Filthy Rich Santas

4. Lana

4

LANA

I pull out a couple of sweaters that I never wear out here in California, a knot forming in my stomach as I carefully fold them and add them to the open suitcase on my bed.

“It’s just clothing, Lana,” I lecture myself, trying not to let myself dwell on the stifling feelings that heading home always brings up. There’s no denying that there are sections of my closet I only touch when I have to head back east, though.

I know how my parents expect me to present myself, and it’s just easier to go along with it than invite even more criticism. Of course, I’m sure they’ll find something wrong with my wardrobe anyway.

My phone pings with a text, and I grimace a little when I scoop it up and see that it’s from her.

“What, are you psychic now?” I mumble to myself as I swipe open the notification and tell my phone to read it to me.

VIVIAN: We think Oliver might be lactose intolerant, so please avoid milk chocolate if you’re bringing any treats for him. Dark is fine, though. Preferably at least 85% cocoa, for the antioxidant benefits.

I snort, shaking my head. My nephew is five. He doesn’t need antioxidants. He needs sugar.

But I just send back a thumbs up.

Of course Vivian can’t just leave it at that, though. She follows it up with a whole list of reminders and tips about what to bring and not bring. If I didn’t already know that she was slowly but surely turning into a clone of our mother, I’d almost think Mom hacked her phone and was pranking me. Not that our mother would ever stoop to doing something like that, of course. She has no problem just lecturing me herself.

My phone pings a few more times while I finish packing, but I’m sure it’s just more of the same, so I crank up some holiday music and sing along to try and push down my annoyance. Unlike me, Vivian has always seemed totally in line with our parents, living up to each and every one of their expectations with ease. I bet she’s actually looking forward to spending the holidays at our family home.

Not that I’m completely dreading it. I do love my family, even if it feels like I have to walk on eggshells around them to avoid doing the wrong thing. It will be nice to see Caleb, though. I don’t want to say I have a favorite sibling, but he’s the golden child for a reason. Everyone loves my older brother, including me.

Everything always seemed to come easy to Caleb when we were all growing up. Not only did he have this great group of friends, but he did well in school too. Not as well as with sports, though.

He’s always been athletic, and when his coaches started singling him out for his innate talent, my parents couldn’t have been prouder. They were happy to let his academics play second fiddle, and they love that he’s a professional hockey player now.

I just love that he’s living his dream. Even Vivian is, I suppose, since the sum total of her goals and aspirations seem to be becoming the perfect politician’s wife.

Not that her husband, Kyle, holds office, but he’s the son of the mayor and it couldn’t be any clearer that he’s being groomed to follow in those footsteps.

I pull out the red dress I’m planning on wearing to my parents’ annual party, biting back another sigh. It’s actually quite flattering on me, but now I can’t get my mother’s and sister’s comments out of my head.

No surprise. Unlike my siblings, I don’t think I’ve ever made our parents proud in my life.

I grimace. Well, maybe when I started dating Wade. And even if breaking up with him currently feels like the best thing that could have happened to me, I know that when I eventually have to confess it to my family, it will just be one more way that I disappoint them.

One more area of life where I lag behind my golden siblings and fail to live up to the Reeves’ family expectations.

“Annnnnd that’s enough of that,” I tell myself firmly, shaking out the dress and then carefully laying it out in my garment bag.

One visit home is not going to derail my quest to reinvent myself. I won’t let it. Even if I’ll never be exactly who my parents want me to be, I’m determined to become the person I want to be.

Besides, I may not be as enthusiastic as I should be about home for the holidays, but I do love Christmas.

“And if I have to be at that stuffy party full of uptight people, I’m going to do it in a loud, red dress that makes me feel like a queen,” I murmur to myself as I zip up the garment bag and then look around to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.

I tuck an extra sketch pad into the side pocket of my suitcase, attach the garment bag to the handle, and park them both just inside the door to my apartment before heading back to my room for the bag of gifts I wrapped for my family.

