"What do you mean my company's been devalued to nothing?" I ask from my quickly diminishing seat of power in my office at GEH. It's Christmas Eve and the markets have plummeted. I watch with horror the news ticker tape on a flatscreen overhead reporting devastation across the globe. And worse, it's my company's downfall that started this domino effect. "It's impossible to be worth nothing when you're a billionaire!"

"Your company being on the verge of bankruptcy and collapse isn't your biggest problem, Mr. Grey," Whelan, my banker, says. He never visits me at work unless his dollar is on the line. We must really be in trouble for him to be here on a holiday in a three piece suit. He's either dressing for the hope of turnaround success or my funeral.

"It sounds pretty fucking big to me. How did all this happen?"

I look out the window. Snow is coming down in buckets. When was the last time Seattle had a blizzard like this?—especially on Christmas.

"Seems a deposit was supposed to be made today for seventy million dollars. It never happened and checks were issued and cashed before anyone realized the mistake. The Taiwanese wrote their own checks, so did the Canadians. It snowballed all because of your missing money. Russia is in collapse because of you."

"Russia?"

He nods.

"I don't even fucking deal with Russia."

"Your reach is wide, Grey."

"What the hell were these checks I wrote for?"

"Christmas bonuses."

"I'm paying seventy million dollars in Christmas bonuses? No wonder I'm going under!"

The TV screen reads: Will Christian Grey cancel Christmas? There's some paparazzi picture of me with a Grinch hat photoshopped on and videos of kids crying outside of some suburban Toys R Us.

"There has to be some mistake!" I say.

"No mistake, Grey. And it gets worse..."

This shit keeps escalating. Next thing I know the Feds will be after me!

"The Feds are after you!" Fuck, I spoke too soon. "They think you embezzled the money. You'll have to sell the houses, the boat, the cars..."

"No, not the R8s!"

He nods.

"And not Ana's view!"

He nods again. Each nod a hammer of a nail in my proverbial coffin. He wasn't just dressing for my funeral, he's the director.

"But, I promised her that view for the rest of her life. She's not even 30!"

He leans over my desk, palms flat on the wood.

"Any minute now there's going to be a warrant out for your arrest and that will be the end of yours."

"Wait, I sent Taylor to the bank to oversee the accounts. He'll get to the bottom of this!"

Without saying goodbye to Whelan, I race out my door past Andrea. I stop and do a double take. She's wearing large diamond earrings and a fur coat. She's like Cruella Deville, but more Zsa Zsa alley cat than Dalmatian dog.

"Why are you wearing all that?" I ask, as I grab my own coat.

"I charged it in anticipation of my Christmas bonus, Mr. Grey." She strokes her sleeves. "I want to nab a man in this jacket." I don't think she could nab a hyena in that thing if it was still warm with the meat on it. These bonuses have gotten way out of hand!

"Send it back!" I yell as I run for the elevator.

Buckets of snow are coming down as I run out front. I see Taylor standing by the SUV that's parked in its usual spot at the curb.

"Taylor, there's been a huge misunderstanding. Tell me you made the deposit okay!"

He says nothing.

"Tell me, Taylor!"

He still says nothing.

"Why aren't you speaking?"

"You told me to tell you I made the deposit okay."

"And?"

"I can't say that, sir."

"What? What do you mean? You didn't make the deposit?"

"I lost it, sir."

"The check?"

"The cash."

"You brought it in cash?!"

He nods.

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time, sir." I momentarily wonder how the hell he got his hands on seventy million in cash, but I have other more pressing questions that need answers right now.

"Where the fuck did you leave it?"

He starts frantically digging around in the back seat of the car.

"What are you doing now?"

"Looking for it, sir." He lifts a seat cushion, but only finds a box of raisins with a jack-o-lantern on the front that one of the kids must've covertly discarded on Halloween.

"You're not going to find seventy million dollars under seat cushions!"

"They're large cushions, sir." What, did this guy take his idiot pills this morning? Or did he forget to take something else?

"Retrace your steps! What did you do right after you dropped me off?" My tension is so high I think my blood vessel just popped off my forehead and ended up stuck on the Space Needle.

"I can't remember. All this snow has me so confused."

The snow really is coming down now.

"I don't care how much snow there is, you can still remember seeing seventy million dollars!"

"I went to Starbucks," he says, like he's had a sudden caffeine transfusion to his memory.

"With all that money?"

"No, with my gift card from Gail."

"The money, Taylor! I don't give a rat's ass how you paid for your macchiato!" Not that the giving of rodent rear is a valuable currency by any means. Well, except for Chester, but that's just because he wears designer slacks.

"I took your shirts to be cleaned! Maybe it got caught up in the bag."

"That would be a fucking ginormous bag!"

"It was a lot of shirts, sir."

"You're telling me you took my shit to the cleaners and had my money laundered—literally?" If I wasn't so fucking furious I'd have to laugh.

"Maybe if I call them—"

"They're not giving that money back! They're expanding in five locations on the Cayman Islands as we speak!"

I grab him by the collar.

"You know what this means, don't you, Taylor? It means bankruptcy and poverty and jail!"

"We'll find it, sir." Even as he says it, I know he's not confident.

Suddenly, a swarm of paparazzi gather. Flashbulbs go off in my face.

"Just take me home to Ana!" I yell to Taylor. I just need to hold her right now. Maybe fuck her senseless over the kitchen island and again in a steaming hot shower so I can think straight again.

I fight my way through the paparazzi and jump into the SUV and we're off.

