Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian (Fifty Shades 6)

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

Carrick hugs us both.

I close my eyes, and fighting back my tears, I accept it.

Unconditional love.

From my parents.

As it should be.

Enough. I pull away. “I’ll read the letters later.” My voice is gruff with emotion.

“Okay.”

“We should get back to the others,” I mutter.

“Have you remembered anything?” Carrick asks.

I shake my head.

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but don’t sweat it, son. You have us. You have your family. And like your mother says, the Colliers were good people.” Gently, he squeezes my arm, his warmth and affection radiating through my body.

We head back into the main living room, but I’m moving in slow motion, disconnected from my reality, my head ready to explode with all these revelations. I scan the room for Ana; she’s standing with Elliot and Kate at the kitchen counter, eating some canapés.

From somewhere deep in my brain, the part that stores my earliest memories, comes a fragment—a vision of a family gathered around a wooden table. Laughing. Teasing. Eating…macaroni and cheese.

The Colliers.

I’m distracted from my reminiscence by the sight of Ana with a flute of pink champagne in her hand.

Junior!

I move to take the alcohol from her, but Kate steps into my path. “Kate.” I acknowledge her.

“Christian,” she responds, in her usual abrupt way.

“Your meds, Mrs. Grey?” My tone is a warning as I stare at the glass in Ana’s hand, trying not to give anything away. But Ana narrows her eyes and raises her chin in defiance. Grace collects a full flute from Elliot, walks up to Ana, and whispers something in her ear. They exchange a furtive smile, and they clink glasses.

Mom! I grimace at both of them. But they ignore me.

“Hotshot!” Elliot claps me on the back and hands me a glass.

“Bro.” I keep my eyes on Ana as Elliot and I take a seat on the couch.

“Jesus, you must have been worried sick.”

“Yeah.”

“Glad that asshole is finally caught. His ass is on its way to jail.”

“Yeah.”

Elliot frowns. “You missed a great game.”

“Game?”

He wants to talk baseball? Is he trying to distract me? He’s pissed the Mariners lost to the Rangers today, but I find it difficult to concentrate on what he’s saying—my attention is locked on Ana. Carrick joins Ana, and Grace kisses him on the cheek, then moves to sit with Mia and Ethan—who are looking mighty cozy on the couch—leaving Ana to talk to Dad.

My father and my wife enjoy a lively whispered conversation.

What are they talking about? Me?

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, asshole.” Elliot pulls me back into our conversation.

“Sure. The Rangers.”

He punches my arm. “You get a pass,” he says. “You’ve had a tough few days. You know, you two should come see your house.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Ana and I were planning to and then all hell broke loose.”

“Ana and Mia. Fuck.” Elliot’s expression is grim. “Glad your wife took that asshole down.”

I nod.

“Hi, Christian.” Ethan joins us and I’m grateful for the interruption.

“Watch the game?” Elliot asks, and they fall into a debate about Beltré hitting a homer against the Mariners. I tune them out as Ana comes toward us.

“It’s great to see everyone,” she says to Carrick, as she sits next to me.

“One sip,” I scold her under my breath. And you’ve had that. I take the glass from her hand.

“Yes, Sir.” She flutters her eyelashes, her eyes darkening and suddenly full of promise. My body stirs in response, and I ignore it.

Jesus. We’re in company.

I wind my arm around her shoulders and shoot her a quick look.

Behave, Ana.

Ana is curled up in bed, watching me as I strip. “My parents think you walk on water.” I toss my T-shirt onto the chair.

“Good thing you know differently.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Did they fill in the gaps for you?”

“Some. I lived with the Colliers for two months while Mom and Dad waited for the paperwork. They were already approved for adoption because of Elliot, but the wait’s required by law, to see if I had any living relatives who wanted to claim me.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“About having no living relatives?” Relieved! “Fuck that. If they were anything like the crack whore.” I shake my head.

Thank God for Mom and Dad.

They were—are—a gift to me.

I don my pajama pants and climb into bed, cuddling up to my wife, beyond grateful that she’s here with me. She inclines her head, her expression warm, but I know she’s expecting me to say more. “It’s coming back to me,” I muse.

Mac and cheese…yeah.

“I remember the food. Mrs. Collier could cook. And at least we know now why that fucker is so hung up on my family.” A hazy memory surfaces.

Wait—didn’t she use to sit by my bed?

She’s tucking me into a small cot bed and holding a book. “Fuck!”

“What?”

“It makes sense now!”

“What?”

“Baby Bird. Mrs. Collier used to call me Baby Bird.”