Filthy Rich Santas

23. Beckett

23

BECKETT

My heart fucking stops. One second, Lana’s standing there, fire in her eyes as she rips me a new one. The next, she’s crumpling to the ground, her face going slack.

I’m at her side in an instant, shocked to see how steady my hands are as I check for a pulse when everything inside me feels like it’s shaking.

“Fuck,” I breathe out in relief.

Her pulse is there, so weak and thready that a completely unreasonable part of me is convinced if I take my fingers away it will disappear, but at least it’s fucking present.

“Tristan! Ryder!” I bellow without taking my eyes off her far-too-pale face. “Call 911! Now!”

I hear them scrambling, Tristan cursing and Ryder’s voice rising in intensity as he gets a dispatcher on the line, but I tune it out, focusing everything I’ve got on Lana.

She was getting flushed and overheated a second ago, something I figured was due to us arguing. But now, her skin is clammy and her breathing is shallow.

What the fuck just happened?

“Jesus,” Tristan says tightly, kneeling down on the pavement next to me. “What?—”

“I don’t know,” I bite out, one hand cradling her head while I keep the fingers of my other hand pressed firmly against her wrist, monitoring her pulse.

I can feel the tension radiating off Tristan and know him well enough to guess that he’s biting his tongue to keep from lashing out with another slew of questions none of us have answers to. When Ryder joins us a moment later, we’re both treated to a steady stream of creative cursing as he hovers over Lana across from me.

We’ve all got a little first aid training. It’s smart for anyone, obviously, but doubly so when you’re a Dom who’s asking submissives to put themselves in your hands. And with the three of us running Radiance, it just makes sense.

But I can tell the guys feel exactly like I do right now—that the training we’ve got is completely insufficient, since none of us have a clue why Lana is on the ground, pale and unconscious, instead of lighting up every damn thing she touches, like she should be.

“This is my fucking fault,” I mutter, the stab of guilt so intense it almost guts me.

“No,” Tristan says firmly.

Ryder shakes his head. “Something is going on here.”

I fucking know that, and I’m not so self-centered that I can’t see the problem here is something medical.

Or that my friends are trying to bolster my spirits by reminding me of that.

I’m not wrong, though. Whatever the fuck this is, it’s also my fault. Whatever took her down, getting her all worked up the way I did had to have aggravated whatever’s caused this.

The ambulance arrives, and while logically I’m aware that it’s only been a few minutes since Ryder placed the call, it takes everything in me not to tear into them for leaving her lying here on the ground for so long. As it is, I bark out answers to the EMTs’ questions in a less-than-cordial manner, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Sir, we need to load her up,” one of them finally says, trying to nudge me aside.

I growl, not wanting to let go.

Tristan’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Come on. Let them work. We’ll follow in the car.”

“Like hell,” I snarl, my eyes never leaving Lana’s face. “I’m riding with her.”

“Are you family, sir?” one of the EMTs asks.

I don’t know what he sees on my face when I look up at him, but it makes him take a step back.

Ryder clears his throat. “He’s family.”

“Fine,” the EMT finally says after a moment of tense silence. “But give us some room to work.”

Tristan tugs me far enough away for the guy to get in there and strap Lana to a stretcher, then keeps a hold of my arm for a moment longer as they move her into the ambulance.

“Ryder and I will be right behind you,” he murmurs. “Keep an eye on our girl, but remember to let them do their jobs too.”

I give a curt nod, then shake him off and climb into the ambulance. I know he’s right, but it still kills me to be even a little bit separated from her while she’s so vulnerable.

The doors slam shut, and we’re moving. And although the EMTs seem competent and professional, I don’t think I manage to actually breathe until, about halfway to the hospital, Lana’s eyelids finally flutter.

I lean in close, my heart in my throat.

“There you are, little menace,” I murmur, taking her hand in mine. “You’re okay. We’re getting you to the hospital.”

Her eyes focus on me for a moment, confusion clouding them. “Beck…?” she whispers.

“That’s right. I’m right here,” I assure her, squeezing her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Still plenty of time for you to finish telling me off.”

Fuck. I’m trying to lighten things up, but I’m no fucking Ryder, and the joke falls flat.

Maybe because it’s really not one. She wasn’t wrong for calling me out like that, and it will kill me if we’re not able to finish that conversation so I can admit that to her.