"Ana!" I say, running into the house. Why does this place look so run down all of a sudden? The paper is peeling off the walls and the wood of the floors creaks. What happened to my mosaic tiling and Persian rugs? Everything looks like it's been rejected from my grandparents attic.

I enter the great room and see Ana next to our lopsided tree, surrounded by a herd of snot nosed children I don't know and Teddy, who's playing We Wish You a Merry Christmas on the piano. Since when did he learn to play like that?

"Christian! You're home!" Ana says, waddling up to me with tinsel in her hand and a belly about to burst. So much for a quickie over the granite, she's practically in labor.

"Ana, why are you walking around? You could give birth any minute!"

She laughs and gives me a kiss.

"Christian, stop teasing. You know I'm only three months along." She's been saying that for the past twelve. How much bigger can she possibly get before she explodes?

"Who are all these kids?" I ask, looking at the group of boys congregating around Ana and staring at me.

"Your children," Ana says, like I'm funny. Funny ha-ha, not funny peculiar like I'm going the fuck insane—which I am.

"My kids? Where did they all come from?"

"You know where!" She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"No, I mean... Why do we have so many?" The boys continue to stare at me, blank eyed like the Stepford Sons of Anarchy. "No offense, fellas." I assume none taken, because they have no response.

"The shot keeps failing," she shrugs.

"Why do we keep going to Dr. Greene? I think she's purposely sabotaging our birth control." She keeps the Grey babies coming so the checks will. Ana laughs like it's a fucking joke. Sure, it's all fun and games to have thirteen little surprises when you're a billionaire, but when you're a pauper Papa you gotta count your dimes.

"You all better get scholarships!" I yell.

These other children scare me. I look at their faces and they're eerily familiar—they all look like me. I see myself at two and four and six... I close my eyes and shake my head, hoping they'll go away, but when I open them again, they're still there.

"Did you bring home the wreath?" Ana asks, helping me take off my coat.

"What wreath?"

"The Merry Christmas wreath from work."

"Why the hell would I do that? Nobody wants a circle of dead grass to celebrate anything!"

"Daddy, how do you spell Frankenstein?" Teddy asks, taking a break from that wretched song.

"What for?"

"The play at Sunday school."

"It's not Halloween, it's Christmas!"

"But, it's one of the magic guy's gifts." For a second I wonder if he means Penn and Teller. But, they bring no gifts to anyone.

"You mean the magi?" I ask. He nods. "It's frankincense."

"What's that?"

"I think it's some kind of oil."

"Like to cook chicken with?"

"No." It's always chicken with him. "To smell good." Wait, is that frankincense or myrrh? I know it's not gold. But, gold is something I know nothing about anymore.

"How do you spell it?"

"I don't know, ask your mother—she reads."

Ana starts to spell it out as I make my way to the kitchen to get away from all the eyes of me on me, but I can still feel their burn.

"What's wrong?" Ana asks, following me.

"Wrong? I'll tell you. We shouldn't live in this drafty old house. You should've let me build you a new one from the ground up! Or we should've disappeared on some island somewhere..."

"But, I love this house."

"I know." I look at her; my heart breaking knowing how much this all means to her. "You would've been better off if you never met me." I press my palms onto the tile of the countertop and dip my head.

"What are you saying?"

"You'd be happy with a nice man from a simple town with a simple life who wouldn't drive you crazy and tie you down— both figuratively and literally— and make you a baby factory..." I run a hand through my hair and turn away from her to watch the snow falling out the window. "And he wouldn't make you believe he's something when deep down he's really nothing."

We're both quiet for a moment.

"Are you talking about me ending up with Jose?"

"Why did his name come up immediately?" I turn back to her, throwing my hands up in the air. The fucking photographer! "Why is he the only other dating option on the planet?" I'm just glad she didn't say Taylor.

"Daddy!" I hear Phoebe call from the other room. "Daddy, come quick!"

I race to the living room to see her standing in the open front doorway as icy wind and snow blow through. She's wearing the flimsiest little dress for such a day!

"Phoebe!" I slam the door and pick her up. "Why were you outside, alone, wearing summer clothes?"

"I was making sure Boone had a sweater. I gave him mine and two of his butt feathers falled off when it pulled, 'cause he's fatter than me." She hands me the feathers. "Paste them, Daddy!" Where do I begin—or end?

"Phoebe, he's got central heating in that barn!"

She sneezes—a little one, but it's there.

"That's it young lady, you're going straight to bed." I stuff the turkey feathers into my front pocket. "You probably have pneumonia!"

"I don't feel like I got mu-monia. I feel okay to eat cookies and wait for Santy."

"Just like your mother, no self preservation."

I immediately carry her upstairs to her room and wrap her up in bed with three comforters and an electric blanket.

"Why weren't you wearing a coat?" I ask, brushing her hair off her face and tucking her in up to her neck. I don't want any chance of her being cold.

"Miss Tilly said I didn't have to." She coughs.

"Oh she did, did she?" Teach Tilly the Terrible.

I feel Phoebe's forehead—she's warm! I race downstairs on a mission.

"Ana, Phoebe has pneumonia! Call my mother to give her an examination! That teacher is going to be fired!" I dial the wildebeest on my cell.

"What are you talking about, Christian?" Ana says, still fussing with that tinsel. I think she's gotten even bigger in the last seventeen minutes.

"Ana, stop defending the psychologically impaired."

"But, you're my husband."

Not funny. I give her a look.

"Is this Tilly?" Some gravel voiced woman starts speaking. "What do you mean it's her mother? She lives with you? Well, there's a surprise. What is she forty-eight? Thirty-one? Now, who's zooming who here?"

