Filthy Rich Santas

13. Lana

13

LANA

My heart thuds at the sight of the king-sized bed. It’s large enough for all of us to fit on, and after the way Ryder was teasing me earlier, my heart races at the thought that it’s no longer just teasing.

We’ll have to.

Something coils inside me at the thought, but I force my shoulders to relax. There was too much tension between all four of us this morning, the much-less-fun kind of tension, and the truth is, we don’t have to.

“I, um, I can sleep on the couch,” I stutter, nervously running my hand over the back of it.

All three men turn to face me.

“No way.” Tristan shakes his head. “We’ll figure something out.”

“What’s to figure out,” I say, shrugging. “I’m the smallest.”

“And that thing is tiny.” He gives the couch an assessing look. “We’re not letting you sleep there.” Then he smirks slightly, adding, “Especially since I know you didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Warmth floods my chest. He hasn’t explicitly said what my other options are, but just the fact that he’s looking out for me heals some of the cracks inside me from the way we left things this morning.

He holds eye contact, and I finally smile.

“Okay,” I say softly, getting a smile in return. “We’ll just figure it out?”

He nods when my voice lilts up at the end, making it into a question that I’m not sure how to ask, and something settles between us.

“Shit, it really is bad out there,” Ryder declares from over by the window, breaking the moment between me and Tristan.

I hurry over to join him, pushing the curtain open to see a solid wall of white. I have a fleeting thought of how my mother will react if the storm delays us past tonight, but I shake it off, a grin spreading over my face before I can stop it.

Next to me, Ryder snorts. “What?”

“It’s snowing!”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yes? And?”

“Oh, come on.” I beam, lifting my eyebrows. “It’s almost Christmas! It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Now that we’re not driving in it,” Beckett mutters, wandering closer.

“Exactly! And just look at this suite. It’s really nice, isn’t it? And what’s better than being all warm and cozy inside in winter?” I pull the curtains open wider. “It’s like we’re inside our own personal snow globe!”

All three of them shoot me extremely unimpressed looks, their expressions so similar that I burst out laughing.

“Really, guys? Where’s your holiday spirit?” I turn back to look at the falling snow. A subtle rainbow of blurry lights is visible through the tumbling flakes from the nearby buildings that are decorated for Christmas. I sigh happily. “This reminds me of winters back home, you know? Whenever it would get really bad outside like this, I’d curl up on that padded window seat we had. You guys know the one, remember?”

“Down the hall from Caleb’s room,” Tristan murmurs.

“Yup. I’d curl up there with a cup of peppermint hot chocolate and a plate of frosted gingerbread cookies, watch the snow fall outside, just like this, and dream of…”

I shrug, smiling as bits and pieces of memories flit through my mind.

“Dream of what, love?” Ryder asks, putting his arm around my shoulders as he looks out the window with me.

“Oh, I don’t know.” I shrug. “So many things, but also nothing really specific. Just a happy life, you know? This time of year kind of makes it impossible not to daydream like that, don’t you think?”

Ryder hums softly under his breath, which isn’t a no. But knowing his distaste for this season, it’s not a yes, either.

That’s okay. I love Christmas . And there really is magic in it, as far as I’m concerned. Even if you have to find it in small moments most of the time, not in big, flashy miracles.

“Shit, I think I left my charger in the car,” Tristan says, digging through the small bag he grabbed when we all came inside.

“I’ll grab it,” Beckett grunts, keys jingling in his hand. “I’ve gotta step out anyway. I’ll be back in a bit.”

He nods at us, then leaves the room.

I shiver as cold seeps in through the window, and Ryder rubs my arm briskly, then steps away. “Let’s turn up the heat.”

“I think I’ll grab a quick shower too,” I tell them, needing to warm up.

Ryder tosses me my overnight bag, and I head into the spacious bathroom, sighing contentedly when I finally step under the water a few minutes later.

I do love winter, and snow really is one of my favorite things. But getting warm again after spending a little time in it? That’s its own kind of miracle, and I stand under the rainfall shower head and let myself relax and enjoy it.