A knock sounds as I pluck the bag from the closet, and I almost trip over my own feet in surprise as I head back to the door to answer it. I really haven’t had time to make a lot of friends here in L.A. yet, and since I’m not expecting any delivery, for the life of me, I can’t think who it might be.

My heart stutters a little when I pull open the door. Of course, the three men waiting on the other side of it have always made it do that.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, feeling unaccountably breathless.

Ryder and Tristan both grin at me, while Beckett stands with his arms crossed over his chest behind them.

“I’ve got that,” Ryder says, plucking the bag of gifts out of my hand instead of answering my question.

Tristan’s big body brushes up against mine in the doorway as he leans past me and grabs my packed suitcase from behind me. “Is this all of it?”

“All of what?”

“Everything you’re taking.”

It takes me a beat, but then I remember that I did mention this trip to him, the other day when he surprised me at work. Well, he overheard.

“Yes. Well, mostly,” I say, snatching up my keys, purse, and headphones from the little table I keep by the front door. I jiggle the keys at him. “As you can see, I’m about to hit the road.”

Ryder smirks. “So are we.”

“And I’d really like to beat traffic on the 101,” Beckett grumbles, making me feel guilty for a second before I remember that they’re the ones who decided to stop by and see me on their way to wherever it is they’re going.

“Come on then,” Tristan says cheerfully, heading down the hallway with my suitcase.

“Wait,” I say when Beckett turns and follows him, quickly locking up my apartment then hurrying after them. “Where are you guys going? You don’t have to carry my stuff down. I?—”

Ryder’s low laughter from behind me makes me stumble. He steadies me with a hand to the small of my back. “Slow down, love. We’re all headed to the same place. No one’s going to leave without you.”

My cheeks blaze at the endearment, but I ignore the little leap my heart takes when I hear it since that’s just the way Ryder is. He’s always been a charmer, and I have no doubt at all that any woman he speaks to is instantly his “love.”

It’s the other thing he said that piques my curiosity. “What do you mean we’re all headed to the same place? The parking lot?”

He laughs again and urges me forward with the hand he still has on my back, the bag of gifts still tucked under his other arm. “No, to New Hampshire.”

I stop completely, turning to face him. “But… what? You’re all headed back home for Christmas too?”

He nods. “Yep, and you heard Beckett. We don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

“Are you guys headed to the airport?”

He grins down at me as we catch up with the other two, standing next to Beckett’s oversized SUV. Beckett is already in the driver’s seat, and Tristan is in the process of wedging my suitcase into the back, beside three others.

“We’re driving with you,” Ryder says, tossing the bag of gifts he carried down for me in too, just before Tristan closes the back.

“But—” I start, my heart racing.

“No buts,” Tristan cuts me off, opening the front passenger door. “You want shotgun?”

“I, um… wait. The three of you really want to drive all the way across the country with me?”

Tristan grins at me. “Absolutely.”

“Sounds like a good time,” Ryder adds, making butterflies erupt in my stomach.

Beckett leans toward the open door, sounding impatient. “You know Caleb would kill us if we let you travel alone, little menace. Now get in so we don’t get stuck with the morning commuters.”

My spirits droop a little at his gruff tone, but I scramble into the backseat after Ryder does, leaving the front to Tristan.

Of course they’re just doing this for Caleb. I still can’t find it in me to reject their offer though. And despite knowing that it’s more of an obligation than an adventure for the three of them, I can’t help feeling a little excited as we hit the freeway.

I’m still stunned it’s happening at all, but a road trip with three hot men I may or may not have been secretly crushing on forever sounds infinitely less boring than driving on my own with nothing but audiobooks and podcasts for company. In fact, for the first time since making plans to head home for Christmas, I’m actually looking forward to the trip.

Well, this part of it, at least.

“What’s got you looking so happy?” Ryder asks, nudging me with his shoulder.

