Filthy Rich Santas

24. Lana

24

LANA

As efficient as the hospital’s discharge process is, I start to worry as they walk me through the release paperwork.

“I was brought here in an ambulance?”

“That’s right, love.”

Ryder has his hand wrapped securely around the back of my neck, giving me a sense of stability, and with Tristan and Beckett on either side of me, I feel far more calm than I would have on my own.

But still…

“I’ve got pretty good insurance through work, but I’m not sure if it covers things out of state.” I look up, glancing between the three of them. “Do you think it might?”

I’m not sure why I’m asking them. Maybe I hope they’ll know since they own a business.

Or maybe I just want some reassurance.

“It might,” Tristan says.

“It had fucking better,” Ryder adds.

Beckett scowls, looking so grumpy as he crosses his big arms over his chest and glares at the paperwork I just signed that it warms my heart. “If it doesn’t, we’ll take care of it.”

“What?”

“You heard him,” Ryder says, giving me a comforting squeeze. “And you also heard the doc say something about keeping your stress level down, right? So don’t worry about that, love. We’ve got you.”

I want to argue. They’re talking about paying bills for me that they have no business feeling responsible for.

But it’s just… nice. Really nice. So I keep quiet and decide that’s a battle for another day, if necessary.

“How much time have we lost?” I joke once we finally leave the hospital and get back to the SUV.

“They didn’t hold you long,” Tristan murmurs as Ryder gets behind the wheel and Beckett helps me into the back seat as if I’m made of glass.

“I’m glad,” I say. “That should let us get to the next town before dark, right?”

“No.” Beckett shakes his head, the hand he’s got resting on my knee tightening a bit.

“What?” I ask as Ryder pulls out of the parking lot, turning away from the highway.

He catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “Change of plans. We’re not driving anymore today. We’re going to find a hotel and rest up for the night.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Beckett cuts me off firmly.

“Fine,” I agree with a little huff, turning my head away from him to hide the smile I can’t quite stifle.

Just this morning, a part of me was actively wishing that the four of us could just keep driving. Not to get to New Hampshire faster, but just to stay on the road. Maybe even to skip ever arriving at my parents’ place altogether.

Letting the lupus get the best of me isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined getting more time with these guys, nor was having my condition exposed to them part of my secret fantasies, but surprisingly, I don’t hate that that’s where we’re at.

I lean my temple against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching my breath fog it up for a moment before I straighten up again.

Beckett frowns at me. “Hang on a minute.”

He twists around and digs into his bag, rummaging around before pulling out… the scarf. The one I’ve watched his big, tattooed hands work on during quiet moments of our trip.

“Should have done this before I let you step out of the hospital,” he murmurs, wrapping it around my neck, his calloused fingers brushing against my skin.

I reach up to feel the yarn. “It’s so soft and cozy.”

“Good.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

A smile spreads across his face, unlike any I’ve seen from him before. It’s not his usual smirk or the occasional tight-lipped, guarded one he sometimes gives. This is a slow, private thing. A tiny slice of sun breaking through his typical storm clouds, and it makes my heart feel wrapped in something just as impossibly soft as the scarf he made.

It doesn’t take Ryder long to navigate to a surprisingly upscale hotel, and my stomach flutters when I realize that Tristan booked a big suite online for all of us to share as we were driving over.

The first time we shared a room, it was an accident. But this time, they’re deliberately choosing it, making the choice to stay with me, and I love that.

Although I could probably do with a little less hovering.

The minute we enter the suite, Tristan starts fussing with the thermostat, muttering about optimal temperatures. Ryder raids the mini-fridge, insisting I need to keep my blood sugar up and talking about running back out to stock up on food. And Beckett… well, Beckett just looms nearby, his presence both comforting and slightly overwhelming.

“Guys,” I say, trying to keep the fond exasperation out of my voice, “I’m fine. Really.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Tristan asks, adjusting his glasses.

“She needs food,” Ryder says, sounding almost as grumpy as Beckett usually is.

I laugh, holding up my hands. “I really don’t right now. Honestly, I’m not hungry, but thank you.”

I can tell he’s going to argue or suggest something else, and although I appreciate how they’ve taken news of my lupus in stride, having their focus on me like this is starting to make me feel a little too self-conscious.

“I think I’m just going to take a bath,” I blurt, needing a brief escape. They’re being impossibly sweet.

But also a bit much.

They exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them that I can’t quite decipher. Finally, Tristan nods. “Alright, freckles. But if you need anything?—”

“I’ll yell,” I promise, already heading for the bathroom.

As I’m about to close the door, I catch Ryder’s grin. “Better not lock the door, in case you do need us.”

My stomach flutters, and some of my self-consciousness eases with the confirmation that they’re not just concerned about my health right now.

They still want me.

Once inside the bathroom, I start running the water, testing the temperature until it’s just right. As steam begins to fill the room, I reach for my phone to put on some music, but pause when I see a notification.

It’s a text from Mom.

Of course it is. We’re already behind schedule.

My stomach clenches reflexively as my finger hovers over the screen. The preview text doesn’t give away much, but it’s all too easy to imagine any variety of my failings she might be messaging me to harp on.

But then I think about the doctor’s words. About taking care of myself. About managing stress.

And I hear Beckett’s voice, telling me I’m already perfect.

I take a deep breath. Then another.

I’m really not perfect. I mean, who is? But I do need to limit my stress right now, and that means not subjecting myself to whatever backhanded criticism my mother just sent.

I set the phone aside without opening the message. Whatever she has to say, it can wait.

Once the tub is full, I slip into the bath, the hot water enveloping me like a cocoon.

I lean back, close my eyes, let the soft music I chose wash over me, and just let myself enjoy it for a while. The tension from my mother’s text is forgotten, and the lingering anxiety from the hospital stay slowly fades away too.

Out there are three men who, for reasons I can’t quite fathom, seem to genuinely care about me. Who booked a suite just to be near me. Who look at me like I’m… special. Worth the effort. Perfect.

I push that word away again. It makes me feel cherished and anxious in equal measure, given my history of striving to please. And right now, I’m choosing not to let any outside thoughts intrude on this moment.

I’m choosing peace, even if just for a moment.

I’m choosing myself for once.

I must drift away for a bit, because the sound of a soft knock at the door has me startling back to awareness.

Tristan pushes the door open. “Just wanted to check on you.”

“Have I been in here too long?”

He smiles, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “No such thing. Not if you’re enjoying it.”

“I really am.”

“Then stay,” he says softly, crossing the room and kneeling beside the tub. He rolls up his sleeves, then dips his fingers into the water. “Still warm enough?”

“It could be warmer.”

He grins. “Let’s fix that then.” He turns on the faucet, and water swirls around my legs, feeling decadent. “Nice?”

“Very nice.”

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement, his eyes roaming over me. “You didn’t put your hair up.”

I reach up. The ends are all wet. “I should have.”

“No,” he says, capturing my hand and bringing it to his mouth. He kisses my fingers. “Would you let me wash it?”

My breath catches. “I… sure.”

He leaves me for a moment, then comes back with the cherry-blossom scented shampoo from my travel case.

“I fucking love this scent,” he murmurs as he pops the top open. Then he grins at me again. “But it smells even better on you.”

My breath catches in my throat, the warm intimacy of the moment almost undoing me. It’s not really sexual, but it’s very, very sensual .

As his fingers start working through my hair, I melt into his touch. Letting him care for me like this is addictive, and he does it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Spoiling me without asking for anything in return.

No one has ever done this for me before, and I have to close my eyes when they start to sting with unbidden tears.

“Okay?” he asks softly, long fingers caressing my scalp.

“Perfect,” I murmur, because it is… even though the contrast between this moment and everything I’ve ever come to expect from a relationship hits me hard.

Not that this is a relationship , of course. But it’s still already better in every way than the one I had with Wade.

My ex-fiancé never did anything like this for me. I doubt he would have even considered it. He certainly wouldn’t have offered . And while I don’t miss being with him in the slightest, thinking about that sends a wave of sadness through me.

Wade was never abusive or cruel, but he also wasn’t… kind.

And I put up with that for way too long. I never even realized how low I’d set the bar with him. How little I expected.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tristan murmurs, his fingers massaging my scalp in such a soothing, mesmerizing rhythm that makes it easy to answer yes to that.

“I really am.” I reach up and capture one of his hands, bringing it down and kissing his palm, soap and all. “Thank you,” I whisper, staring into his eyes.

He’s taken off his glasses, probably so they won’t fog up in here, and in this lighting, his eyes look more blue than gray.

And the expression in them makes my heart flutter.

“My pleasure.” He pauses for a moment, then adds, “You really scared us today.”

I laugh softly. “Yeah, sorry about that. I scared myself too. And poor Beckett.”