As I close my eyes and tilt my head back, the sound of the water hitting the glass enclosure suddenly takes me back to this morning. To Tristan. To watching him touch himself, hearing him groan my name, seeing his head fall back with pleasure.

I gasp and open my eyes again, reaching for the scented body wash provided by the hotel. Rubbing it over my skin tempts me to follow Tristan’s example and touch myself a little more intimately.

But I don’t. Not with the three of them—well, maybe just two if Beckett isn’t back yet—out there possibly listening.

Or maybe I don’t because the idea of these men out there listening makes it a little too tempting.

I bite my lip, then shake my head and rinse off quickly without giving in to that temptation. I’m not sure what’s happening between all of us, or between any of us, but I do know that I don’t want to figure it out in here all on my own.

I turn off the water and towel myself off, then moisturize with the high-end lotion I’m addicted to and put on a fluffy robe, compliments of the hotel.

It feels amazing against my bare skin, but my enjoyment is cut short when my phone rattles against the counter where I left it. I’ve got it muted, and when I pick it up, I realize that I missed a call and several texts about Christmas from my mother.

I blink, surprised to see them. Not because the urgent tone over mundane matters is out of character for her, because it’s not. But because for a moment, I almost forgot what this road trip is really about.

For another moment, I very, very briefly consider continuing to forget, just for a while, but then I shake that bit of foolishness off too and quickly tap out a reply to her repeated requests for confirmation of my arrival time.

She’s already going to be annoyed by the update I’m sending, letting her know that we’ve run into bad weather. Annoying her further by delaying my reply would just make my life that much more miserable.

I got a response almost instantly.

MOM: I hope you’re not using that as an excuse to spoil our holiday plans. You have obligations as a member of this family, Lana.

My stomach tightens unpleasantly, but really, what did I expect? Concern over the safety of the roads?

ME: I’ll be there. Depending on the road conditions tomorrow, I might arrive a bit later than I expected to, but I budgeted extra time anyway, so I’m not too worried about it.

MOM: Maybe you should be a little more worried. We’ve invited people who will expect to see you on the 24th. Don’t disappoint me.

I bite back a sigh, knowing there’s no point in wishing she’d want me there because she misses me, or because she’s looking forward to all of us being together at the holidays, rather than just appearances and expectations.

ME: I’ll make it in time for the Christmas Eve party.

MOM: This wouldn’t have been a problem if you’d flown. Where are you now? If the weather hasn’t cleared tomorrow, we should look into flights local to you.

I sigh. It doesn’t matter how many times I explain how uncomfortable with flying I am. She always gives me a hard time about it.

ME: I really don’t want to fly. There’s still plenty of time to make it on the road. I’ll be there. I promise.

It takes me another minute or two of going back and forth before she finally lets me be, and I set my phone back down on the counter and decide to leave it there as I head back out into the suite.

If she really needs to say anything else to me tonight… well, it can wait.

I pull the luxurious robe around me more tightly and step into the living room just as Beckett returns to the room. He pauses by the door, brushing some snow off his shoulders and the oversized paper bag he’s carrying.

“Did you grab my charger?” Tristan asks.

Beckett nods, fishing it out of his pocket and tossing it to him.

Ryder jerks his chin toward the bag. “What else did you get?”

“Went to that bakery we passed.”

Ryder’s eyebrows go up. “We passed a bakery?”

Tristan nods, following Beckett to the table as Beckett sets down the bag and carefully pulls a drink carrier out with four steaming travel cups in it. “It was on the corner a couple blocks back. With all the Christmas lights. You didn’t see that?”

Ryder shrugs.

“I walked over,” Beckett informs us, pulling a take-out box from the bag, then folding the bag flat and setting it aside. He glances at me, his lips tilting up ever so slightly on one side. “Just like being in a snow globe.”

That startles a laugh out of me, and something warm and a little bit wonderful spreads through my chest.

“Colder than one, though,” I whisper.

Beckett grunts, then hands me one of the travel cups. “Yeah, but this will warm you up. Peppermint hot chocolate, right?”

