“No. That fucker, Hyde.”
“No, I can’t.”
“What’s his fucking game?” Christian whispers through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know. Do you think Clark believed me?”
“Of course he did. He knows Hyde is a fucked-up asshole.”
“You’re very sweary.”
“Sweary?” Christian smirks. “Is that even a word?”
“It is now.”
389/551
Unexpectedly he grins and sits down beside me, pulling me into his arms.
“Don’t think about that fucker. Let’s go see your dad and try to talk about the move tomorrow.”
“He was adamant that he wanted to stay in Portland and not be a bother.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I want to travel with him.”
Christian gazes at me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say no. “Okay.
I’ll come, too. Sawyer and Taylor can take the cars. I’ll let Sawyer drive your R8
tonight.”
The following day Ray is examining his new surroundings—an airy, light, room in the rehabilitation center of Northwest Hospital in Seattle. It’s noon, and he looks sleepy. The journey, via helicopter no less, has exhausted him.
“Tell Christian I appreciate this,” he says quietly.
“You can tell him yourself. He’ll be along this evening.”
“Aren’t you going to work?”
“Probably. I just want to make sure you’re settled in here.”
“You get along. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I like worrying about you. My BlackBerry buzzes. I check the number—it’s not one I recognize.
“You going to answer that?” Ray asks.
“No. I don’t know who it is. The voice mail can take it for me. I brought you something to read.” I indicate the pile of sports magazines on his bedside table.
“Thanks, Annie.”
“You’re tired, aren’t you?”
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He nods.
“I’ll let you get some sleep.” I kiss his forehead. “Laters, Daddy,” I murmur.
“I’ll see you later, honey. And thank you.” Ray catches my hand and squeezes it gently. “I like that you call me Daddy. Takes me back.” Oh, Daddy. I return his squeeze.
As I head out the main doors toward the SUV where Sawyer is waiting, I hear my name being called.
“Mrs. Grey! Mrs. Grey!”
Turning, I see Dr. Greene hurrying toward me, looking her usual immaculate self, if a little flustered.
“Mrs. Grey, how are you? Did you get my message? I called earlier.”
“No.” My scalp prickles.
“Well, I was wondering why you’d cancelled four appointments.” Four appointments? I gape at her. I’ve missed four appointments! How?
“Perhaps we should talk about this in my office. I was going out for lunch—do you have time right now?”
I nod meekly. “Sure. I . . .” Words fail me. I’ve missed four appointments?
I’m late for my shot. Shit.
I follow her in a daze back into the hospital and up to her office. How did I miss four appointments? I vaguely remember one being moved—Hannah mentioned it—but four? How could I miss four?
Dr. Greene’s office is spacious, minimalistic, and well appointed.
“I’m so grateful you caught me before I left,” I mumble, still shell-shocked.
“My father’s been in a car accident, and we’ve just moved him here from Portland.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. How’s he doing?”
“He’s doing okay, thank you. On the mend.”
“That’s good. And it explains why you cancelled on Friday.” Dr. Greene wiggles the mouse on her desk, and her computer comes to life.