I blush hard, happy beyond measure that he can’t read my mind. Thankfully, he doesn’t call me on it, moving right along without actually making me answer. As we head out of L.A., his warm, familiar banter puts me at ease, and if I can’t help notice the warmth of his body radiating into mine from how close we’re sitting, I’m the only one who has to know that.

“So, what were your holiday plans before you all decided to escort me back to New Hampshire?” I ask the three of them when there’s a lull in the conversation.

Tristan turns around to grin at me. “I was going to end up there anyway. You know Grandma Meg wouldn’t let me spend Christmas anywhere else.”

His words are full of affection, and I can’t help feeling a little jealous of how close he is with his grandmother. On the surface, I could say the same thing. My family won’t let me skip out on spending the holidays with them, either. But I’ve known Grandma Meg practically my whole life, and she’s the warmest, kindest person I know. I’d bet anything that Tristan’s Christmas with her will be everything the holiday is meant to be.

“Don’t you usually fly home?”

Tristan shrugs. “Sure, but this is a much more fun way to get back there.”

I bite my lip, holding in a smile. Even knowing Caleb probably put them up to this, it’s nice to hear.

“Were all of you already planning on heading back to New Hampshire?” I ask.

“No,” Beckett says, his eyes trained on the freeway ahead of him. “I haven’t been home for Christmas in… fuck. I don’t know how many years.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with a wince, some of my good cheer evaporating. Hearing it doesn’t really surprise me since I know he doesn’t get along with his father. I just feel bad that I’m the reason he feels like he has to do this.

Beckett grunts, shrugging, and Tristan elbows him in the side. “Don’t be an ass.”

“What?” Beckett asks, his eyebrows scrunching together. “What are you talking about?”

Next to me, Ryder rolls his eyes. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna go home for Christmas either, Beckett. It’s a pointless holiday. But you don’t hear me bitching about the road trip.”

“I’m not bitching about the road trip,” Beckett grunts.

They start to bicker, but I’m still stuck on what Ryder said.

“Pointless?” I blurt out, interrupting them.

Tristan snickers, and I see Beckett’s eyebrows go up in the rearview mirror. Ryder just shrugs, though. “Uh, yeah? I mean, it’s an over-commercialized excuse to profit by pulling on people’s heartstrings. I’m not gonna fall for that.”

I blink at him, aghast. “But Christmas is wonderful . It’s the best holiday ever!”

He gives me a slow, teasing smile. “Oh? Give me one good reason.”

“Christmas carols,” I reply promptly. “They’re cheery and fun and festive and nostalgic. You can’t tell me you don’t like any of them.”

“Nope. None,” he says, an amused note in his voice that makes it clear he’s baiting me.

I don’t care. I’m right, and I’ll prove it. “Okay, what about… All I Want For Christmas Is You ?”

I start humming the tune, then sing a few of the lyrics, ignoring the way my cheeks heat up when both Beckett’s and Tristan’s deep voices join in for the chorus.

Ryder grins. “Not ringing any bells.”

I narrow my eyes. “ Jingle Bells ?”

“Not a fan.”

“ Winter Wonderland ?”

“I’d prefer to stay indoors.”

“In other words, sitting around a cozy fire with snow falling outside and the scent of cinnamon and pine in the air sounds good to you?” I ask triumphantly.

“Sure, but it doesn’t have to be Christmas for that.”

“Hot chocolate,” I say, starting to tick off some of my favorite things about this time of year on my fingers. “Presents. Mince pie. Eggnog! Oh, and what about gingerbread? I can’t think of a better cookie flavor, and Christmas is the only time anyone bakes it.”

“Okay, fine. Those are all great things, and I can agree that they make December a fun month.”

“Exactly!”

He smirks. “But you have to admit that a lot of them are a little more about the season and less about the holiday itself. I just don’t see any reason to get excited about it. It’s why I don’t usually head back home.”

