Filthy Rich Santas

38. Lana

38

LANA

The next morning, insistent rapping on my door drags me from a fitful sleep. “Lana, time to get up!” Mom’s voice chirps through the wood, far too chipper for… I squint at the bedside clock and groan as I realize it’s barely seven o’clock.

“Coming,” I call back, my voice still rough with sleep. As I drag myself out of bed, a familiar heaviness settles into my bones. The fatigue is hitting me hard today, but I can’t tell Mom that. Not without bringing up my lupus diagnosis.

I can’t keep it from my parents forever, but I know it will be just one more disappointment to them once I tell them the truth. One more way I’ve failed to be the child they truly wanted. And I just can’t deal with that right now.

Instead, I paste on a smile, get myself ready for the day, then head downstairs, ready to be conscripted into party prep.

“There you are,” Mom says as I enter the kitchen. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep the day away. Now, we need to get started on the hors d’oeuvres. The caterers are handling most of it, of course, but you know I like to add a personal touch.”

“Uh huh,” I answer, just to reassure her that I’m listening. I know she doesn’t actually want or need my input.

Something she proves as we get to it, chattering away in a familiar litany of my siblings’ accomplishments. Today’s version includes an update on Vivian’s latest charity project, praise for Caleb’s recent game-winning goal, and more talk of Kyle working toward becoming a partner at his law firm, complete with a few subtle digs about my own failure to get a promotion yet.

I half tune it out, making small sounds of feigned interest just to satisfy her as I let my thoughts wander, fighting off the exhaustion I’m still feeling.

“Did you hear me, Lana?”

“Sorry, what?” I ask at her sharp tone, dropping a serving spoon with a clatter when she startles me out of my thoughts.

She sighs, giving it a pointed look until I pick it back up. “I said, it’s a shame you couldn’t have arrived earlier. There’s still so much to do before the party.”

I give her a tight smile. “Well, I’m here now. What else can I help with?”

She immediately starts rattling off a list, and just as I’m resigning myself to a day of thinly veiled criticism and exhausting tasks, salvation arrives in the form of three familiar figures sauntering into the kitchen.

“Morning, Mrs. Reeves,” Ryder grins, charm oozing from every pore. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Mom smiles, clearly won over. “What can we do for you boys? Did you already get breakfast?”

Tristan steps forward, adjusting his glasses. “We did earlier, with Caleb. Thank you, ma’am. We were just about to head over to see my grandmother now.”

“How is Margaret?” Mom asks, making me want to roll my eyes.

I’ve never heard a single person call Tristan’s grandma by her full given name other than my mother.

“She’s doing really well, thank you. But when she heard Lana was in town, she insisted we bring her along today for a visit. You don’t mind if we steal her for a bit, do you?”

I hold my breath, hardly daring to hope for an escape.

Mom hesitates, glancing at the half-prepared appetizers. “Well, I suppose we are mostly done here. If it’s really that important to your grandmother…”

“It is,” Tristan says firmly as I snort, quickly trying to hide it with a light cough. She’s sure singing a different tune than she was a few minutes ago, though.

Luckily for me, appearances are everything to her, so she reluctantly agrees, and as we all head for the door, Caleb catches up with us.

“Mind if I tag along?” he asks with an easy grin, slinging his arm over Tristan’s shoulders. “Been a while since I’ve seen Grandma Meg.”

Tristan grins. “She’d love it.”

We all pile into the car, and as we pull away from the house, I feel the tension in my shoulders start to ease. Maybe it’s the company, maybe it’s the brief reprieve from Mom’s expectations, or more likely it’s both, but suddenly, I feel like I can breathe again.

“Thanks for the rescue,” I murmur to Tristan.

He gives me a soft smile that makes my heart flutter. “Anytime, freckles.”

“Wait,” I say as he takes a turn I wasn’t expecting. “This isn’t the way to your grandmother’s house, is it?”

He laughs. “Nope. She’s still over on Rockford Drive, but we’ve got to make a very important stop first.”

“Where?” I ask, a little thrill of adventure going through me that reminds me of all the random, offbeat places we stopped on the road trip.

Tristan grins, then mimes zipping his lips, making me laugh. A few minutes later, we pull into the parking lot of a quirky thrift shop whose windows are dripping with gaudy holiday decorations.

“Um, here?”

