Chapter 10 – Brew House Down
I'm excited! There, I admit it. A long weekend of studying, pain medication, and feeling like I'm being held prisoner at the apartment is over, as are my finals. Yesterday and today were rough as I adjusted to taking my finals online, but they are over. If I felt better, I'd jump as high as I could while fist pumping. Even though that crazy bitch ran me off the road, whoever she is, she couldn't keep me from finals. Woo Hoo!
Tonight my dad is taking me to the brew house for dinner, and then tomorrow we head to Montesano until graduation. After four years at college I miss being home. It's my first real non-doctor appointment outing since being discharged from the hospital and a trial run to see how I'll do at graduation at the end of the week. On top of that, I'm now on over the counter pain medications during the day, so I don't feel as loopy and nauseated. I woke up this morning without the mild nausea I've had since the accident. I'm actually feeling quite famished. I know I've lost weight in the past thirteen days, as dad has pointed it out at every meal while he coaxed me to eat more. When I asked Sawyer's opinion, he agreed with dad – typical, ex-military sticking together. This is why they are taking me to the brew house for meal consisting of a few sliders followed by a loaded baked potato. According to the men, it's operation: Fatten up Anastasia.
I made Sawyer promise to dress casual as opposed to his over-priced suit. I get that Mr. Grey probably purchases the ridiculous designer suits his security team wears, but dad and I are going in jeans, tee-shirts, sneakers, and sweaters – well, I'll wear a sweater if I can find one in my closet that goes over my injured, wrapped, and strapped-down arm.
"Annie, are you ready yet?" I hear Ray call from the living room.
I depart my bedroom, ready to go minus a sweater. "None of my jackets fit over my arm," I sigh as I glance out the window at the lightly falling rain.
Sawyer, dressed in dark jeans, tee shirt, flannel shirt, sneakers, and a dark jacket quickly comes to my rescue. He removes his jacket and with Ray's help they get my injured arm in and re-support it. The only thing hiding his firearm now is a flannel shirt. Hopefully, he'll have another way to disguise it before we get to the restaurant. "All better?" he asks.
I nod. A giggle escapes my lips as I flap my uninjured arm at them to show that the sleeve needs to be rolled up so I can at least see my fingers. Compared to me, Sawyer is a giant of a man. His jacket, which had reached half way down his backside, is almost to my knees and quite a bit heavier than I expected. It makes me feel like when I was a little kid and I was sick in winter, Ray would wrap me in his wool coat to take me to the doctor. I always felt safe snuggled up in that coat.
As we head out the door, dad informs me he's also invited Jason Taylor. I know my dad has bonded with Sawyer, but not so much where Taylor is concerned. My guess is this is about security more than anything else. I can't be angry about it though; after all, even I will admit to being nervous after what happened.
We head downstairs and get into the waiting SUV. Taylor is behind the wheel, also dressed casual. Before Sawyer gets in, he grabs a jacket that had been resting on the front seat and throws it on - firearm successfully hidden.
The short ride to the brew house was physically uncomfortable. The vibration of the SUV caused my injured ribs and arm to ache. Before I can get out of the car, dad hands me half of one of my prescription pain pills and a bottle of water. I can't help but smile, he's ready for everything. Once I take the pill, we head inside. The pictures of the restaurant I'd seen on the Internet don't do it justice. It's a combination of industrial, English pub, and distillery, with the actual brewing facility visible through a large glass wall.
Sawyer had reserved a semi-private, second level, corner table that allowed us to view virtually the entire pub below us. It's a perfect view to both ogle people and for security purposes. Our table is large and round with enough seating for eight people. My only complaint about the place is that it's cold in here, so I wrap Sawyer's jacket around me tighter. It almost goes around me twice. It would if I didn't need the armholes at my side.
I love people watching. The bar area is crawling with women - blondes, brunette's and redheads on the prowl all because some of the Seattle Sounders are supposedly here for a bachelor party in the VIP area. Once I get a glance at a few of the players, all I can think is soccer players are the hottest athletes on the planet! Holy cow are they smoking hot! Note to self: start watching more soccer as it's a win-win: hot men and I can discuss sports with Ray.