“You weren’t wrong for laying into him like that.”

“No, I wasn’t,” I agree. “But I still could have been a little more understanding.”

“Hmm.”

I splash him a little. “Hmm? What does that mean?”

He grins, then goes back to the slow, sensual head massage. “It means I’m glad you and Beck patched things up earlier.”

I think back to the tenderness in Beckett’s eyes as he wrapped the scarf around me.

“Me too,” I admit softly, feeling like something has shifted between us that I have no words for.

Tristan is quiet for a moment. Then, almost like he can read my mind, he says, “You know, Beckett’s always been a bit emotionally closed off. It’s not just you.”

I can tell he’s hesitant to talk about his friend, but I can’t help my curiosity.

“Why is he like that? Do you think it’s because of the way his family life was?”

“Yeah.” Tristan’s exhale has a world of compassion in it. “Shit got so fucked up with his dad while we were all growing up. What you heard earlier was just the tip of the iceberg, and I know he didn’t even share all of it with us. But it definitely shut him down. I think… I think it’s his way of just making sure he doesn’t get hurt again.”

“That makes sense.”

And it also makes my heart hurt for him.

Tristan nods. “I’m pretty sure it’s why he doesn’t want to have kids. I mean, who would, when their only example of a parent-child relationship is completely shitty, right? I know I’d appreciate having Grandma Meg no matter what, but in contrast to that…”

He shakes his head, and I twist around to face him, cupping his jaw.

“I’m glad you had her. You deserved someone to love you like that.”

He stares at me hard for a second, then leans in and presses a sweet, simple kiss to my mouth before turning me back around so he can get back to my hair.

“Thank you. I wish everyone had that.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, my throat a little tight.

Tristan chuckles. “You know, Ryder would give me a ton of shit for psychoanalyzing them like this—fuck, they both would—but I think he avoids serious relationships for the same reason.”

“Really?” I ask.

Tristan’s probably right that the guys wouldn’t be thrilled to hear how clearly he sees through them, but I’m greedy for all of it.

“Mmm.” He hums in confirmation. “You heard what he said the other night. His parents basically abandoned him, and other than us—me, Beckett, and Caleb—he just doesn’t let anyone in.”

My heart clenches, but I nod.

I get it. I do.

“Because if he did, they might leave him too.”

“Pretty sure that’s what he thinks, yeah,” Tristan agrees. “Or maybe not even consciously, you know? But getting close to someone probably feels like risking being abandoned all over again.”

Before I can stop myself, I ask, “What about you? Have you dated anyone seriously recently?”

I’m veering into dangerous territory and I know it. This isn’t any of my business, and unlike speculating about the two men who aren’t in here right now, opening up this conversation with Tristan directly almost feels like too much of a confession about my own deepest desires.

It takes him so long to answer that I almost think he won’t, but his hands never stop moving over my head, massaging my scalp, dragging in a slow, drugging rhythm through my hair that keeps any anxiety at bay.

“No, I haven’t. Not really,” he finally says quietly. “Grandma Meg always had plenty of advice about finding love, and I guess I took it to heart. She told me not to settle. To look for someone who made the world better, my world better, just by being in it. Someone who would light me up every time I see her. And since I hadn’t really found anyone who did that…”

Our eyes lock as his voice fades away, and for a moment, the air between us feels charged. Then the intensity of the moment is broken by a crash from the other room, followed by Ryder’s muffled cursing and faint, rumbling laughter from Beckett.

Tristan sighs, a fond exasperation in his voice. “For fuck’s sake. I’d better go check on the children out there.”

I laugh, waving him off. “Go, go. Make sure they haven’t destroyed anything.”

As he leaves, I sink back into the water, my head full of everything he just shared. Given the ways in which Beckett and Ryder have already opened up to me, Tristan’s theories on those two feel spot on, and my heart aches for both of them.

But it’s Tristan’s words about his own relationship status that keep replaying in my head. About how he wasn’t dating anyone seriously because he hadn’t found anyone who met Grandma Meg’s criteria.

Hadn’t met anyone.

Past tense.

My heart races, and I close my eyes and sink all the way under the warm water, trying to tell myself not to read too much into it.

It could have been just a slip of the tongue.

It could have meant anything, or nothing at all.

But with my hair softly swirling around my face and the lingering sensation of his touch fanning the flame of hope deep inside my heart, I can’t quite squash the tiny voice inside reminding me that there’s a third option too.

It could have meant… something .