"Christian!" Ana tries to pull the phone away from me, but she's got a kid on each hip and one in the middle.

"Tilly? Is it you?" I ask. She says yes like she's surprised to be saying anything to a man that demands affirmative response. "You miserable silly woman who gets her rocks off by making my daughter ill. Well, maybe my kids aren't the best dressed at the school. How's that? Oh they are? Yeah, well not without a damn jacket! I'm going to have your job!"

I hang up. We Wish You a Merry Christmas is on round seventy-nine.

"Stop playing that stupid song, Teddy! You play it over and over again!"

"You mean I don't gotta practice anymore?" He stands up with arms in the air. "Score!"

"And stop staring at me, you creepy children!" I yell to the strange boys, who still fail to react.

"Christian, why must you torture the children? Why don't you—" she dramatically turns away, her arms around and protecting all the boys who look like me. Something I wish my own mother would've done.

I watch them for a moment. She's right; I'm a beast who never deserved any of their love—especially hers.

"You're right, I should go." I grab my jacket and do just that.

The strange boys watch me leave. I know what's behind their eyes, because it's behind my own. We both know I could never really keep what's mine.

The storm worsens as I take the R8 into town—possibly the last time I take it anywhere at all. The Feds have now frozen all my accounts. I'm sure they'll be heading for the house and looking for me any minute now to rip me from my crying family in cuffs on Christmas. Ana will hate me—as well she should. No one wants a failure to father her thirteen children.

I need to find a way to protect Ana and the kids. I need to save the house, even if I have to go to hell and make a deal with the devil to do it.

I drive up to the salon at closing to do just that.

"Well, well, well, I always knew family life would fail you, but I never thought it would bring you to your knees before me again," Elena says, putting on blood red lipstick at one of the station mirrors. "How far the master of the universe has fallen." She laughs and it's wicked.

"My family didn't fail me, I failed my family," I say, sitting at one of the shampoo bowls. What an odd place to be having this conversation. I stand and walk to her, so I don't have to cower beneath the hair soap. "I just need your help. Please. For an old friend. Buy my house for Ana."

"You want my help?" She turns to face me. "You sent me away. How holier than thou you were, saying you were with your wife and wanted to be a father, looking down on me and the lifestyle. You told me you never wanted to see me again. And yet here you are..."

She slivers past me, commanding me to follow.

"Please, it's for my wife and children."

"Your wife?" She says it with venom, then turns and smiles. I know that smile—it's vicious. "I'll give you the money for your wife, under one circumstance."

She steps in close to me and I try not to flinch. Old habits die hard.

"Anything." And it's as close to begging as I've come in a long time.

She moves her face to mine; her red lips are far too close.

"I want to take you to my playroom. Now."

"No!" I back away. "Never!"

She pushes me forward, knocking me back into the shampoo wall. It's raining volume and shine care all around me.

"Would you rather lose everything you've worked so hard to build and rot away in prison than fuck me?"

"Yes!"

I fight to get out of her clutches, but her claws find my neck.

"Don't touch me! Only Ana now."

She pins me against the wall.

"I knew you were too pussy whipped to do it."

"Ironic, isn't it?" And I have to fight the urge to spit.

She lets go and steps back, sizing me up like a predator would.

"I told you your empire would crumble without me. But you know what, I'm still a good friend. I will help your family. I'll call the authorities right now and tell them where you are, so Ana and those kids can be rid of a pathetic joke of a man like you."

She picks up her cell and I do what any coward would—I run.

•••

I watch the snow falling outside the window, sitting at the bar of the Mile High Club. I don't know why I came here; I guess I just needed to sit and think and drink. With every sip I repulse myself more. White Christmas is playing. As he dreams of home, so do I. But, as we dream, we both sit alone.

"I'm not a praying man," I say, with my brow resting on my steepled fingers. "But, if anyone up there can hear me, please help. Not for me, but for my kids—and for my wife. Don't let me break my promise to Ana—not on Christmas."

"Why are you a drinking so much, Mr. Grey? Go home, it's a Christmas Eve!" The bartender says as I finish my third whiskey. Why is he talking in such a hokey Italian accent all of a sudden? I've talked to him before—I think he's from Peoria."

"What's your name again?"

"Call me Dale."

"Is that your name?"

"Yes, that's a why I a said it."

"Well, you said it like it might be something else and you just want me to call you that instead. Like you're a Eugene and you want to be called a Eu."

"It's just a Dale."

"I have some advice for you, just a Dale. Don't ever get rich, because you'll just get poor again. And that's worse than being poor to begin with, because now you have a family to bring down with you."

"Should I call your wife?"

"No! Just give me another and put it on my tab." Hopefully he won't check to see my tab is no longer good. I wonder how long I can survive on presumptive tabs.

"Okay, Mr. Grey. I'll bring over some bread, too."

"Grey?" A hefty older broad in an ill fitting granny dress with stocking socks that I assume were white when she bought them in 1967 asks, sitting on a stool next to me. Oh lord, I hope it's not one of those tabloid reading fans. They always want to take selfies and ask about Ana's latest bump. Well, this one is a rager! I think she's going to have a twenty-two year old quarterback.

"Yes..." I answer, warily.

"As in Christian Grey?" She sounds like she was born with a cigarette in her mouth and thirty years of bad road pre-installed.

"Yep, the one and fucking only."

She stands up, looks down at me and out of nowhere throws a punch so hard I fall out of my seat.

