Page 100 of Filthy Rich Santas

I’m not wrong, though. Whatever the fuck this is, it’salsomy fault. Whatever took her down, getting her all worked up the way I did had to have aggravated whatever’s caused this.

The ambulance arrives, and while logically I’m aware that it’s only been a few minutes since Ryder placed the call, it takes everything in me not to tear into them for leaving her lying here on the ground for so long. As it is, I bark out answers to the EMTs’ questions in a less-than-cordial manner, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Sir, we need to load her up,” one of them finally says, trying to nudge me aside.

I growl, not wanting to let go.

Tristan’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Come on. Let them work. We’ll follow in the car.”

“Like hell,” I snarl, my eyes never leaving Lana’s face. “I’m riding with her.”

“Are you family, sir?” one of the EMTs asks.

I don’t know what he sees on my face when I look up at him, but it makes him take a step back.

Ryder clears his throat. “He’s family.”

“Fine,” the EMT finally says after a moment of tense silence. “But give us some room to work.”

Tristan tugs me far enough away for the guy to get in there and strap Lana to a stretcher, then keeps a hold of my arm for a moment longer as they move her into the ambulance.

“Ryder and I will be right behind you,” he murmurs. “Keep an eye on our girl, but remember to let them do their jobs too.”

I give a curt nod, then shake him off and climb into the ambulance. I know he’s right, but it still kills me to be even a little bit separated from her while she’s so vulnerable.

The doors slam shut, and we’re moving. And although the EMTs seem competent and professional, I don’t think I manage to actually breathe until, about halfway to the hospital, Lana’s eyelids finally flutter.

I lean in close, my heart in my throat.

“There you are, little menace,” I murmur, taking her hand in mine. “You’re okay. We’re getting you to the hospital.”

Her eyes focus on me for a moment, confusion clouding them. “Beck…?” she whispers.

“That’s right. I’m right here,” I assure her, squeezing her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Still plenty of time for you to finish telling me off.”

Fuck. I’m trying to lighten things up, but I’m no fucking Ryder, and the joke falls flat.

Maybe because it’s really not one. She wasn’t wrong for calling me out like that, and it will kill me if we’re not able to finish that conversation so I can admit that to her.

I’m honestly not even sure she’s really hearing me, though. She looks dazed as she blinks up at me. Then, when she finally wets her lips and tries to say something else, her eyes roll back before she can manage it.

Then she’s out again.

“What happened?” I bark at one of the EMTs.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” he says, more compassion in his voice than I deserve right now.

I keep ahold of her hand since neither of them tell me I can’t, but make room as the man I shouted at adjusts something on her IV.

I clench my jaw, feeling utterly fucking useless as they keep fussing over her for the rest of the ride.

She doesn’t wake up again, and when we finally arrive at the hospital—beating Ryder and Tristan there—I stay with her as long as they’ll let me. But eventually, a nurse stops me with a hand on my chest.

“Sir, you need to wait out here,” she says firmly. “We’ll update you as soon as we can.”

My stomach twists, nausea rising as I watch them wheel Lana away and disappear behind a set of swinging doors.

I fucking hate this. Hate feeling helpless, hate not knowing what’s wrong with her.

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