I nod as I take it, that warmth inside me starting to glow.

Ryder pops open the take-out box, then grins up at me. “And Christmas cookies!”

“Gingerbread ones?” I ask, a little stunned.

“Frosted,” Ryder confirms, shoving one into his mouth with a grin as Beckett gazes down at me.

His handsome face is ruddy from the cold, and I reach up to rest one of my hands on his cold cheek, my other hand warmed all the way through from the drink he went out of his way to get.

“You didn’t have to do that. You’re freezing.”

“Winter will do that. But someone told me that it just makes things feel more warm and cozy inside.”

I’m definitely feeling warm and cozy inside, and for a moment, I can’t look away. It’s not just that he remembered what I said, and it’s not even the unexpected thoughtfulness of Beckett going out of his way to fulfill one of my favorite holiday memories.

It’s how seen I feel.

“Peppermint hot chocolate, huh?” Tristan says, pulling one of the cups out of the travel carrier and sniffing it.

Beckett chuckles, pulling my hand from his face and giving it a quick squeeze before turning back to Tristan. “Not for you. One of them should be that Chai shit you like.”

Tristan grins as Ryder turns on the gas fireplace, and we all settle in to eat the treats Beckett brought back for us. It really is cozy, and as I curl up on the couch and listen to the three of them tease each other with the familiarity of lifelong friends—including me in their banter as naturally as breathing—it hits me that I’m happier than I can remember being in a long time.

And a little bit nostalgic, too… even if it’s more of a wistful longing for the happy future I used to dream of than actual memories of Christmases past.

“These are almost as good as the ones Grandma Meg makes,” Tristan groans as I relax into the plush couch.

He holds up a gingerbread man currently missing its left leg.

“You’d better not let her hear you say that.” Ryder chuckles as Tristan bites the right leg off too. “Remember that year she made a whole batch with their heads missing?”

Beckett cracks a smile, and Tristan laughs hard enough it’s a holiday miracle that he doesn’t choke.

“What happened?” I ask, grinning as I look between the three of them.

“It was Caleb’s fault,” Beckett says. “We should probably leave it at that.”

I lean forward. “Oh no, you don’t! You’ve got dirt on my brother? I need it.”

Ryder chuckles. “He used to play hockey without a helmet sometimes, and Grandma Meg wasn’t having it.”

“She does have a way of making a point,” Tristan says with a grin. “Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hockey player take a hit quite as bad as she was implying with those headless cookies. Speaking of hockey, do you remember that time?—”

Beckett cuts him off. “Nope. We’re not talking about that.”

“How do you know what he was going to say?” I ask, laughing as I look between the three of them.

Tristan smirks. “Oh, Beckett knows because he was the one who broke my grandmother’s favorite reindeer Christmas ornament with a hockey puck.”

“Allegedly,” Beckett says, pointing a cookie at Tristan, then swinging it around to aim at Ryder. “And you do remember who came up with the great idea to play hockey in the living room, don’t you?”

“Hey, that was Caleb’s idea, not mine!” Ryder defends himself, grinning.

“Oh, I see.” I smirk. “You’re all going to blame everything on my brother since he’s not around to defend himself.”

Tristan shrugs. “To be fair, he was the one who was always saying we should get in more practice.”

“And look where he is now,” Ryder points out. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Rest in pieces, Rudolph.”

All three of them snicker, and that leads to a few more stories about trouble I never realized the four of them got into back then.

“A total hot chocolate ban?” I ask at one point, laughing so hard my cheeks start to hurt. “That sounds extreme.”

Ryder shrugs. “I mean, it was a lot of snowballs.”

“And let me guess. That was Caleb’s fault too?”

Beckett and Tristan both nod solemnly, Tristan’s eyes glinting behind his glasses. But then Ryder leans forward.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he says in a conspiratorial voice. “Caleb may have been the master strategist, but Beckett was the one who came up with the idea to add the food dye.”

Beckett chucks a pillow at him. “Traitor. If I remember that night correctly, we all swore an oath of secrecy about that shit.”