A few people shriek. Dale runs around and tries to lift me up, but I back him off. No one touches my armpits but Ana.

"What the hell?" I ask, touching my blood dripping lip.

"That'll teach you for making my daughter cry!"

"Who's your daughter?" Is this an ex-sub's mother? Lord, if I made her cry it was probably north of a decade ago! No, none of their mothers could look like this. The apple may fall far from the tree on occasion, but it doesn't become a pineapple!

"My baby girl—Tilly."

Oh god. Tilly's mom. I should've seen the chin hair resemblance.

"It's bad enough she has to teach your stupid kids, now you make her miserable by calling her names!"

"No one calls my kids stupid!" I move to her and she pulls her mitt back to slug me again.

"Get out old woman! No one hurts my good friend, Mr. Grey!" Good friend? I think I've spoken to him three times before. And once was an argument about a poor choice of a Sauvignon Blanc.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving, Dale." I blot my lip with a cocktail napkin and look up to the sky. It's a stucco ceiling, but still. "I got my answer."

Stumbling out to the street, I get into my R8 and take off. I've been thinking; the only way to get money to Ana is from an insurance policy I have in an oversees account. But, the only way to get that is if I'm dead.

That's my answer.

I text instructions to Taylor and Welch and head for the nearest bridge.

The snow's really coming down now. Visibility is as shit as my life is —or soon to be was. I'm nearing GEH when suddenly I feel a jolt and the car halts, throwing me back and setting off my airbag. I get out to see the R8 has crashed into an old tree directly in front of my building.

"Damn it!" I kick the car.

Oh fuck it. I need to do what I need to do. I leave the car and fight my way through the storm to find the bridge. Once there, I climb to the edge and look down into the water. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and prepare to jump.

"Father Christmas!" I hear someone yell, then something large and white flies past me into the water. At first I thought it was some disgruntled employee trying to hit me with a monster snowball, but I now see it's a man, and he's flapping his hands around, splashing and gasping.

"Help! Help!" he screams. The voice is familiar, but I can't place it. I can't just let this guy die. Delaying my own demise to prevent this one, I take off my jacket and dive in. I'm not sure why the same jump that would've done me in a minute ago now poses no threat, but I don't have time for logical questions, I have to save a man who looks like a giant snowball.

"Holy shit!" I yell out as my body slams into the icy water. It's fucking freezing! I think my nuts are in a cryogenic state now. But, I forget my testicular trauma and swim to the bobbing man. Is he wearing a nightgown? How fucking weird is this? Maybe he just escaped from the hospital, or rather the asylum. Maybe he'll attack me and pull me under. Momentarily I fear for my life, but then I remember I was trying to get rid of it anyway, so when in Rome at the end of the empire...

"Stop flapping your hands!" I say as icy water splashes my face. I struggle to hold onto him as I start to swim. But, where is the shore?

Just then, a light blinds me. I throw a hand up to shield my eyes.

It's a fisherman, who looks a lot like my Sunday school teacher's husband, driving a boat and holding a flashlight. Only, Mr. Dollopaga wasn't virtuous like his wife. He liked old gin, young women and long Sunday mornings to sleep off his hangovers from both.

"You two okay?" Mr. Dollopaga's doppelgänger asks as he works to pulls us aboard.

"I think so. But, this man needs help!"

"Who really needs help in this situation? That's the question," the man in the nightgown asks all haughty know-it-all. I notice he's got a British accent...

"Me?"

"Did I say it was you, or did you come to that conclusion on your own?"

"You're the one who jumped in!"

"Because you were going to."

The fisherman points his light on him and now I know why his voice is familiar.

"Flynn!" I say.

"Who?" Flynn asks.

"You!"

"Who's that?" the fisherman asks.

"My shrink!"

"Your shrink? This guy in the nightgown is your shrink?"

"Yes! And he jumped into the water just to fuck with me!"

The fisherman looks confused, but I'm not sure if it's by us or life in general.

"I sense deep seeded anger..."

The fisherman brings us to shore, allowing us to dry out in a little shack at waterside. I'm not sure why he's fishing in a blizzard on Christmas Eve. What could he possibly catch but two bridge jumping nuts?

"Why'd you jump in?" I ask Flynn, squeezing out the legs of my pants. Maybe some crazy finally broke the last straw on the back of his camel.

"To save you," he says.

"To save me?"

He nods. "Am I speaking English?"

"No you're speaking British and crazy!"

"Defensive, are we? Now, where does that originate from?"

"From my ass swimming in ice for you!" I wave my shirt around to dry it and Phoebe's turkey feathers fly out. I grab them and put them back in my pocket. Flynn's watching. "What are you looking at my tail feathers for?"

"You were going to jump in anyway."

"How do you know that?"

"There aren't many people who stand on the edge of a bridge in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a mere observation."

I just stare at him.

"Is this part of your solution based therapy?"

"Do you really think that killing yourself is the solution? Would your wife and children really be happier if you were dead?" He gives me one of his patented I know fucking everything looks. "Think of how you felt when your mother didn't wake up."

Like a dagger, that pierces me deep.

"You're right. I don't want my family to ever go through what I did. It would've been better for everyone if I had never been born at all."

"What did you say?"

"I said, I wish I had never been born."

He looks up.

"What do you think about that, Harold?"

"Who the hell are you talking to?"

He looks back down to me.

"My boss. Not the big boss, more like a manager." He looks back up. So much up and down with his head, he could be a living bobblehead. I think maybe he is. "You think we should take away his life now, Harold?"

