Filthy Rich Santas

49. Lana

49

LANA

The morning after Christmas is crisp and clear, with a fresh layer of snow blanketing the world outside Grandma Meg’s cozy guest house. As we prepare to leave, a bittersweet feeling settles in my chest. This Christmas has been magical, but it also includes a rift with my parents that I don’t regret, but which aches all the same.

I pull Grandma Meg into a tight hug, breathing in the comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla that seems to cling to her. “Thank you so much for everything,” I murmur.

She pats my back affectionately. “Of course, dear. You’re welcome here anytime.” As we pull apart, she winks mischievously. “In fact, I hope to see a lot more of you now that you’re in a relationship with my grandson.”

I laugh, glancing over at Tristan, who’s not even trying to hide his smile.

“I promise we’ll keep in touch,” I assure her.

Baldwin trots over, his latest hand-knit sweater making him look like a tiny, adorable reindeer. He yaps excitedly, showering me with sweet puppy kisses as I kneel to say goodbye.

Then I stand and turn to my men, who have finished their own farewells with Grandma Meg. It’s time to go collect the rest of our things from my parents’ house before we get back on the road and head back to L.A.

“Ready?” Tristan asks softly, reaching for my hand.

I nod, lacing my fingers with his. “As I’ll ever be.”

We pile into the SUV, waving goodbye to Grandma Meg as we pull out of her driveway. As familiar streets pass by, I feel a knot forming in my stomach. I have no idea what kind of reception awaits us at my childhood home. Will my parents have calmed down? Will they even let us in?

Ryder must sense my tension because he leans forward from the backseat, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got your back, love. No matter what happens.”

Beckett grunts in agreement from behind the wheel, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror.

I take a deep breath, drawing strength from their unwavering support. Whatever happens next, at least I know I’m not facing it alone. Still, as we pull up to my parents’ house, I feel my anxiety spike.

Before I can even reach for the door handle, Tristan and Ryder are out of the car, each offering me a hand. Beckett flanks my other side as I step out, the three of them forming a protective barrier around me.

Their housekeeper answers the door, and the house feels unnaturally quiet as we enter. There’s no sign of Vivian or Caleb—just my parents, their faces pinched and wary as they watch us file in.

“We’re just here to get our things,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

My father nods stiffly, and my mother turns away, unable to meet my eyes.

There’s a pang in my chest as I compare this cold welcome to the warmth we just left at Grandma Meg’s, but I don’t regret what I said to them. I can’t, because it’s the truth.

Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett quickly gather their belongings from the guest room, then accompany me to my childhood bedroom. Their presence is a comforting shield as I pack up the last of my things.

It doesn’t take long, but when we head back downstairs to leave, my mother’s voice stops us.

“Vivian called.” Her voice is calm on the surface, but I can hear the shock reverberating in her tone as she adds, “She’s… she’s leaving Kyle. Kyle Doherty .”

I turn to face them, seeing the disbelief and disappointment etched on their faces. But the way she emphasized Kyle’s family name, as if him being mayor’s son is more important than my sister’s happiness, makes something inside me snap.

“Good for her,” I say firmly. “You should be happy for Vivian. She’s making the right choice for herself.”

My father’s brow furrows. “But Kyle is?—”

“Rich? Well-connected?” I interrupt. “What does any of that matter if he’s not treating her right? Don’t you think being with a man who loves and respects her, who’s faithful to her, should be the most important thing in her marriage?”

“I don’t think you’re seeing the big picture here,” my father says with a scowl.

I take a deep breath, feeling Beckett’s reassuring hand on my lower back. “No, I think you’re looking at the wrong picture, Dad. The picture-perfect version of this family that only exists in your head, based on your standards. But these are the children you have. Not picture-perfect ones, but me, Vivian, and Caleb. We’re all different, we’re all making our own choices, and if those choices don’t meet your expectations, it’s up to you to accept us or not. But if you don’t…” I pause, steeling myself. “If you don’t, that picture might start to look pretty empty.”

Mom’s lips pinch. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Lana. Your father and I have always wanted nothing but the best for all three of you.”

“No, you’ve wanted your version of the best. And what I’m saying is that you might not have us in your lives anymore if you can’t support each of us living the lives that make us happy. Us, not you.”

My parents exchange a look, something unreadable passing between them, but if I’m hoping for them to have some kind of epiphany, or suddenly declare their understanding and devotion, I’m disappointed. All I get is a stiff nod from my father and my mother telling us that the housekeeper can see us out.