“There wouldn’t be a season without the holiday! Besides, surely you’ve gone home with a girlfriend for Christmas or something. Even if you’re determined to be a Grinch, you wouldn’t have imposed that on any of your exes.”

He laughs. “I don’t have to. I don’t really do relationships. So, nope. No one’s ever dragged me home to meet the family for Christmas.”

My heart squeezes with something a lot like disappointment at his easy dismissal of being in a relationship, but that’s silly, so I ignore it. I’ve got better things to do than pine over men I can’t have.

Like help Ryder see the light about my favorite time of year.

“Come on, back me up here, guys,” I say to Tristan and Beckett.

Beckett just snorts, but Tristan grins at me. “I’m with you. I’ve always liked Christmas. The world just feels a little friendlier this time of year.”

“Exactly! I think it brings out the best in people.” I grimace without meaning to, thinking of my own family, and quickly add, “Well, most people.”

“Not to mention that it’s the best eating you’ll get all year,” Tristan says helpfully.

Ryder scoffs. “Are you forgetting about Thanksgiving?”

“Oh please,” Tristan says, adjusting his glasses. “I’m not saying Thanksgiving isn’t great, but it’s only one meal, and it’s basically always the same food. Turkey. Gravy. Stuffing.”

“Pumpkin pie,” Beckett rumbles from the driver’s seat. “Sweet potatoes.”

I bounce in my seat. I can’t help it. “Oh, don’t even get me started on sweet potatoes. My mom makes this sweet potato casserole for Christmas every year that’s to die for.”

“You’ve had one sweet potato casserole, you’ve had them all,” Ryder says with a smirk, clearly trying to bait me again.

And, once again, it totally works.

“No,” I tell him earnestly, adjusting my seat belt so I can turn toward him and resting a hand on his arm as I stare into his eyes. “You don’t understand. This is the kind of casserole that makes you want to have its babies. It has marshmallows and brown sugar and spices. I can never convince her to give me the recipe, but the smell alone is divine, and it literally tastes like heaven.”

“Literally?” Ryder teases me. “And what, literally, does heaven taste like?”

I close my eyes, my mouth watering as I sink into the memory. “Like warm, gooey marshmallows. Like sweet, sticky brown sugar. Like all the spices from the holidays wrapped up in one perfect dish.”

I sigh happily, my whole body tingling with the visceral memory of sliding that first forkful into my mouth every year.

“Well, damn,” Tristan says in a husky tone that has me snapping my eyes back open.

All three of the men are staring at me. Even Beckett’s eyes flick back and forth from the road to the rearview mirror, and I swallow, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

I may have… moaned a little while describing it. But in my defense, it really is that good.

Ryder clears his throat, and I realize I’m still groping him. Or resting a friendly hand on his arm, at least.

I snatch it back, embarrassed. “Um, anyway, what are your favorite holiday foods?”

“Pretty sure it’s sweet potato casserole now,” he tells me, giving me a heated look that makes me want to squirm in my seat.

Then he blinks, clearing his throat again, and looks away. “We over the state line yet, Beckett?”

I bite back a smile. It sounds an awful lot like the grown-up version of “are we there yet.”

Beckett just grunts in response, then suddenly veers onto an off ramp, the momentum flinging me against Ryder’s body.

“Gotta gas up,” he says, his eyes flicking back to us just once as Ryder helps me right myself.

Tristan raises his eyebrows. “We did that on the way to Lana’s house. We can’t have burned through more than a quarter of the tank yet.”

“We’re taking a break,” Beckett says gruffly. “I think we all need to get out of this fucking car for a second and quit thinking about fucking casseroles, okay?”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment again, but Tristan just chuckles, shaking his head. “Ah, gotcha. Yeah. Let’s do that. I’m sure the fresh air will do all of us some good right now.”

I hope he’s right, because we’ve still got a lot of miles to go to get to New Hampshire.