Page 103 of Filthy Rich Santas

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 knowhowto 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.

24

LANA

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

“I was brought here in an ambulance?”

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