"Okay, now you're fucking scaring me."

"I've gotten approval to remove you from existence."

"Flynn, stop with this shit!" He's gone crazy! I've heard of mental cases turning on their psychiatrists before, but I've never heard of it the other way around.

He snaps his fingers and the snow stops falling. It has to be a coincidence. But where did Mr. Dollopaga go?

"Done," he says.

"Done, what?"

"Done, you. You've never been born."

"Okay, I'm calling Rhian!"

"Who's Rhian?"

"Your wife. You know, the mother of your kids, Flynn!"

"I don't have a wife. And I'm not Flynn."

"Oh yeah? Who are you then?"

"I'm your guardian angel."

He's worse off than I thought.

"Really? Well, I would get an angel like you." I touch my lip; the throbbing pain has gone away. "Hey, I've stopped bleeding, what do you know."

"It's because your mouth has never existed." With this shit.

"Enough, Flynn!" I give him the once over. "You're a psychiatrist, where's the nearest nut house?"

"Why?"

"I need to make a delivery."

"You're funny," he says, patting me on the shoulder. Strange—I don't feel the urge to pull away.

"Touch me again, Flynn."

"What?"

"Just do it! Touch my chest!"

He touches it lightly.

"No, really rub around."

He rubs hard in circles and the darkness never rises.

"I didn't feel a thing. In fact, it was pleasant."

"It's because—"

"Yeah, yeah. I've never been born. Maybe the ice just numbed it."

A ping from my email goes off.

"Hear that?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's someone trying to hunt me down. Maybe it's the Russians."

"No, it's Julio Montego."

"He a hitman?"

"No, he's my roommate in the clouds and he just got his wings."

"Cloud-mate, huh? How do you know he got his wings?"

"I heard a ding."

"That ping?"

"No that was definitely a wing ding."

"A wing dinger, huh?"

"Now that's amusing." He throws his head back in laughter. I'm officially in crazy town.

"Where are your wings?"

"Haven't got them yet."

"Why not?"

"I haven't saved you."

I roll my eyes and check my cell. It wasn't a text or an email; it's an alert to tell me I have no service. What the fuck? Did they cut that off so quickly, too?

"Strange, isn't it?" he asks. Why does he sound like he's Vincent Price narrating some horror flick all of a sudden?

"That's the least of the strangeness tonight. Put some pants on and let's get you home. I need to figure my shit out."

"You're right, you do; but neither of us have homes on earth anymore."

"Don't rub it in, they may let me keep it a few more hours. You know holiday spirit and shit. Don't kick a man on Christmas, wait until the next day when your leg's rested so you can kick him harder."

He laughs again. At least I can keep the insane entertained.

I reach into my front pocket and find Phoebe's feathers are missing. "Did you take my feathers?"

"I can't steal from a man who doesn't exist."

•••

"Where the hell is my car?" I ask, standing in the empty space of where I know I left it.

"You don't have a car." He's wearing a pair of the fisherman's discarded jeans with his nightgown tucked in. He looks like a hippie that left the commune too soon.

"What are you talking about?" Shit, have they already towed me to sell it? "I had a car and it crashed right here."

"None if it ever happened, because you've never been born. You know, you've been given a wonderful gift, Christian. To see how the world would be without you."

"Okay, shut up with that for a minute while I figure this out, will you?"

I pull out my cell phone to dial Taylor and remember I have no service. Fuck.

I see Andrea walking toward the building. Thank goodness! And she's not in that dreadful fur anymore. In fact, she's rather dowdy today in a sack brown dress and sensible shoes. Maybe she's had a bad breakup. She always wears sensible shoes when she wants men to leave her alone.

"Hey! Andrea!" I wave my arms. She turns and eyes me, questioning. "I need you to do something for me!"

She looks around and approaches cautiously, holding her clutch tight and close to her chest. What, since I'm broke she thinks I'm going to mug her?

"What is it, sir?" she asks.

"Go up to my office and see if my R8 has been towed from this spot?"

"I don't think that's appropriate. My boss might get mad."

"Andrea, this is no time for joking. I pay you a lot to do stuff like this. Go up and find it!"

She backs away.

"You don't pay me. Hyde Enterprises Holdings does."

"Hyde? You mean like Jack Hyde?"

"That's the one."

"What the fuck are you doing for Hyde?"

"I'm his assistant." And the way she says it, I can tell she's not a happy one.

"What do you mean, he's in jail for trying to kill my wife and sister! Not to mention what a rapist he is!"

She backs away. This touched a nerve. What has he done to Andrea?

"He's our Mayor."

"Whose Mayor?"

"Seattle. Have you been living under a rock?" She points to a billboard with his sleazy smiling face on it. "He's running for reelection. And he'll be mad if I'm late."

"Late for what, it's Christmas Eve!"

She heads into the building.

"What the fuck?"

"You weren't there to fall in love with Ana so you could buy the company to stalk her so he could try and assault her and she could kick him in the balls and you could drag him out and he could try to murder you all and she could outsmart him and you could put him away for good." He's out of breath on that one. "And now he's in politics."

"He was in two-bit publishing before he got thrown out!"

"Scary how far a weed not clipped back can grow."

This is crazy! His company is a joke." I look up to the lettering on the building—HEH. "Look—the name's even laughing at itself."

"I'm sure Andrea isn't laughing working for him."

"What has he done to her?"

He doesn't say.

"Why won't you tell me anything?"

"I'll tell you that thousands of people starved in Darfur because they didn't get your shipments."

"What happened to them?"

"You weren't there to send them."