Ryder grins. “Eh, I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations on that has expired.”

“Oh really?” Beckett drawls, looking more relaxed than I’m used to seeing him and dangerously attractive as he gives Ryder a sly grin. “So we’re free to tell each other’s secrets now?”

“I’m here for it,” I tell them, wiggling into a more comfortable position.

I pull the plush robe I’m still wearing around me as I rest my head on the arm of the couch, the dancing flames in the fireplace giving everything a cozy feel.

“You want our secrets, freckles?” Tristan asks softly, looking over at me with a small smile.

I guess I’m a little too relaxed, because I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something along the lines of I want everything .

“I want to hear yours if you’re gonna hear ours,” Ryder tells me. “Something good. Something you’ve never told anyone before.”

“Um, are we all playing by that rule? One secret we’ve never shared before?”

Something shifts in the air at my question, and all three men look at me with heated intensity before Beckett breaks the electric tension.

“I’ll go first,” he rumbles. “Remember Jonathan Hawkins?”

I frown, surprised. Jonathan was a couple of years younger than my brother and these three, and a grade ahead of me in school. He used to tease me relentlessly, with a biting humor that played on every one of my insecurities.

I never complained about it because I was too embarrassed, but I used to dread seeing him.

Until he changed.

Beckett’s eyes flare with something sharp and dangerous when I give him a cautious nod, then his lips spread in a fierce grin. “He was a little shit, but he eventually learned to treat you nice, didn’t he, little menace?”

“Yeah,” I admit, laughing a little awkwardly. “My junior year of high school. He must have had a personality transplant or something. He became almost weirdly nice to me.”

It was a lot better than the way he used to tear me down with his taunting, but it was definitely jarring the way he did such a one-eighty, going out of his way to be nice to me all the way up until he graduated.

Beckett holds my stare for a second, then gives a single sharp nod. “Good. I had a talk with him. Glad it stuck.”

My heart trips in my chest. “You talked to him?”

Ryder snorts. “I’ll bet you anything that their ‘talk’ involved the threat of bodily harm.”

My eyes go wide. “Wait. You threatened him?” I ask Beckett. “For me?”

“I heard some of the shit he said to you once. He fucking deserved to feel a little fear over that.”

I’m a little embarrassed that he knew how Jonathan was treating me, but I’m also so touched that he decided to do something about it.

“Thank you,” I murmur after a moment, trapping my bottom lip between my teeth. “I didn’t realize you even paid attention to me back then. Did Caleb ask you to look out for me then too?”

He holds my gaze for a moment, then shakes his head. “No.”

“Oh,” I breathe, the word barely a whisper.

“I’ve got a secret,” Ryder says, breaking the gathering tension. “I hate Christmas.”

Tristan laughs, adjusting his glasses. “Sorry, Ryder. That’s no secret.”

“It is a shame, though,” I add. “It’s such a magical time of year.”

Ryder loses a bit of his perpetual cheer, a bleak look crossing his face as he brings his cup to his lips. It’s got to be empty by now. Or if not that, his drink must be cold, because we’ve been sitting here for a while.

It’s just a stalling tactic, though, and he finally sets it aside. “I guess it used to be fun. Presents, you know. The works. But when I was ten, it hit me… it was all just for show. It wasn’t?—”

He swirls his hand in the air, a meaningless gesture, but somehow I feel like I know what he’s trying to say. Or maybe I’m just projecting some of what I used to feel growing up, since I know a bit about Ryder’s family.

“It wasn’t as warm and wonderful as you always see in the feel-good holiday movies?” I say softly. “With the families that come together and…”

I make the same swirl with my hand, and he gives me a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, that.” He clears his throat. “I think that was the year my parents decided to go to Bali for Christmas. Or maybe Aruba? Whatever it was, they left me with the nanny, in our big-ass house that had been professionally decorated with enough holiday ‘cheer’ to choke all the fucking reindeer and Santa too. And I realized it was all for show.”

“Ryder,” I murmur, scooting closer to him and resting a hand on his arm. “That’s awful.”

