Filthy Rich Santas

8. Tristan

8

TRISTAN

I blink into the darkness, not sure what it was that woke me up. Then it comes again—a knock on my hotel room door. When whoever it is knocks for a third time, I finally get over my groggy confusion and grab my glasses to check the time.

It’s 2:20 in the morning. That gets me moving. Ryder and Beckett are in the other room we booked, and I’m already envisioning an emergency at the club that one of them has come by to bring me in on.

I don’t feel awake enough to work out why they wouldn’t have just called, so it takes me a minute to process my surprise when I open the door to find out it’s not what I was expecting.

“Lana?” My voice is raspy from sleep, but I’m suddenly wide awake when I realize she’s upset. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

I step away from the door, worried over the hitch I hear in her breath. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights, so the room is too dim for me to see her well, but it’s obvious by her loungewear and mussed hair that she came straight from her bed.

“Did something happen?” I ask.

She stands awkwardly just inside the door, shifting from foot to foot and looking up at me with big, glassy eyes. The protective instincts she’s always inspired in me rise up instantly at the sight of her like this.

“Um, no. I mean, yes. But nothing real.”

She looks down, obviously embarrassed, and I step closer, tipping up her chin. “Tell me.”

“I had a bad dream,” she blurts out. “And I just… didn’t want to be alone.”

“Okay.”

Tension flows out of her body, and she sways on her feet. “Okay? Really? That’s not weird?”

“No,” I tell her simply, shoving away the memories that try to rise to the surface.

She called it “nothing real,” but I suffered through enough bad dreams after the accident that took my parents’ lives to know that “real” can be very subjective.

And no one should have to go through that kind of suffering alone.

“So, I can stay with you?” she asks. “You really don’t mind?”

I’m surprised to realize how much I don’t. Maybe it’s the dark, or maybe it’s just that it’s her, but the usual reluctance I feel to have someone in my private space, much less sharing my bed when I’m dressed only in a pair of boxers with most of my scars fully exposed, just isn’t there.

“I don’t mind,” I tell her honestly, leading her over to the bed and pulling the covers back for her.

It’s only after I crawl in next to her that I realize that, just like the room Beckett and Ryder are in, mine is a double too. I could have put her in the second bed, but damn. I really don’t want to. Not just because I’ve always been attracted to her. I’ve long known that nothing can come from that. But because those instincts of mine are only getting stronger.

I want to comfort her, protect her, be the wall between her and all her fears tonight, whatever those may be.

Lana doesn’t complain about sharing my bed, so I set my glasses back on the nightstand and pull the blankets over the both of us after settling onto my back, careful not to touch her. That’s not what she asked for, so I leave a good amount of space between us, hoping my presence here will help.

“Okay now?” I ask, staring up at the darkness.

“Uh huh,” she says, her breath still ragged and shallow in a way that I don’t like. Then after a minute, she adds a soft, “Thanks,” followed by a quiet sniffle.

Then it comes again, as if she’s fighting to hold off tears, and it breaks my resolve to keep my distance.

“Lana,” I mutter, rolling toward her and pulling her into my arms.

She stiffens in surprise, almost making me second guess my instincts, but before I can, she melts against me, her soft breath fluttering against my chest.

I’ve hugged her before, but this is something else. She feels incredible against me, all warm curves and plush softness. If I wasn’t so worried about her, it would be a hard temptation to resist.

Instead of letting myself think about that, I wrack my brain for something that could have upset her like this. She seems to be over her shit-head ex, and I know we got to the bar the other night before the man who was plying her with drinks could do anything we would’ve had to hurt him for, so I’m at a loss.

“Want to tell me about the dream?” I ask, my lips brushing her hair a little as I speak. She smells like cherry blossoms and honey, and it takes an act of will to keep my cock from stirring in response.

Lana shakes her head, her breath still stuttering and short.

I stroke her arm, hoping to soothe her, and feel something warm in my chest when she finally starts to calm down.

“Sometimes it helps to talk about it,” I try again.

“I’d rather not,” she says quietly.

I don’t like the idea of her keeping her fears to herself. If I don’t know what’s wrong, I won’t know how to fix it. But I do know something about the painful process of working through things that are hard to share with others, so I decide not to push her.