Ryder leans forward from the backseat. “Tristan didn’t tell you? Grandma Meg’s house has a dress code this time of year.”

I laugh. “What does that mean?”

“She insists on everyone wearing an ugly Christmas sweater,” Tristan says as we all get out of the car. “It’s a tradition. She says it keeps everyone from taking themselves too seriously.”

I smile. “I love it.”

Inside the store, we fan out, each on a mission to find the most outrageous sweater possible. The racks are a riot of garish colors, tinsel, and questionable design choices. I laugh as Ryder holds up a sweater with a 3D reindeer nose protruding from it.

“Oh, that’s definitely a contender.”

Ryder grins. “I don’t know, I think Beckett might need this one. It will really complement his tough guy image.”

Beckett grunts from the next aisle over. “I heard that.”

As we continue to search and joke around, I find myself relaxing in a way I haven’t since we arrived home. This easy camaraderie, the laughter, the shared looks of amusement—even with Caleb’s presence keeping it all PG, it feels so natural. So right .

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If the connection I forged with Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett on our road trip wasn’t just a temporary thing. Could we still have moments like this, all of us together, if they were actually… mine?

Would Caleb’s protective big brother instincts kick in the way we’ve all assumed, or would he see how happy they make me and give us his blessing?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge those thoughts before my heart gets any more invested than it already is. No matter how deep our connection was, the guys made it clear that they weren’t looking for more. I need to let it go.

But as Tristan holds up a sweater covered in blinking lights for my approval, I remember how those hands felt on my skin. How his lips tasted. How he knows exactly how I like to be touched, how to make me fall apart.

How they all do.

“Earth to Lana.” Caleb’s voice breaks through my reverie. “What do you think? Is this the winner?”

He’s modeling a sweater with a stuffed Santa stuck halfway down a chimney, the legs kicking comically.

I laugh, refocusing on the present moment. “Oh, definitely. Grandma Meg will love it.”

As we make our way to the checkout, I catch Beckett giving me a long, inscrutable look. My heart flutters, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But then Ryder bumps into him, breaking the spell.

They tussle playfully for a moment, making Caleb put two fingers between his lips and whistle loudly, like he’s a hockey referee trying to break up a fight.

We’re all laughing again as we pile back into the car, now each wearing a truly hideous sweater. A short while later, Tristan pulls up in front of his grandmother’s charming cottage-style house, its porch festooned with twinkling lights and garlands. Even the guest house in the back has a wreath on the door.

I gasp, making all four of them laugh.

“What?” I ask, blushing. “It’s beautiful. You know I love holiday decorations.”

There’s a stark contrast between the warm, inviting atmosphere here and the pristine, almost sterile feel of my parents’ home.

We all pile out of the car, and before we can even reach the porch, the front door flies open. Grandma Meg bursts out, arms wide. She’s wearing a sweater that looks like a Christmas tree, complete with dangling ornaments, and she’s got Baldwin, the adorably ugly little dog she adopted a few years ago, in her arms. Baldwin, of course, is also sporting a festive sweater, and wiggling so wildly it’s a miracle she’s able to keep hold of him.

It’s adorable.

“My boys!” she exclaims, pulling each of them into a fierce hug. When she gets to me, her embrace is just as warm. “And Lana! Oh, it’s so good to see you all.”

As we step inside, the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies envelops us. The house is a cozy jumble of mismatched furniture, colorful throw pillows, and walls covered in photos of smiling faces, the majority of them featuring the four men I’m with. It’s the kind of place that immediately makes you feel at home.

“Alright, everyone get comfortable,” Meg instructs, ushering us into the living room. “I want to hear everything that’s been going on with you all.”

We settle in, and Meg turns to Tristan. “Now, tell me how business is going?”

My eyes almost bug out of my head at the idea of this sweet woman asking him about a kink club, and for a moment, I almost wonder if she knows what “business” he’s really in, or if he’s somehow downplayed Radiance as being a regular nightclub.

I’m quickly corrected on that as I listen in on their chatter, and instead of being awkward, hearing her genuine interest gives me a strange feeling of warmth. She clearly accepts Tristan for who he is, and more than that, she’s proud of the success he’s created with his friends.

He’s never had to hide anything from her, and it’s bittersweet to see firsthand that that kind of familial love exists. And not just toward Tristan, either. She turns to Ryder and Beckett next, pride evident in her voice as she asks about their roles in the club and their planned expansion. There’s no judgment, no comparisons—just genuine interest and support.