I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head.

"You'll see a lot of strange things tonight," Flynn says.

"Did you slip me something?" I get in his face. "Because, if you did—"

"I did what you asked me to."

"Stop with that shit!" I try to think, but my brain is rattled. Maybe that's it; maybe I got confused in the snowstorm. Maybe this is the wrong street. Maybe I left my car at the club. I have been drinking... But oddly, I feel like I haven't had a drop.

•••

"I told you it wouldn't be here," Angel Flynn says, appearing out of nowhere as I frantically search for my car outside the club.

"It can't just disappear!"

"It can if it never happened."

"I need a drink. I think I'm having a breakdown." I say. "Come on, I think maybe you need a drink, too."

I pull him inside.

I motion to the bartender when we sit down. "Hey Dale, I'm back."

"Oh yeah, from where—the drunk tank with your mommy?" Geez, that's harsh. I notice he's lost the phony Italian accent and now speaks like a gangster about to make a hit.

"Funny, Dale." I force a laugh. He doesn't. Lighten up, fucker. You're not the one who's lost his entire life today and is baby sitting his mentally unstable shrink.

"Oooh, they have Brazil nuts!" Flynn says, diving into the mixed nut bowl. Fitting.

"What'll you two have?" Dales asks, eyeing Flynn digging for his favorites. I'm not sure why he's digging. The Brazil's are the biggest ones; you can't miss them.

"Warm Christmas punch, just like my mother used to make in Devonshire when I was alive," Flynn says.

Dale doesn't look amused with the angel antics.

"He's a character," I say, trying to lighten the increasingly darkening situation. "Flynn, I don't think they have hot punch—"

"My name isn't Flynn, I tell you."

"Oh yeah? What is it?" Dale asks.

"Archibald."

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes.

"Just give me and Archie here two glasses of Sancerre and put it on my tab," I say to Dale.

"What's your tab?"

"Don't tease."

"Do I look like a man who teases?" Dale suddenly looks like a man who could take off your toenails with tweezers and sleep like a baby that night.

"Christian Grey, you know that."

"I know something else— you fucker, don't have a tab." Fuck, it must've been frozen.

"You're buying," I say to Flynn.

"We don't have money in heaven."

"Okay that does it—out you two go, into the street and onto the snow to freeze your asses off until you get cold enough to want to work to make some sort of a living."

"Geez Dale, a little harsh. It's Christmas—"

"That's another thing—where do you get off calling me Dale?"

"You told me to!"

"Oh, I'll tell you something—you two derelicts better get the hell out of here before I call the cops!"

The last thing I need is the cops.

"We should get out of here," Flynn says.

"I'm not going anywhere with you! Ever since you hitched on my ride everything has been fucked up. Stay the hell away from me!"

I take off. I need to see my folks. They'll set me straight.

•••

I knock on the door of my youth and wait for an answer. The place is so run down. It's like a living being hasn't been here for twenty plus years. But, a light is on, so someone is home. Maybe I just haven't paid attention to the chipped brick or the overgrown ivy when we've come to family dinners. But, I thought they put up Christmas lights this year.

The door creeks open. I can see my mother peeking around the corner. She's in a tattered bathrobe and has her hair piled on her head. She's let it go all gray. I'm surprised she's not ready for the party at my house. The one Ana and the kids were getting ready for. Maybe it's been called off since I've been gone.

"Mother!" I say, though I'm disappointed that she's not excited when she sees me. "Why aren't you dressed?"

She backs up and looks me up and down like she's afraid of me.

"Mother? Where do you get off calling me that?"

"Mom, what is it? Are you mad at me?"

"I don't need some kinky weirdo like you hanging out on my doorstep."

"Mom, how can you say that?" Does she really know me that well? "Let me in! I need to see you. There's been some really strange stuff going in tonight..." She doesn't budge. "Are Elliot, Kate and Ava here yet?"

"What did you just say?" She looks at me like I've just raised a ghost from the grave.

"Elliot told me they were taking you and Dad and Mia to our house for the Christmas party."

"Oh yeah, when did you talk to him?"

"Just this morning."

"That's a lie. He died when he was twelve years old on a fishing trip to Nova Scotia.

I remember that fishing trip. Elliot was fooling around, trying to balance on the bow as the hard currents hit. He had been fucking with me all afternoon, so I purposely got him in trouble. Dad made him get down. Not twenty minutes later a wave kicked up and slammed into the place he had been standing.

"No Mom, I saved him! He got grounded for a week and lost video game privileges, he didn't die. He thought he was going to, but he didn't."

"Who are you?"

"Christian, your son."

"I don't have any other children."

"What about Mia?"

"Who's Mia?" What's wrong with her? Had she lost her mind, too? Or is it me?

"Where's Dad?"

"Who, Carrick?"

"Yes."

"He killed himself after Elliot died. He could never forgive himself for what happened." She gives me the coldest look. "Leave—you're not wanted here."

She slams the door and suddenly Flynn appears out of nowhere.

"It's amazing how one man's life touches so many others."

"What happened to Mia?"

"You don't want to know."

I take him by the collar. "Tell me! What the fuck happened to my sister?"

"She grew up in foster care... She was sexually assaulted by her Foster Dad. She overdosed at nineteen."

"No!" This is all too much. "I have to see Ana! Where is she? Is she at home with the kids?"

"Your children have never been born."

I shudder; it's one thing for me to never have been born, but not Teddy and Phoebe!

"Stop fucking with me, where is Ana?" She'll bring me back to life. She's done it before.