Our server is a petite, attractive natural redhead with green eyes that keep glancing over at Sawyer. I can't help but smile. Dad and Sawyer glance at each other, smirk, then together order the Mega Appetizer Sampler Combo, a dozen Buffalo wings, and two orders of prime rib sliders to start. Sounds yummy. Dad orders the Brewhouse Sampler Beer Shots – one ounce of each of the ten different home brews on tap; Sawyer and Taylor order cokes; and I order a glass of cranberry juice with seltzer and lime. I took the half of a pain pill after all, so no real drinking for me; though I will sample some of Ray's shots as the night goes on.
The boys, as I've taken to calling them, have been sharing military stories and military museums since we've taken our seats. Oddly, I find comfort in just listening to them. I always enjoyed dad's stories growing up. It's also great to see dad in his element.
When the appetizers are served, I'm stunned. The portions are enormous, but quickly realize with three grown men, and my dad the shortest at just shy of six feet, the shared food will go quickly. Taylor picks up my oblong appetizer plate, while dad and Sawyer use the tongs to pile the food onto it – two sliders, one Santa Fe spring roll, three wings, spinach-artichoke dip and chips, homemade onion rings, and finally, mozzarella sticks with marinara. I feel full just looking at my plate.
"If I eat all this I'll blow up like Violet Beauregarde from Willie Wonka," I chastise them, but dig in.
We're all devouring the appetizers, laughing, telling bawdy jokes, and all three of them are doing impressions of me to show me what I was like while heavily medicated. It was amusing to say the least.
"This place is too close to the apartment. Once I find a job, I'm going to eat here regularly and become enormous," I laugh as I turn to Sawyer. "And don't think I didn't forget about adopting a kitten and naming him Sawyer. I'll train him to be an attack cat to protect me against mice and spiders."
"Wait until your arm is better," dad comments with a smirk. "Real men don't empty litter boxes."
Halfway through the appetizers we order our meals. How I'll fit more food into my stomach, I have no idea. In the end, I order cream of broccoli soup with an extra servings of croutons, while the guys each order the steak and rib combo – loaded baked potato and all. Where do they put it all?
A couple a few years older than dad are seated a few tables over from us. When I see the honey-blonde haired woman glancing in my direction a few times, I realize it's the doctor that treated me at the hospital. Once I've recognized her, she smiles gently at me before getting to her feet and coming over to our table.
"Ana, how are you feeling? Improving I hope," she asks before glancing oddly at Taylor, and then greets them. "Taylor, Mr. Steele, Mr. Sawyer."
"Dr. Trevelyan," they say in unison.
"I'm doing much better Dr. Trevelyan," I reply. Then it hits me, this is Christian's mother – of course she knows Taylor and Sawyer.
"Did you manage your finals? I know you were anxious over being able to study," she asks with almost motherly concern.
"I did. This is our celebration dinner. Tomorrow morning I'm heading home to Montesano to continue my recovery."
"You look wonderful. Your color is back. No dizziness or headaches?"
"Just sore with occasional headaches and dizziness, but mostly when I don't rest enough. I just can't wait to get the pins removed from my arm so I can start physical therapy."
"Two more weeks my dear, then another to recover from the surgery before starting PT. I'll let you enjoy your meal. I'm glad I got to see you again. After hearing your father and Mr. Sawyer rave about this place, my husband and I decided to try it."
"You won't be disappointed. I'm ready to pop," I laugh.
"It was wonderful seeing you again," she replied before heading back to her table.
Dad let's me try a few sips of his assorted beer shots. By far my favorite is the apricot wheat beer. Naturally dad like the bourbon barreled stout. He may be all-American, but the man likes his Guiness.
I get to my feet and all three of them follow suit. Such gentlemen. "I'll be right back. I just need to visit the facilities."
"I hope you don't mind," Sawyer commented apprehensively, "but I made security arrangements for one of the staff to check the ladies room prior to your facility usage."
I giggled. "You're kidding, right? Next you'll be telling me is that you'll be standing guard outside the bathroom door while I do my business."
He nods with a slight blush to his cheeks.
"If you make me bladder shy, I'm going to come out of the ladies room with feminine products to throw at you." I couldn't help but taunt him. Sawyer had mentioned he had three older sisters so feminine products shouldn't be an embarrassment, yet he's blushing like a ten year old. "Really Luke? You're blushing."
"Remind me never to introduce you to my sisters. They are pure evil," he replied before gently leading me toward our server, who was aware of the security arrangement and led us to the ladies room.