That’s not why she came, and it’s clearly not what she needs.

But I can also tell by the tension still present in her body that she’s not going to be falling asleep any time soon, so maybe talking about something else will help calm her down.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been back home, hasn’t it? Are you excited to see your family for Christmas?”

She laughs softly. “Yes. But also… no.”

“Oh?” My brows rise. “I know Caleb is looking forward to seeing you.”

She sighs. “I’m looking forward to seeing him too. It’s just complicated. He’s really the only one I fit in with.”

“Hmm.”

I can feel her smiling against my chest at my non-answer, but just like I hoped, it encourages her to go on.

“I do love Christmas, but you know how my parents are. They don’t really celebrate the things that I love about it. They expect perfection, and that’s just not something I’m capable of giving them.”

“Bullshit.”

Her soft body tenses up, but then she laughs, relaxing even more. “You know what I mean.”

I really don’t. But I do know that her parents have rigid ideas about the kind of image they expect their family to project.

“I never got the sense that their expectations were that demanding,” I say, thinking of all the things Caleb got away with.

Lana gives a delicate snort. “Not if you’re my brother.”

I lean back a little so I can see her face, but the little bit of moonlight coming through the window isn’t enough to show me her expression. “What do you mean?”

“He’s the golden boy in our parents’ eyes, so of course he feels that way. They don’t think he can do any wrong. It’s the opposite for me, though. I’ve spent most of my life trying to live up to their standards, but all I hear from them is how I’m failing at it. I love my brother, and he’s the one family member who doesn’t ever make me feel that way, but he also doesn’t get it. He does everything right in their eyes without even trying.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I agree that Caleb excels at not just hockey, but almost anything he touches. But fuck, so does Lana. It’s hard to imagine anyone finding fault with her. As far as I’m concerned, she’s pretty much perfect.

But what I really hear is that she doesn’t feel like she belongs. That she feels separate from the rest of her family in some way, even when she’s surrounded by them.

Despite the close ties I have with my best friends, I know what it feels like to walk through life not fitting in.

I rub slow circles against her back. “What about your sister?”

“It seems easy for Vivian. Everything my parents expect just comes naturally to her. It’s…”

“Lonely?” I offer.

“I guess,” she says with a sigh. “I love them. But it’s just hard to be around them sometimes when I can never seem to measure up. You’re lucky you were raised by someone like Grandma Meg.”

I smile in the darkness, because I know she’s right. My grandmother is the best. But then Lana suddenly stiffens with a little gasp, her soft hand landing on my cheek.

Right over my scars.

“Shit, Tristan. I’m sorry. That was horribly insensitive to say.”

It’s my turn to stiffen. I don’t particularly like to be touched, and I especially avoid letting anyone touch the damaged parts of my body.

But then I realize that’s not entirely true. Not right now.

Holding her here in the dark, with most of our bodies touching, is something I like a little too much.

I cover her hand with mine, letting it stay where it is.

“I know what you meant,” I reassure her. “And of course I regret losing my mother, but you’re right. Grandma Meg is great.”

“I remember when it happened,” she says softly. “She never left your side at the hospital.”

She means the accident. I nod. if I let myself, I can still remember too much of it—the shocking abruptness of the impact, the overwhelming, disorienting terror as the car rolled and rolled and rolled , the pain—but almost nothing at all about the weeks immediately following it.

I’ve never been sure if the gap in my memory is due to a trauma response, or to how drugged up they kept me for all the surgeries, but when I started to become more conscious, Grandma Meg was there.

“When the accident happened…” I start, the words surprising me. I never talk about this.

Lana makes a quiet sound of encouragement, inviting me to continue.

“It was obvious that she couldn’t have survived,” I say after a second, my voice raspy, “but she was my mother , so it also felt impossible that she could be gone. When I woke up in the hospital, I kept thinking it hadn’t been real. Grandma Meg insisted to the doctors that I hear it from her, not them. It can’t have been easy on her, but I… I’ve always appreciated that.”

Lana hums quietly under her breath. It sounds like empathy, not pity, thankfully. I hate that. But I guess I knew I wouldn’t get it from her, or I never would have opened my mouth.

