he waiting room. Mr.
Rodriguez hands me a tissue from a conveniently placed box, and I dry my
tears.
“This is Mr. Sawyer. Security,” I murmur. Sawyer nods politely to José and
Mr. Rodriguez then moves to take a seat in the corner.
“Sit down, Ana.” José ushers me to one of the vinyl-covered armchairs.
“Sit down, Ana.” José ushers me to one of the vinyl-covered armchairs.
“What happened?” I ask. “Do we know how he is? What are they doing?”
José holds up his hands to halt my barrage of questions and sits down
beside me. “We don’t ha一ve any news. Ray, Dad, and I were on a 331 | P a g
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Fifty Shades Freed
fishing trip to Astoria. We were hit by some stupid fucking drunk—”
Mr. Rodriguez tries to interrupt, stammering an apology.
“Cálmate, Papa!” José snaps. “I don’t ha一ve a mark on me,” he continues.
“Just a couple of bruised ribs and a knock on the head. Dad . . . well, Dad
broke his wrist and ankle. But the car hit the passenger side and Ray . . .”
Oh no, no . . . Panic swamps my limbic system again. No, no, no. My body
shudders and chills as I imagine what’s happening to Ray in the OR.
“He’s in surgery. We were taken to the community hospital in Astoria, but
they airlifted Ray here. We don’t know what they’re doing. We’re waiting for
news.”
I start to shake.
“Hey, Ana, you cold?”
I nod. I’m in my white sleeveless shirt and black summer jacket and neither
provides warmth. Gingerly, José pulls off his leather jacket and wraps it
around my shoulders.
“Shall I get you some tea, ma’am?” Sawyer is by my side. I nod gratefully and
he disappears from the room.
“Why were you fishing in Astoria?” I ask.
José shrugs. “The fishing’s supposed to be good there. We were ha一ving a
boys’ get-together. Some bonding time with my old man before academia
heats up for my final year.” José’s dark eyes are large and luminous with fear
and regret.
“You could ha一ve been hurt, too. And Mr. Rodriguez . . . worse.” I gulp at the
thought. My body temperature drops further, and I shiver once more. J
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