Page 111 of Filthy Rich Santas

“Thanks,” I say with a tight smile as we pull back onto the highway.

Ryder and Tristan both immediately get distracted by their phones again, Beckett apparently lost in thought, and it doesn’t get much better when we finally stop for the night.

The hotel is another nice one, but as we settle into our room, a small suite consisting of a single bedroom, bathroom, and a sitting area with a loveseat, low coffee table, and a few plush chairs, the now familiar routine of unpacking and ordering dinner feels almost stifling given the short, distracted answers they give to anything I bring up. It’s like they’re both hyper aware of me and also completely distracted. Each of them hovers a bit in his own way, treating me with kid gloves, but I can feel my frustration building with each passing moment.

Finally, as we’re gathered around the low coffee table, Beckett and I on the loveseat and Tristan and Ryder across from us, finishing up our meal, I can’t take it anymore.

“Okay, enough!” I burst out, setting my plate down with more force than necessary.

They all freeze, exchanging glances.

“I thought you liked orange chicken,” Tristan says cautiously. “If you want to switch for the Moo Shu pork?—”

I wave him off. “Why haven’t any of you touched me since I collapsed?”

Tristan blinks at me, adjusting his glasses, while Beckett and Ryder both stare.

“We… have,” Ryder says after a moment. “We literally all slept together last night. But we’re definitely not going to push you, especially after that.”

“Is that it, then?” I ask , trying and failing not to let my voice tremble. “Is our agreement over just because I’m sick? Do you… do you not want me anymore? None of you?”

The shock on their faces would be almost comical if I wasn’t so disappointed.

Tristan is the first one to speak. “That’s not it at all,” he says, his voice soft.

Ryder nods, leaning forward in the seat he took on the other side of the low coffee table our food is set out on. “We just want to be careful.”

“It’s not about not wanting you,” Beckett says gruffly. “But we’re not going to go in blind and trigger a bad reaction. No Dom would be okay with that.”

“No decent person would,” Ryder adds, his eyes flashing with a ferocity that belies his usual laid-back demeanor.

I chew on my lip for a moment, frustration and relief warring inside me. “Thank you,” I finally say, “But I’m not made of glass, you know. If you guys really do still want me, I won’t break.”

“We know that,” Beckett says, turning toward me to tug my lip out from between my teeth. He keeps a grip on my chin, staring at me intensely. “But none of us have any real knowledge about lupus. Or we didn’t. We’ve been researching it all day.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Researching?”

He nods. “We need to know what can trigger flare-ups and how to help when one happens. There’s no way we’re going to let you get to the point of rushing to the emergency room again. Not if we can help it. But that’s why we need to understand what kind of support you might need.”

I look between them, stunned. All day, I thought they were pulling away, losing interest.

But instead…

“You’ve spent the day doing all of that… for me?” I whisper, my chest tight with emotion.

I don’t wait for an answer. I can see by the earnest looks on their faces that it’s true.

Before I can overthink it, I launch myself at Beckett.

“Thank you,” I murmur against his lips before pressing mine against his.

He stiffens for a moment, clearly surprised, but then his arms come around me and he’s kissing me back. No, he’s doing more than that. He’s taking control of the kiss, pulling me closer and manhandling me onto his lap, leaving no room between us at all.

“Fuck, Lana,” he groans, adjusting the angle of my head.

Then he dips down to claim my mouth again, the end-of-day scruff on his jaw scratching my skin lightly.

I cling to him, melting against him. He kisses me just as hard and forcefully as he does everything else, and it’s everything I need to quash the last of my doubts.

---