“No need, I know the way,” I say softly, searching both of their faces for any sign that I’ve gotten through to them.

I don’t find it, and as we walk away from my parents’ house, I feel a strange mixture of sadness and relief wash over me. I may be disappointed, but I have no regrets. I’ve said what needed to be said, drawn my line in the sand, and established boundaries that actually feel healthy for once.

And I feel… free.

The moment we’re out of sight of the house, Tristan pulls me into a tight hug. “You were amazing in there,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Ryder joins in, wrapping his arms around both of us. “That’s our brave girl,” he says, his voice filled with pride.

Beckett hangs back a bit, but when our group hug breaks apart, he catches my eye. There’s understanding there, a shared pain that doesn’t need words. He opens his arms, and I step into them, burying my face in his chest.

“It gets easier,” he rumbles softly, his words for me alone. “Choosing yourself hurts like hell at first, but it gets easier.”

I nod, grateful for his understanding, and by how open about his emotions he is with me now. It does help to know that he’s been where I am now, having cut ties with his own abusive father years ago. His strength gives me hope, and his support and understanding mean everything.

We load up our things and pile into the SUV, Ryder taking the first driving shift. As he adjusts the rearview mirror, I notice he’s donned his Santa hat again. He adjusts it to the same jaunty angle as the ornament I gave him, then catches my eye in the mirror and grins.

“All aboard the Christmas Express!” he announces cheerfully.

I laugh, feeling some of the tension melt away. “You do realize it’s December 26th, right? Christmas is over.”

His grin widens. “We make our own rules.”

“I thought you hated Christmas,” I tease him.

Ryder shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye as we hit the road again. “What can I say? I’m coming around to it. In fact, it might just be my new favorite holiday.”

The trip back to L.A. goes by much faster than the one that brought us all together.

Several days after leaving New Hampshire, the gentle brush of lips against my forehead slowly pulls me from sleep.

“Wake up, freckles. We’re home,” a soft voice murmurs.

I blink, feeling groggy, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m still in the SUV, my head resting on Tristan’s shoulder.

The guys set a harder pace as we headed for home, staying on the road a lot longer each day and covering the ground more quickly. They also did the majority of the driving, insisting I rest and recover from the whirlwind trip.

“What time is it?” I mumble, stretching as best I can in the confines of the backseat.

“Just past eleven,” Ryder answers from the driver’s seat. “December 31st. We made it back for New Year’s Eve after all.”

I perk up at that, the fog of sleep starting to clear. “Really? We’re in L.A.?”

Beckett chuckles, already out of the car and opening my door. “See for yourself, sleepyhead.”

As I step out, the familiar warmth of a California night wraps around me. The air smells of jasmine and distant ocean, so different from the crisp winter we left behind in New Hampshire. It feels surreal to be back, like waking from a vivid dream.

“Come on,” Tristan says, his hand finding the small of my back. “Let’s get inside.”

I nod, a thrill going through me as I look up at the gorgeous house the three of them share. We still haven’t made concrete plans about how this relationship will look, but when they invited me to stay at their place tonight, I was more than happy to say yes. With them, wherever they are, is exactly where I want to be, and knowing they want that too energizes me even more as we all walk through their front door.

It’s the first time I’ve been here, and it’s so… them. Distinctly masculine, yet comforting. I smile as I take in the spacious living room, a perfect blend of modern aesthetics and cozy touches.

As we settle into the house, dropping bags and shrugging off jackets, the banter flows easily between us. Tristan teases Ryder about his questionable playlist choices during the drive, while Ryder retorts with a jab about Tristan’s lead foot.

I’m laughing at their antics when Beckett’s deep voice cuts through the chatter. “Lana, come upstairs with me for a second. I want to show you something.”

He leads me up to his room, a gorgeous space filled with warm earth tones, well-worn leather furniture, and a few personal touches that hint at the gentler side beneath his gruff exterior. A skein of yarn on the dresser, a pair of reading glasses on the bedside table, and a small potted succulent on the windowsill.

I take a moment to appreciate the view from the window—the lights of the city sparkling against the night sky. Then I turn back to Beckett, running my hand over the soft black comforter on the massive bed that dominates the room.

“Is this what you brought me up here to show me?” I tease lightly.

He shakes his head, unzipping his travel bag instead of reaching for me.

“No, it’s something else.”