I’m honestly not even sure she’s really hearing me, though. She looks dazed as she blinks up at me. Then, when she finally wets her lips and tries to say something else, her eyes roll back before she can manage it.

Then she’s out again.

“What happened?” I bark at one of the EMTs.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” he says, more compassion in his voice than I deserve right now.

I keep ahold of her hand since neither of them tell me I can’t, but make room as the man I shouted at adjusts something on her IV.

I clench my jaw, feeling utterly fucking useless as they keep fussing over her for the rest of the ride.

She doesn’t wake up again, and when we finally arrive at the hospital—beating Ryder and Tristan there—I stay with her as long as they’ll let me. But eventually, a nurse stops me with a hand on my chest.

“Sir, you need to wait out here,” she says firmly. “We’ll update you as soon as we can.”

My stomach twists, nausea rising as I watch them wheel Lana away and disappear behind a set of swinging doors.

I fucking hate this. Hate feeling helpless, hate not knowing what’s wrong with her.

Hate that she’s hurting in the first place.

I’m too keyed up to take any of the chairs in the waiting room, and I’m not sure how much time passes before Tristan and Ryder finally burst through the emergency room doors to find me pacing in front of the doors they took Lana through.

It can’t have been that long, but with no word on Lana, it feels like forever.

They spot me and rush over.

“How is she?” Tristan demands, his usual calm demeanor cracking.

“Any news?” Ryder adds, his voice tight.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling heavily. “She woke up for a bit in the ambulance. Seemed to recognize me, at least. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

“Sure,” Ryder says, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder as Tristan nods, concern still lingering in his eyes.

I get it. It matches the knot in my gut that won’t fucking go away.

“We should sit,” Tristan says.

Ryder keeps that hand on me and guides me toward a row of chairs, but all I manage is a few distracted grunts as the two of them murmur in low tones to each other.

I can’t stop replaying the words Lana and I exchanged in my head. I refuse to let the harsh words I spat at her—words I didn’t think through before saying and definitely didn’t mean the way she took them—be the last ones she hears from me. That’s totally unacceptable.

My hands clench into fists. “If something happens to her…”

“It won’t.”

My head snaps up at Tristan’s raspy tone. I didn’t even realize I said it out loud.

“She’s going to be fine,” he goes on, his eyes holding mine like he’s challenging me to disagree. “Nothing’s going to happen to her.”

My teeth grind together. “Something already did happen.”

“Yeah, and doctors are going to fucking fix it,” Ryder whisper-shouts. “That’s why we’re fucking here!”

Under other circumstances, I almost would have smiled at the way they’re both in my face right now. And it does help to know they’re just as worked up about this as I am.

But it doesn’t relieve any of the guilt.

No matter how much I want to believe that they’re both right, the truth is, we just don’t fucking know yet. And if they’re not, and the last thing Lana heard from me was that bullshit I was spewing, I’ll never forgive myself.

Finally, a doctor approaches us. “Family of Lana Reeves?”

We all stand, and to her credit, she doesn’t question our claim.

I step forward. “How is she?”

The doctor gives us a reassuring smile. “Ms. Reeves is doing fine now. She’s conscious and alert?—”

“Then why the fuck did she collapse?” Ryder interrupts.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, and Ryder grimaces.

“Sorry.”

“No apology necessary. I understand how frightening it can be, but it seems she just got a bit dehydrated. Would you like to come back and see her?”

Relief floods through me at her reassuring tone, even though I still don’t get how something like dehydration could have hit her so hard. That shit can get sorted out later, though. Right now, taking the doctor up on her offer is the only thing that matters.

She leads the three of us to Lana’s room, and my chest tightens when I see her. She’s awake, but I’m not sure I agree with the doctor’s assessment of her being “fine.”

She’s still too damn pale for my liking.

The doctor clears her throat, glancing at us. “If the three of you can wait in the hall for a moment, I need to discuss some medical matters with Ms. Reeves.”

“They can stay.” Lana’s voice is soft but firm.

The doctor gives her an understanding smile. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. Now that you’re feeling more alert, I’d like to go over your health history.”

Lana’s breath hitches, a flare of panic lighting in her eyes that has me taking a step toward her. Then she sighs as she nods to the doctor.

“That’s fine. Um, what do you need to know?”

They review a few basic health facts before the doctor says, “…and you were recently diagnosed with lupus, correct?”