He shrugs. “It’s fine. They didn’t give a shit about me. They never had, not really. That just happened to be the year I figured it out. Right before they’d left, we all had to get dressed up and do these family Christmas photos for some magazine spread. It was why the house was decorated to the nines like that. But it was all for show. The holiday cheer bullshit was all a lie.”

My heart aches at his words. And while I love Christmas, I understand a little too well what he’s saying.

It often feels like it’s all for show in my family too. I still think the holiday is magical. But I also think some of us have to seek out that magic. To choose it, search for it, and hold on tight to all the little moments it’s hiding in, even when the people who should have been a part of making the magic happen didn’t do it.

I still have my hand on his arm, and I slide it down and lace our fingers together, squeezing his hand. “I knew you weren’t close with your folks, but I didn’t realize it was so bad. I wish…”

I stumble a little, not sure if it’s my place to criticize his parents no matter how shitty it is that they put their own child second to their selfish needs.

“What?” he asks.

I’m about to brush it off and say it was nothing, but I feel closer to all three of these men right now than I have to anyone in a long time. And while I know I’ll have to go back to censoring myself once the road trip is over and I’m around my family again, right now I want to be real, just like Ryder was brave enough to be.

“I wish they hadn’t ruined Christmas for you. I wish they had put you first,” I tell him, squeezing his hand again before I start to let it go.

But he doesn’t let me. He squeezes back tighter, tugging me a little closer to him.

“Thank you, love,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of my head. Then he looks up at Tristan, something close to his usual grin back on his face. “Your turn.”

Tristan nods, but instead of spilling a secret, he takes his glasses off and carefully cleans them, then puts them back on his face, adjusting the fit for a moment.

Stalling.

“Should I go?” I offer, trying to give him a way out.

But he surprises me, shaking his head and pinning me with a look I can’t quite interpret.

“No,” he says. “Ryder is right. It’s my turn.” He takes a breath, exhales, and then says, “I lied to you.”

I blink. “To me?”

He nods, and a little ball of anxiety starts spinning inside me.

“Recently?” I whisper, my mind racing.

What did he lie about? I’m not sure I’ll be able to take it if he tells me that he was faking his attraction to me this morning or something. He did call it a mistake, after all.

Tristan nods again. “This morning?—”

I suck in a sharp breath, and Ryder wraps an arm around me, his body heat unwinding the knot in my gut a little.

Tristan’s cheeks flush, but he holds my gaze as he finishes. “This morning I told you that what happened in my room was a mistake. But that wasn’t true.”

“You… lied about it being a mistake?” I ask over the pounding of my heart, my anxiety from a moment ago doing a one-eighty as the atmosphere in the room shifts.

Tristan nods again, and just to be sure, I murmur, “So… you liked it. You wanted me. You enjoyed what we did.”

His eyes flash with enough heat to burn away my doubts, but he answers me anyway. “Yes.”

My pulse picks up at the implications of that word. It wasn’t a mistake. I can think of dozens of reasons why he could have gotten gun shy this morning, starting with my brother and ending with my own insecurities, but the way he’s looking at me now puts all of those to rest.

He means it.

He wanted me.

He still wants me.

I’m not even drunk, but I almost feel that way. Each one of these men has opened up to me in ways that have rocked my understanding of who they are tonight, and fundamentally shifted all my own assumptions about my relationship with each one of them. And while I know none of them will pressure me if I don’t want to go there, they’re all looking to me for my secret now.

I swallow, my blood burning in my veins and a riot of emotions swirling inside me. Almost like I really am in some kind of magical bubble. A snow globe of possibility.

Tonight feels like the kind of night where I can either take the leap… or let it pass me by.

“My turn,” I whisper, licking my lips. “Did you all hear what Ryder was teasing me about on the drive? About waking up sandwiched between him and Beckett?”

I get three nods. Three stares hot enough to make me combust.

And I leap.

“That wouldn’t be quite what I want,” I confess, my eyes darting toward the single bedroom and the king-sized bed before I admit the truth. “What I’d really want is to wake up in bed with all three of you.”