He hesitates for just a moment, piquing my curiosity, then pulls out a handful of rumpled paper.

Not just paper. There are napkins and a few receipts mixed in with sheets of hotel stationary and the thicker paper I recognize from my own sketchbook. Because that’s what he’s got there. Every sketch, drawing, and doodle I did during our road trip. Every single one of them, even the ones I crumpled up and tossed aside after finishing.

“You… you kept all of these?” I whisper, reaching out to touch a sketch I made on the back of a gas station receipt. It’s a rough image of Ryder laughing, his head thrown back in joy.

Beckett nods, his expression serious. “Every single one. They’re too beautiful to throw away, Lana.”

I shuffle through them slowly, overwhelmed by the memories each sketch brings back. There’s Tristan, his glasses slightly askew after our epic snowball fight. And one of Ryder, dramatically posing with an axe at the Christmas tree farm. Looking at it, I can almost hear his laughter echoing through the chilly air.

Then there’s one of Beckett, his strong hands working on his knitting and a look of peace on his normally gruff face.

But best of all, I find a quick sketch I made on a napkin that shows all three of them, huddled over an actual paper map at a rest stop when we passed through a remote area that had really crappy cell service. It’s a simple line drawing, but it captures the easy camaraderie between all three of them, and the way they fit together so naturally—with each other, but now with me too.

“It’s like a scrapbook of our trip. I can’t believe you saved them all.” I smile up at him, cupping the rough stubble on his jaw. “Thank you.”

“Thank you ,” he says, emotion shining in his eyes. “I love that you documented all these memories for us.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Is that what I was doing?”

“That’s what you always do.” He hesitates for a moment, then turns to his dresser. “Let me show you something else.”

He opens the top drawer and pulls out another stack of mis-matched papers, holding them against his chest for a moment when I reach for them.

“Beckett? What is it?”

“It’s…”

He laughs softly, shaking his head, then finally hands them over with a shrug.

“These are mine,” I whisper, my eyes widening as I take them. This stack of sketches is even more eclectic, and it goes back years —quick doodles I made at family barbecues, holiday gatherings, lazy summer afternoons when I was just Caleb’s little sister hanging around with him and his friends. All things I did just to entertain myself. All pictures I tossed in the trash, convinced by my parents that there was no value to my “hobby” other than that.

My heart swells as I flip through them, memories flooding back. “You kept these?” I breathe, my voice barely audible. “All this time?”

Beckett rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “I guess… some part of me always knew.”

“Knew what?”

I look up at him, and he meets my gaze, his gorgeous green eyes both intense and vulnerable.

“It’s always been you. Even when I didn’t realize it, didn’t want to admit it, and even when I tried to deny it… it’s always been you, Lana.”

My heart stutters in my chest, emotions rising so fast in me that I don’t know what to do with them. But instinct takes over, and I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him, pouring everything I have into it.

He groans, his arms wrapping me tight as he surrounds me with the scent of cedar and leather that’s uniquely him, and with something else too. With safety and belonging and love… and home.

As the kiss deepens, I hear Ryder and Tristan come into the room.

“Now that’s a sight to come home to,” Tristan murmurs as both men approach.

“That’s a sight to ring in a New Year to,” Ryder corrects him, heat in his tone.

As if on cue, we hear the distant sounds of fireworks starting, and Tristan glances at the time on his phone. “Ten seconds to go. Should we count down?”

We gather in a tight circle, arms around each other, and it feels like the very same fireworks lighting up the sky outside Beckett’s window are going off in my heart too. This moment is perfect. No big parties, no elaborate celebrations— just the four of us, in this quiet room, on the cusp of a new year and a new chapter in our lives.

“Three… two… one… happy new year!” we all say in unison, laughing at the muffled sounds of a city celebrating from out in the street.

As the clock strikes midnight, I’m passed from one set of arms to another as they all kiss me. Their hands start to wander as the air heats up around us and my clothes start coming off.

“You up for this, little menace?” Beckett murmurs, lips trailing down my throat.

The care he’s always taking with me makes my heart feel two sizes too big, and a giddy kind of joy fills me, taking my arousal and turning it into something almost magical.

“I agree with Ryder,” I breathe. “It’s the perfect way to ring in the New Year. After all, they say you start the year the same way you intend to go on.”

“In that case,” Ryder says with a wicked grin, “I vote that we spend the first several hours of this year fucking our girl.”

I like the sound of that.

And I like it even better when they follow through.