Page 32 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Bo-ring,” I correct him in a sing-song voice that makes Ryder snicker.

Tristan stays quiet, but he’s smiling gently, looking a little bemused. I take that as full endorsement from the backseat.

“Come on, Beckett,” I plead, even though I’ve got all the power since I’m at the wheel. “It will be fun, and it’s only alittledetour.”

“It’s three point eight miles from the highway.”

“Exactly!”

He huffs again, but by the time we make it to the site where the dragon is located, park, then wander around until we find it, we’re all having fun.

“Aw, look,” I point out, reading a sign planted in the ground in front of it. “The artist named it ‘Dad.’”

“That’s weird,” Tristan says, pushing his glasses up when they slip as he leans down to read over my shoulder.

Ryder squeezes in for a selfie, dragging a still grumbling Beckett in so it’s all four of us. Then, at my insistence, Ryder helps me balance on one of the dragon’s knees so I can reach up and pretend I’m kissing its cheek while Tristan snaps another pic.

On my way back down, I wobble a little as a wave of dizziness overtakes me.

“You okay, love?” Ryder asks, stabilizing me when I tumble against him.

I nod. “I just slipped.”

He looks a little skeptical, but Beckett distracts him before he can push me about it, saying something about getting back on the road.

I don’t argue. I’mstilldizzy, and a deep fatigue is starting to work its way through my bones, making the short trek back to the SUV feel daunting.

“Running out of steam?” Tristan asks with a quiet smile, giving me a friendly shoulder bump as we get there.

I reach for one of the rear doors. “Just ready for a break from driving.”

He nods, letting it go as he slips in beside me. This time, Beckett takes the wheel, but I tune out their banter as he steers us back toward the highway and the three of them start to debate the merits of roadside attractions.

Now that I’m seated, the dizziness seems to have settled down, but I’m still tired. Far too tired to blame it on not sleeping well last night.

This is the lupus. Thanks to my doctor, I know all about the effects it might have on me.

That itishaving on me.

I look out the side window, blinking away the sting in my eyes as it starts to feel all too real.

Thankfully, before I can get too lost in my head about it, I doze off for a bit. When I wake up, I feel a little more refreshed, and the rest of that day’s drive passes quickly.

I opt for room service once we reach that night’s hotel, still a little emotionally unsteady even though the fatigue has passed, and as soon as I’m done eating, I wash my face and change into my pajamas, then go to bed, hoping my body will cooperate tomorrow and not try to ruin the fun I’ve been having with the guys.

But before I can make it that far, I’m sucked into a dream that has me waking up in the middle of the night with a gasp, my heart racing and the memory of it already fading even though the emotions remain lodged firmly in my chest.

It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. One where I was following the signs for another roadside attraction, but not in the car. I was wandering down white, sterile corridors that twisted together like a maze. I could hear the guys laughing and having a good time, but could never find them, and every time I thought I’d reached the right room, I’d open it only to find it dark, empty, and barren. Filled only with the echo of my mother’s voice, criticizing the red dress I was wearing, the one I’d chosen for the Christmas party.

I felt inadequate. Like I had no control over the situation and couldn’t reach what I wanted, even though I was following all the signs.

I sit up and flick on the light, swallowing hard. I just need to see that I’m here, in this bland hotel room, not there. Except once I do, it’s still not good enough. It doesn’t slow my racing heart. I still feel just as alone and abandoned as I did in the dream.

So I don’t think; I just act.

I stumble out of bed, then out into the hall, knocking sharply on the door of the room next to mine without giving myself a chance to overthink it. I know the guys have the rooms on either side of me, and I think this one is Tristan’s.

I hope it is, because I need to not be alone. And even if these men don’twantme, I know they won’t let me down. Like Ryder said the other day, they’ll always be there to rescue me. And right now, I need that.

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