50 shades freed

Chapter 17

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades freed or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 17

"Mr. Horan, what's happened?" My voice is hoarse and thick with unshed tears. Mark. Sweet Mark. My dad.

"He's been in a car accident."

"Okay, I'll come . . . I'll come now." Adrenaline has flooded my bloodstream, leaving panic in its wake. I'm finding it difficult to breathe.

"They've transferred him to Portland."

Portland? What the hell is he doing in Portland?

"They airlifted him, Lou. I'm heading there now. OHSU. Oh, Lou, I didn't see the car. I just didn't see it . . ." His voice cracks.

Mr. Horan—no!

"I'll see you there." Mr. Horan chokes and the line goes dead.

A dark dread seizes me by the throat, overwhelming me. Mark. No. No. I take a deep steadying breath, pick up the phone and call Roach. He answers on the second ring.

"Lou?"

"Jerry. It's my father."

"Lou, what happened?"

I explain, barely pausing to breathe.

"Go. Of course, you must go. I hope your father's okay."

"Thank you. I'll keep you informed." Inadvertently I slam the phone down, but right now couldn't care less.

"Hannah!" I call, aware of the anxiety in my voice. Moments later she pokes her head around the door to find me packing my purse and grabbing papers to stuff into my briefcase.

"Yes, Lou?" She frowns.

"My father has been in an accident. I have to go."

"Oh dear—"

"Cancel all my appointments today. And Monday. You'll have to finish prepping the e-book presentation—notes are in the shared file. Get Courtney to help if you have to."

"Yes," Hannah whispers. "I hope he's okay. Don't worry about anything here. We'll muddle through."

"I have my BlackBerry."

The concern etched on her pinched, pale face is almost my undoing.

Dad.

I grab my jacket, bag, and briefcase. "I'll call you if I need anything."

"Do, please. Good luck, Lou. Hope he's okay."

I give her a small tight smile, fighting to maintain my composure, and exit my office. I try hard not to run all the way to reception. Sawyer leaps to his feet when I arrive.

"Mr. Tomlinson-Styles?" he asks, confused by my sudden appearance.

"We're going to Portland—now."

"Okay, sir," he says, frowning, but opens the door.

Moving is good.

"Mr. Tomlinson-Styles," Sawyer asks as we race toward the parking lot. "Can I ask why we're making this unscheduled trip?"

"It's my dad. He's been in an accident."

"I see. Does Mr. Styles know?"

"I'll call him from the car."

Sawyer nods and opens the rear door to the Audi SUV, and I climb in. With shaking fingers, I reach for my BlackBerry, and I dial Harry's cell.

"Mr. Tomlinson-Styles." Andrea's voice is crisp and businesslike.