Luke and I wait outside the door while the server goes in and checks the restroom. "It's all yours. The only person in there is staff doing a quick products restock."
I thank her before heading into the bathroom. The facilities are even themed like a brewery with stall doors that go floor to almost seven feet in height. The tile is old school commercial four by six, with a few scattered in with custom beer recipes from the ages. Even the soap dispensers are shaped like either beer barrels or beer bottles.
A beautiful, familiar-looking, blonde woman comes out of the stall, dressed in khaki's, pub tee-shirt, and trainers with two new rolls of toilet paper in one hand, and a few empty toilet roll tubes in the other. She discards the empty tubes then turns to me startled.
I can't help but feel like I know her from somewhere. She looks like someone from school but the hair color is wrong, as is the eye color. "I apologized if I startled you."
She merely looks at me oddly and nods before turning her attention back to her supply cart. I mentally shrug before entering a stall and doing my business. When I come out and wash my hands, she's still there, refilling soap dispensers.
"Why you?" she whispers. "I don't understand."
"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" I ask while I use the complementary hand cream.
"Why you?" she demands.
When I turn to face her, I'm shocked to see a gun in her hand. I can feel the blood drain from my face as I take two steps back and find myself leaning against the cold bathroom wall. I can't help but wrap myself tighter in Sawyer's jacket.
"What do you want from me?" I softly plead.
"He chose you, not me. He wouldn't even contract me, but she said I was perfect for him," she snapped taking a step toward me.
All I could think was I'm a dead girl walking. I look at her build: fake boobs - check, smell of cigarettes –check; yet I know I've seen her before at school, but she wasn't a blond back then but a brunette. Then it hits me, she was at the hospital the day I was discharged. She was also at the Heathman in the lobby as I left with Christian after the photo shoot for coffee. Holy shit! She's a Christian Grey obsessive stalker. Ironic, I know. And in her mind, I'm in her way. I'm so screwed.
"Why can't you just die?" she asks me bitterly. "I mean, can't you drown after crashing your car into a river like a normal person?"
I panic and try to scream for Sawyer, which causes her to lunge at me. In an instant, I feel the barrel of her gun in my chest before two shots are fired. The pain is unbelievable. She throws me to the floor and I strike my head harshly against the ceramic tile floor. I panic, unable to breath, my vision blurry as I struggle to remain conscious. The last thing I remember is the vague image of Sawyer barreling through the door, gun drawn, but the bat shit crazy woman was ready for him. Two quick shots from her automatic and in slow motion I watch Sawyer go down with two bullet wounds to his chest before I lose consciousness.
It's been ten minutes since Taylor called me at Escala and informed me of the brew house situation. I can't believe I beat the ambulance to the hospital. Luckily I live close. Both Ana and Sawyer were shot and my mother, who was there for dinner with my father, rode in the ambulance to help tend to them.
I'm pacing near the ambulance bay by the emergency room waiting, when finally I can see the flashing lights and hear the sirens. When the ambulance backs into the bay, I can see Sawyer, covered in blood, intubated, with IV's, being rushed straight to the operating room with my mother at his side. A moment later, the gurney holding an unconscious Anastasia, IV in place, her head bandaged and bloody, with a paramedic holding a mask over her mouth and nose as he slowly pumped air into her lungs manually. Fuck!
Fifteen minutes later, Taylor, my father, and Ray Steele arrive at the hospital and sit on either side of me as we wait together. "What the hell happened Taylor?"
"Everything was fine. Ana left the table to go to the restroom. Sawyer accompanied her and had the restroom checked out by a member of the staff and was given the all clear as the only person in there was another member of the staff. Welch cleared all of the staff members, so odds are, Sawyer wasn't concerned and allowed Ana to enter. A minute later, all hell broke loose. Two shots were fired and everyone in the restaurant hit the floor. I ran toward Sawyer and watched him enter the ladies room as I was heading down the stairs. Two more shots rang out, and then I heard a body hit the floor and finally another shot. When I got there, both Ana and Luke were on the floor unconscious and bloody, and the woman was dead with her gun still in hand. Your mom was there. If she wasn't Sawyer would have bled out for sure."