"You're not going to like it. She's an old maid."

"She's only twenty-nine!"

"She never married. She never will."

"The photographer didn't get his claws in her?"

"No, she could only love a model looking, billionaire sexual god and he doesn't exist."

"Where is she now?"

I shake him.

"She's just about to leave the Barnes and Noble!"

"That's where she's shopping?"

"That's where she works."

"What are you fucking talking about? She's CEO of Grey publishing."

He shakes his head slowly.

"She left Hyde publishing after..."

He doesn't need to say anymore. I take off.

Seattle is a pit now—casinos, strip clubs, dive bars. There's a re-election poster for Hyde over the highway to tell you why.

I run across a busy street and nearly get hit by two honking cars that collide.

"Hey, fucker! What's the idea?"

"I have none!" I yell as I run past.

I hear a woman laughing and talking loud—like she's drunk— surrounded by a group of men.

Oh no—Ana! She's drunk again without me!

"Let go of her!" I say as I grab for her, ripping two men back. I look down and discover it's not Ana—it's Kate. "Kavanagh?"

"Who the hell are you?" she asks.

"Yeah man, she doesn't know you! Get off of her so I can get on," a guy says.

"Lay off the merchandise!" Another one yells.

Who are these beasts?

"Get the fuck away from her, she's my brother's wife!"

"You're married?" Another guy asks and they all back away like its a game of hot potato.

"I'm not married! Where do you get off?" she asks me.

"Why are you doing this, Kate? I thought you were a journalist?"

She looks away, bitter.

"I could never get a good interview for that school paper... That's why I turned to the streets."

"Yeah, girl!" One of the swine yells.

I pull her away from this madness.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Saving you from those monsters."

"They aren't monsters; they're my boyfriends. Stay the fuck away from me."

"Fine!"

I don't have time for her shit. Let Kavanagh whore it up. I need to find Ana. I hail down a cab.

"Take me to the Barnes and Noble! And step in it!" I say as I get inside and slam the door.

"Yes, sir."

That voice.

"Taylor?"

He turns his head to me.

"Yeah, why?"

"Taylor! Boy am I glad to see you!" I give him a hug around the neck and he pushes me off.

"Don't cross the boundaries."

"What are you talking about, there are no boundaries with us!"

He starts to drive.

"Why are you driving a cab?"

"It's a job."

"You already have a job with me."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm going to get us out of this mess. You'll still be on the payroll and I'll always make sure you'll live with us. I'll also make sure Sophie stays in private school."

"What the hell did you say about my daughter?" he yells. I've never seen Taylor this hostile with me before.

"I'll make sure Sophie stays in school."

"Well, you're too late for that. She left public school six months ago and I haven't heard from her since. If I didn't have to drive this fucking cab at night, maybe I could've stopped her..."

Jesus, it's like every woman in my life went crazy or turned to the streets without me."

Oh no—Ana!

Suddenly, I see Ana leaving the Barnes and Noble. She doesn't look like a hooker or a drug addict. In fact, she's wearing a dress down to her ankles that looks like it came from one of those polygamist colonies. This is how she'd dress if she never met me? I smile. This pleases me greatly. Best news all night!

"Stop!" I say to Taylor. He halts and I open the door and run out to her.

"Hey! You didn't pay!" he yells after me.

"Ana!" I call out, running to her.

She looks around, seemingly unsure where the voice is coming from.

"Ana!" I call out again. She looks up as I reach her and take her into my arms. She feels like heaven. I kiss her hair and nuzzle her. "Oh Ana! I've missed you! I could hold you forever."

"Ahhh!" she screams and tries to get away.

"No Ana, it's me, your husband!"

She screams again, this time pushing me away and down onto the snow. She runs into a casino. I pick myself up, dust off the snow and run after her.

"Ana!"

"Help! This man is trying to attack me!" she screams and a crowd gathers around her to try and hold me off.

"That's my wife!"

"Stay away from her, creep!" a voice in the crowd shouts.

"Ana, What about our house? Our life? Our thirteen kids?"

She screams again and faints. I try to rush to her, but I'm pushed away.

"Everyone stand back! I've got him." It's Taylor. He fires a shot into the roof and plaster rains down.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I say.

"That'll teach you to pay your cab fare!"

He fires another shot.

There are screams; pandemonium. People running for cover and out onto the boulevard.

I try to escape. Taylor grabs me and I struggle.

"Get the fuck off of me!" I do my Claude perfected double shin kick and he momentarily lets go, allowing me to get away.

I run.

I need to go back to the bridge. Back to where I lost my life in the hopes of finding it again.

As I reach the edge of the water, I place my elbows on the railing and rest my forehead in my folded hands.

"I want to live again! I want to live again!" I say. "Dear God, please let me live again."

I feel snow falling on my shoulder. I look up. Headlights nearly blind me. It's my SUV. It stops and out comes Taylor, running up to me.

I back up and hold up my fists, ready to duke it out.

"Now, get away Taylor or I'll hit you again!"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Grey?"

"I'm not afraid to take you down!"

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Wait, you mean you know me, Taylor?"

"Know you? I've been looking all over town trying to find you. Mrs. Grey has been so worried, sir."

"Mrs. Grey?" I smile. "You mean Ana?"

"Yes, sir." He looks at me. "What happened to your lip?"

I touch it and look at my bloody finger tips.

"My mouth's bleeding..." I say, and the realization hits me. "My mouth's bleeding, Taylor! My mouth's bleeding!" I search my front pocket. "Phoebe's feathers, Phoebe's feathers..." I pull out the two butt feathers from Boone. "They're here! Well, what do you know about that?"

