Page 104 of Filthy Rich Santas

“That’s right, love.”

Ryder has his hand wrapped securely around the back of my neck, giving me a sense of stability, and with Tristan and Beckett on either side of me, I feel far more calm than I would have on my own.

But still…

“I’ve got pretty good insurance through work, but I’m not sure if it covers things out of state.” I look up, glancing between the three of them. “Do you think it might?”

I’m not sure why I’m asking them. Maybe I hope they’ll know since they own a business.

Or maybe I just want some reassurance.

“It might,” Tristan says.

“It had fucking better,” Ryder adds.

Beckett scowls, looking so grumpy as he crosses his big arms over his chest and glares at the paperwork I just signed that it warms my heart. “If it doesn’t, we’ll take care of it.”

“What?”

“You heard him,” Ryder says, giving me a comforting squeeze. “And you also heard the doc say something about keeping your stress level down, right? So don’t worry about that, love. We’ve got you.”

I want to argue. They’re talking about paying bills for me that they have no business feeling responsible for.

But it’s just… nice. Really nice. So I keep quiet and decide that’s a battle for another day, if necessary.

“How much time have we lost?” I joke once we finally leave the hospital and get back to the SUV.

“They didn’t hold you long,” Tristan murmurs as Ryder gets behind the wheel and Beckett helps me into the back seat as if I’m made of glass.

“I’m glad,” I say. “That should let us get to the next town before dark, right?”

“No.” Beckett shakes his head, the hand he’s got resting on my knee tightening a bit.

“What?” I ask as Ryder pulls out of the parking lot, turning away from the highway.

He catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “Change of plans. We’re not driving anymore today. We’re going to find a hotel and rest up for the night.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Beckett cuts me off firmly.

“Fine,” I agree with a little huff, turning my head away from him to hide the smile I can’t quite stifle.

Just this morning, a part of me was actively wishing that the four of us could just keep driving. Not to get to New Hampshire faster, but just to stay on the road. Maybe even to skip ever arriving at my parents’ place altogether.

Letting the lupus get the best of me isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined getting more time with these guys, nor was having my condition exposed to them part of my secret fantasies, but surprisingly, I don’t hate that that’s where we’re at.

I lean my temple against the cool glass of the passenger window, watching my breath fog it up for a moment before I straighten up again.

Beckett frowns at me. “Hang on a minute.”

He twists around and digs into his bag, rummaging around before pulling out… the scarf. The one I’ve watched his big, tattooed hands work on during quiet moments of our trip.

“Should have done this before I let you step out of the hospital,” he murmurs, wrapping it around my neck, his calloused fingers brushing against my skin.

I reach up to feel the yarn. “It’s so soft and cozy.”

“Good.”

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