I stop her? I look around the room, for help. What can I do?
“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!” It’s my last-minute pitch to save this deal, to save us.
“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”
The vortex is sucking me under.
She’s had enough.
I’ve driven her away.
Again.
I feel dizzy. I put my hands on my head, trying to contain the pain that slices through me. My despair is carving a hole in my chest that gets bigger and bigger and bigger. It’s going to take me down. “No. No.”
Find your happy place.
My happy place.
When was it easier?
Easier to wear my pain on the outside.
Elena is standing over me. In her hands, she holds a thin cane. The welts on my back burn. Each throbbing with pain as my blood thrums through my body.
I’m on my knees. At her feet.
“More, mistress.”
Quiet the monster.
More. Mistress.
More.
Find your happy place, Grey.
Make your peace.
Peace. Yes.
No.
A tidal wave rises inside my body, crashing and breaking within me, but as it recedes it sucks the fear away.
You can do this.
I drop to my knees.
I take a deep breath and place my hands on my thighs.
Yes. Peace.
I’m in a landscape of calm.
I give myself to you. All of me. I’m yours to do with as you wish.
What will she do?
I look straight ahead, and I’m aware that she’s watching me. In the far distance, I hear her voice.
“Christian, what are you doing?”
I inhale slowly, filling my lungs. Fall is in the air. Ana.
“Christian! What are you doing?” The voice is closer, louder, more high-pitched.
“Christian, look at me!”
I look up. And wait.
She’s beautiful. Pale. Worried.
“Christian, please, don’t do this. I don’t want this.”
You must tell me what you want. I wait.
“Why are you doing this? Talk to me,” she pleads.
“What would you like me to say?”
She gasps. It’s a soft sound and it stirs memories of happier times with her. I shut those down. There is only now. Her cheeks are wet. Tears. She wrings her hands.
And suddenly she’s on her knees, facing me.
Her eyes are on mine. The outer rings of her irises are indigo. They lighten toward the middle to the color of a cloudless summer sky. But her pupils are expanding, a deep black darkening each center.
“Christian, you don’t have to do this. I’m not going to run. I’ve told you and told you and told you, I won’t run. All that’s happened. It’s overwhelming. I just need some time to think. Some time to myself. Why do you always assume the worst?”
Because the worst happens.
Always.
“I was going to suggest going back to my apartment this evening. You never give me any time—time to just think things through.”
She wants to be on her own.