"I don't know anything about that, sir."

"Where's Ana?"

"I think back home, Mr. Grey."

And that's all I need to hear. I take off running to my girl.

"Merry Christmas, Taylor!"

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Grey!"

I run past GEH—it's there! And so is the car I crashed into the tree. I throw my hands up in victory as I jump onto the hood to do a little happy jig.

"My car is still crashed!" I yell as onlookers gather. "My car is still crashed."

And then I keep running.

"Merry Christmas Public Market!" I yell as I pass and people wave.

Some paparazzi have caught on and are now tailing me, shooting pictures for their rags as I run. But, I don't fucking care—I've been born!

"Merry Christmas movie house!" I yell at the Cineplex letting out.

"Fuck off reject!" Some kid yells back.

I run past the salon and pound on the window. Elena, who's still putting that whore-tastic lipstick on, turns around.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Robinson!"

"And a Merry Christmas to you, too—in jail. Go on home, they're waiting!" she yells after me and I flip her off as I continue to run.

I finally make it home.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Phoebe and Teddy run down the stairs as I burst through the front door.

"Kids!" I pick them up in my arms. "Why aren't you in bed, Phoebe?"

"I don't got a smidge of tempy-ture."

"Not a smidge, huh?"

"Uh uh. I was just hot 'cause you put too many blankets on me."

I blanket them both in kisses. I notice the other boys have gone. I smile.

There's a mean looking guy in a trench coat that could only be one thing—a federal agent.

"Mr. Grey, I'm sorry to do this on Christmas, but I—"

"I bet you have a warrant for my arrest! Isn't it wonderful? I'm going to jail." I shake his hand.

"Where's your mother, kids?"

"Here I am." I turn to see Ana standing in the doorway in a green crushed velvet cape with white furry edging. Her hair just peaking out and snow dusting her shoulders. She is a Christmas wish come true.

I run to her, the kids still hanging on me, and I kiss her. And I can't stop. I want to keep kissing her for the rest of my life and I intend to do just that.

"Christian, wait," she murmurs against my lips.

"I can't. I love you, Ana."

"I love you, too. But, they're coming!"

"Who?"

Suddenly the front door bursts open and everyone I've been close to in my whole life is coming inside. Granted, that's not that many people, but it's not quantity, it's quality that counts.

Ana clears off a table in front of us.

"Christian, it's a miracle!" she says as I keep covering her in kisses.

"Mrs. Grey organized the whole thing," Taylor says, walking up to the table. "When everyone heard you were in trouble they didn't really care, sir... Actually, they were sort of happy. But, once they knew Ana and the kids needed help, people all came together."

"I don't need a fur and diamonds to get a man, Mr. Grey." Andrea says, tossing them on the table. "I don't want him to think he doesn't have to buy me anything."

"Here's the latest prototype for the solar powered phone," Barney says. "This has to be worth a billion dollars!" He throws a phone on the table.

"We asked all the people who donated to Coping Together to donate to you," my mother says. "And we got $5,000,000."

"Mom, Dad, thank you," I say, picking Phoebe up and holding her high.

"Here's two pairs of Jimmy Choos I don't really need," Mia says, placing them in the table.

"Bill Gates is fronting $25,000,000 because of all the work you do to feed the hungry," Welch says, throwing the check down. "Plus, he likes you to be indebted to him." He throws a cigar on the pile, too. "It's a rare Cuban. Sell it on eBay."

Elliot, Kate, and Ava step up. "Here's my baseball card collection." He throws it on the table.

"That's your prized possession."

"You mean more to me than some old cards." He gives me a hug. "But, if you get enough without my help, give it back to me."

"Thanks Christian," Kate says, holding her daughter as my brother wraps his arms around her.

"For what?"

"For my life."

"Ditto, Kavanagh." And I pull Ana and my children closer.

"Hey listen to this!" Elliot says, reading his cell. "Jose Rodriguez has instructed his company to forward GEH $50,000,000."

"How does Jose have fifty million?" I ask.

"He started a social media photo sharing site and it blew up. He sold it and it's worth billions!"

"You're kidding me." I look to Ana. "Maybe you didn't choose the right billionaire."

"No, there's no other billionaire I'd want as my children's father." She rubs her belly and I place my hand over hers and give her a kiss.

Dale lifts a bottle of Sancerre in the air. "How about some wine?"

Everyone cheers as teacups are passed and bubbly is poured..

"I want to propose a toast," Elliot says, taking a cup and holding it high. "To my brother, Christian—still the richest son-of-a-bitch in town."

Teddy starts in at the piano and everyone breaks out into We Wish You a Merry Christmas. I love that song!

"The phone is dinging!" Phoebe says, pointing to the prototype on the table.

I pick it up and examine it.

"Are you going to answer it?" Ana asks.

I look at the caller ID—Archibald.

"No, I think he's leaving a message." I smile. "That a boy, Archibald," I look up and whisper to my friend upstairs.

"Sunday school teacher says every time a cellphone dings an angel get his wings," Phoebe says. Must be a modern translation.

"That's right." I hold my family close. "That's right."

And we sing and drink to Auld Lang Syne.

I wake with a start.

The credits are rolling on that old Christmas movie we were watching. Ana and the kids are all draped on top of me sleeping on the sofa. We all must've dozed watching the movie. Instead of waking them, I turn off the TV and straighten their blankets. I watch them sleep for I don't know how long. They're peaceful and beautiful—and mine.

It's a wonderful life.