My spine snaps straight, and on either side of me, Ryder and Tristan go tense as well.

Lana is sick?

“Yeah,” Lana confirms with a shaky exhale, not meeting our eyes as she answers the doctor. “About a month ago.”

“And have you been following the recommended lifestyle adjustments to manage your condition?”

Lana bites her lip, looking guilty. “Not… not really. I’ve been trying to not let it get in the way. To not, um, let it change me.”

The doctor frowns at her. “Flare ups like you experienced today are going to ‘get in the way’ much more severely than the lifestyle modifications I’m sure your regular doctor recommended.”

“No, I know,” Lana says, looking down as she twists the thin blanket covering her between her fingers. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” The doctor pats her hand with a sympathetic smile, then rattles off some information about these “lifestyle changes” she mentioned. One part of my brain methodically catalogues them all for future reference, while the rest of my mind gets stuck in a serious what-the-fuck loop.

Does she actually have lupus?

How could Caleb not have told us?

Fuck, why didn’t she tell us?

Tristan and Ryder look equally shocked, and I can’t wrap my head around how this shit can be true without any of us knowing about it.

“Let me get that steroid shot ordered up for you,” the doctor finally says to Lana as she’s wrapping up. “Then you should be free to go.”

Lana nods, still not meeting our eyes, and when the doctor leaves the room, the silence is heavy.

“Lana?” I finally rasp.

She looks up, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, and she’s still pale.

Pale and shaky.

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

I’ve heard of lupus, but don’t fucking know enough about it. As in, I know almost nothing.

But I do know that I can’t stand the idea of her hurting like this.

“You knew about this, love?” Ryder asks her before I can find my voice.

Lana nods, then clears her throat and lifts her chin. “Yeah. But I… I haven’t told anyone yet. Except you guys, now.”

Her gaze flicks to me, and it hits me right in the chest when her eyes instantly soften. She looks so goddamn vulnerable.

“Please don’t be mad at me about it,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I should have said something, but…”

“Fucking hell, Lana,” I growl, hating that she thinks I would be angry with her right now.

She flinches at my tone, and I mutter another curse before striding over to her bed and doing what I should have done in the first place and getting my damn emotions under control.

I take her hand in both of mine, stroking my thumbs over the petal-soft skin as I lean down to rest my forehead against hers.

“I’m not mad,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. “I was just so fucking worried about you. I’m sorry I got you so worked up. You were right. I was being a dick. Forgive me?”

The smile she gives me unknits something in my chest. “I can do that.”

I stay there for a moment, breathing her in, wanting to kiss her so fucking badly it makes my chest ache. But finally, one of the guys clears their throat, and I straighten up and step back. Not enough to force me to drop her hand, but just enough to let Tristan and Ryder reassure themselves that she really is okay now.

They immediately move closer, all of us gathering around her bed as they each murmur sweet things to her.

Tristan’s the one who finally asks what we’re all wondering.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Lana takes a shaky breath. “I was just scared, I guess. Not about you guys knowing the truth, but about what it means for my life, you know? Focusing on everything I’ll have to change and give up… it just feels overwhelming.”

I frown. I’ll have to look into this shit a little deeper, but from what I heard the doctor rattle off—stress management techniques, following a balanced diet, monitoring symptoms, and some other basic health practices—it didn’t sound like it would require her to give up the things I know matter to her.

But overwhelmed… well, even second hand, I can relate to that.

“You aren’t going to be giving up shit,” Ryder says, scowling.

“Ryder,” Tristan murmurs.

Ryder sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry. I just mean, there’s got to be workarounds, right?”

“I don’t mean things like giving up chocolate,” Lana says with a tremulous smile, reaching for him with the hand I’m not holding and squeezing his. “It’s more about giving up the hope of, I don’t know, meeting everyone’s expectations of me?”

“What expectations?” Tristan asks, frowning.

“Oh, you know,” she says, too flippantly to hide the fact that she means it. “Just being perfect at all times.” Then she lets out another shaky breath and whispers, “I just… I didn’t know how to tell people. Not when it meant admitting that I couldn’t be?—”

“Be what? Perfect? That’s bullshit.”

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.

Lana blinks up at me. “What?”

And again, my mouth doesn’t stop to ask permission. “You’re already perfect.”

Lana’s eyes go wide, and my heart thunders in my chest. But I can’t look away, can’t take the words back.

And I don’t want to.