“And my favorite hockey star!” she gushes to Caleb after she’s wrung all the details out of the other three men, her eyes lighting up.

“Did you hear that, Tristan?” Caleb teases him. “Her favorite hockey star.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, but his easy grin reassures me that he really has made his peace with the fact that his accident forced him to take a different path. “She just loves you because you give her something to bet on with her friends.”

“What’s this, now?” my brother asks, laughing.

Meg beams at him. “You know I watch all your games. Nearly gave me a heart attack with that last-minute goal in Toronto.”

Caleb laughs. “Sorry about that, Grandma Meg. I’ll try to score earlier next time.”

“You’d better,” she wags a finger at him playfully. “Mrs. Donovan from my knitting circle roots for the Maple Leafs on account of her having no taste?—”

Tristan snickers. “I think you mean on account of her daughter being married to a Canadian.”

She waves that off. “The point is, I’ve got a lot riding on you boys winning the next game.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Caleb jokes. “How much are we talking here?”

“The bet isn’t about money,” Tristan butts in. “The stakes are a lot higher than that.”

“Oh?”

He nods. “The winner bakes the weekly pies for her knitting circle.”

“The winner?” Ryder asks, looking between them with confusion. “Don’t you mean the loser has to do that?”

“Of course not,” Meg scoffs. “The winner gets to. Every single one of those women think their recipe is the best. We have to take turns baking for our club each week, or else we’d all die of diabetes!”

“Oh, I see.” Ryder grins. “You’re not gonna let Grandma Meg down now, are you, Caleb?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Caleb promises solemnly.

As I watch the easy interaction, the genuine affection flowing between Tristan’s grandmother and everyone in the room, I feel a lump form in my throat. This is what the holidays—no, what family should feel like. Warm, supportive, filled with laughter and love.

I’m glad Tristan has that.

Well, I’m glad they all do, since Meg so clearly includes all of “her boys” in her heart.

As if she senses me thinking about her, she turns to me next, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners. “And Lana, dear. How are you doing? Did these boys treat you right on your trip?”

I flush, memories of exactly how ‘right’ they’ve been treating me flashing through my mind.

“They’ve been perfect gentlemen,” I manage, ignoring Ryder’s barely suppressed snort.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s true… at least in spirit.

“Good.” Meg nods decisively. “Because if they weren’t, they’d have me to answer to.”

Conversation flows easily, fueled by warmth and laughter that’s a stark contrast to the stilted, performance-like interactions at my parents’ house. At one point, I find myself drawn to one of the walls covered in photographs.

In one, a much younger Tristan is missing his two front teeth, grinning widely at the camera. In another, he’s on ice skates, looking determined and focused. I’m so engrossed in the photos that I don’t notice Grandma Meg approaching until she’s right beside me.

“He was always such a serious little thing,” she says softly, reaching out to touch one of the frames. “Even before… well, you know.”

I nod, understanding the weight of what goes unsaid. The accident that made Tristan an orphan and left him scarred, both physically and emotionally.

“This one,” Meg continues, pointing to a photo of Tristan holding up a trophy, “was taken just a few months after he came to live with me. His first hockey championship after the accident. I wasn’t sure he’d ever want to play again, but that boy…” She shakes her head, admiration clear in her voice. “He’s got a strength in him that never ceases to amaze me.”

As I listen to Meg talk about Tristan, about his resilience and determination, I feel my heart swell with an emotion I’m not quite ready to name. “He was lucky to have you,” I say, my voice thick with feeling.

Meg smiles, patting my hand. “Not just me, dear. He had your brother, of course, and Ryder and Beckett too. Those four have been thick as thieves since the day they met. And he had you too.”

I blink, surprised. “Me?”

“Oh, yes.” Meg nods. “I remember how you used to toddle after all the boys, determined to keep up. You were like a little ray of sunshine, always making Tristan smile even on his darkest days.”

The lump in my throat grows, and I blink away the sting behind my eyes. If Meg only knew how Tristan makes me feel now, how he lights me up from the inside…

“I… I should probably get back to the others,” I manage, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. “Thank you for sharing these stories with me.”

Meg gives me a curious look that makes me wonder if I’ve been as subtle as I hoped, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she pats my cheek affectionately and lets it go as I rejoin my brother and the guys.