The wait was utter hell. All three of us sat quietly waiting and feeling helpless. Ray is devastated, barely holding it together. One hour passed, then another, until finally, in the third hour, my mother, now dressed in scrubs came through the emergency room doors with a detective in his mid-forties carrying a jacket joined us.
"How is my girl?" Ray asked quickly as he got to his feet.
"Miss Steele will be fine," the detective replied, not giving my mother a chance to answer. "It appears Mr. Sawyer lent her his jacket, which happens to be bulletproof, so she's going to be mighty sore, but she'll survive."
Ray takes the jacket from the detective and we all see the two bullet holes in the chest surrounded by powder burns. "This looks like she was shot with the gun pressed against her chest."
"We believe she was," the detective replied.
"Ana has two new broken ribs, severe bruising, and a repeat head injury from when she hit the floor. She will be staying a day or two in the hospital, so we can evaluate the repetitive head trauma and provide appropriate pain relief, but she should be find long term," my mother informs us. "Mr. Sawyer is still in the operating room. His condition is critical. He took two rounds at fairly close range to the chest and one struck an artery. We're not sure at this point if he will survive. I need help notifying his family."
"I'll take care of it Dr. T," Taylor replies in a daze. "Most of his family is in Texas, though one of his sisters is a television production assistant in Vancouver Canada."
"Send the jet for her and get the rest of his family here from Texas on a charter. Spare no expense," I order.
"And the woman who did this?" Ray asked the detective.
"Dead at the scene. I took a unit to her apartment and it would be an understatement to say that she was obsessed with Mr. Grey," the detective looked at me suspiciously as he showed me a picture from her drivers license. "Do you know her? Keep in mind, she's been a blonde for a while now."
I looked at the brunette in the picture but the face doesn't ring a bell. Taylor glances at the picture and I can tell, she's not familiar to him either.
"This woman's name was Maggie Jameson and she had a shrine to you in her apartment Mr. Grey. There are pictures of you and Miss Steele in Portland at a coffee house, a hardware store, and getting out of an SUV. She also had pictures of Miss Steele coming out of your apartment the night she was run off the road. Mr. Grey, she even has pictures of you in your home and office. You might want to check both for hidden cameras. Apparently she stalked not only you, but Miss Steele as well. There were pictures in her apartment of Miss Steele at school, in the library, sitting in the quad all with an X over her face and the words 'soon you'll be dead and he'll be mine' written on them. Once Miss Steele survived the car wreck, Miss Jameson followed Mr. Steele around and must have determined that would be a good place to potentially meet up with her."
"I ordered dinner from the brew house every night and picked it up," Ray sighed. "I lead the craziness right to my daughter."
"Mr. Steele, you had no way of knowing," the detective tried to placate him. "This woman was obsessed with Mr. Grey. I'm talking pictures, candles, shrines, and she even wrote erotic bondage stories about him. It was quite disturbing. She won't be bothering Mr. Grey or your family ever again."
The detective handed us each his card before leaving. Ana's nightmare is over. Crazy has a name and it was Maggie Jameson.
Two hours later, Ray is sitting in Ana's private room. She's heavily medicated for pain and sedated as when she regained consciousness she had repetitive panic attacks. I was jealous of Ray, as I knew he wouldn't leave her side, but me, well, she wouldn't want me there. I would have sold my soul to sit by her bed all night.
Mrs. Jones brought us a large thermos filled with coffee, along with Danish, as we waited for word on Sawyer's condition. It was four in the morning before they had finished with him in the operating room and moved him to the critical care unit. Before we could leave, mom made us all donate blood. We learned Sawyer took seven units during his surgery and would probably need at least one or two more. Sawyer had told Taylor he was worried about he outing. We couldn't believe Luke bought a bulletproof jacket on his way to pick up Ana and Ray for the outing, and then roped her into wearing it. If he hadn't done that, Ana would be dead, and Luke would be severely bruised. Sawyer is a good man, and that's an understatement.
I leave Reynolds standing guard outside Ana's room, just as a precaution. The media have latched onto this story and they've connected the shooting to Ana's accident to me. I was lucky Taylor and Ryan managed to get me out of the hospital without a photograph being taken. I know my relief is going to be short-lived because I could see the questions in my mother's eyes about Anastasia, but even worse, the press was out in-force chasing the biggest story they've had on me since I earned my first billion. It was going to be a very long, next few days indeed.