“She was different before the accident,” I go on, not sure why I’m telling her all this. “Grandma Meg, I mean. She was stricter when I was a little kid. A little more like your parents, actually.”

“No way.” Lana gives a disbelieving laugh. “Grandma Meg ?”

I chuckle softly. “I know, but it’s true. She told me once that losing her daughter changed her whole perspective on life. She thought she was going to lose me too. The two of us were her only living family.”

“Everyone said it was a miracle you survived,” Lana whispers.

I tighten my arm around her. “Everyone was right.”

“I’m glad you did.”

I close my eyes, a shudder going through me. “There was a time I wasn’t. But I am now. And honestly, that has a lot to do with being raised by my grandmother. She told me once that sitting next to my hospital bed all those weeks, not knowing whether she’d lose me too, made her realize that none of the things she used to think mattered were actually important. That all she wanted, if I lived, was for me to grow up and be happy, whatever that meant for me.”

“Even if it means owning a kink club?” she teases.

I laugh. “Even that.”

“Wait.” Lana half sits up, her silhouette backlit by the faint moonlight. “Don’t tell me she knows .”

I grin, reaching up to push the curtain of her hair back, even though her face is still in shadow. “Of course she knows.”

“Holy shit.” Lana laughs, collapsing back down onto the bed, her head resting on my chest. “I literally can’t imagine.”

I shrug, still grinning in the dark. “She’s never judged me for any of my choices, and she doesn’t judge me for that. She’s the most supportive person I know. You were right. I am lucky she raised me.”

Lana’s fingers trail over my chest in a way that feels far too good. I don’t even think she’s aware of it.

After a minute, she asks, “Is she really okay with it, though? Even something like that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being kinky,” I tell her firmly. “As long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual, it’s a healthy way to express your sexuality.”

“Is that what you told Grandma Meg?”

I laugh. “That’s what she told me . And believe me, if you think getting ‘the talk’ from a parental figure is bad, it’s nothing compared to the version you get if you admit to unconventional interests.”

“But you were able to admit it to her,” she says quietly. “That’s kind of amazing.”

“We don’t keep secrets from each other. We’re all that we have.”

“No, you’ve got my brother. You’ve got Ryder and Beckett too.”

I smile, the tightness on the left side of my mouth from my scarring not bothering me for once. “True.”

She shakes her head with another soft laugh, one that gets swallowed up by a yawn. “I still can’t believe she knows you three own a kink club.”

“She knows. And she’s proud of us. Proud of me . Not just for making a successful business, but for fulfilling her one wish for me.”

“To be happy,” Lana repeats softly. “I love that. I can’t imagine hearing anything like that from my family. I can’t remember them ever telling me they were proud of something I’ve done.”

My heart twists. I hate that her family makes her feel like their love is conditional. I know Beckett went through the same thing with his father, and I’ve seen up close and personal how much it fucked him up.

Lana doesn’t deserve that, and I can only assume that Caleb doesn’t realize how deeply she feels it, because he does love her. He wouldn’t want her to have that kind of pain.

Neither do I. It hits me suddenly that she hasn’t shared these feelings with him, her own brother—but she just shared them with me. That thought makes my heart twist in an entirely different way.

I kiss the top of her head, holding her a little closer. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know, but it’s true. You’ve built an incredible life for yourself. Graduated with honors. Are great at your job. Had the good sense to say fuck off to that piece of shit you were dating…”

She laughs, lightly smacking my chest. “Stop” Her voice softens as she adds, “Thank you.”

I kiss the top of her head again, breathing in cherry blossoms and honey.

“Do you remember the winter the ice rink flooded?” she asks out of the blue.

I chuckle softly. “Of course I do.”

“Caleb was so mad. He never would tell me where you guys ended up going to sneak in your practice while they were fixing it.”

“That’s because we were all sworn to secrecy,” I say as she yawns again. Then I go ahead and tell her anyway as she snuggles deeper into my arms, because the dark has already stripped away a few secrets tonight. What’s one more?

Halfway through the story, I realize by her steady breathing that she’s fallen asleep.

I keep talking anyway, my voice getting softer and softer, just because I like it.

Talking to her.

Holding her.

Having her in my bed.

I like it far, far too much. And it takes me a lot longer than it should to finally fall asleep.