Page 137 of Filthy Rich Santas

“I’m so sorry—” I start, but he cuts me off, crossing the room and pulling me in for a gentle kiss.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs against my lips. “None of us mind. We want to take care of you, freckles.”

I pull back slightly, searching his face. “But I slept so late.”

He shrugs easily. “Then you needed it.”

“I mean, who doesn’t like sleeping in? But with you guys all already up and handling the packing…”

Tristan shakes his head, his blue-gray eyes serious behind his glasses. “There’s a difference between enjoying a lazy morning and respecting your body when you require a little more rest. From what we read about lupus, there are always going to be times you need extra sleep because of the fatigue. Of course we’re going to accommodate that.”

I flinch a little at the mention of my illness. Being so open about it, even if it’s just with the three of them, is still new to me. I’ve had a lot more practice denying my diagnosis than trying to accommodate it the way Tristan is.

“I know,” I admit, chewing on my lip for a moment. Then I sigh. “But that doesn’t mean I want to be seen as, I don’t know, the weak link here?”

He cocks his head to the side. “You’re not. I know I speak for Ryder and Beckett when I say it doesn’t change how we see you. It’s just a part of you, like any other part.” He tugs on my lower lip, dragging out from between my teeth as he grins. “And believe me, we likeallparts of you.”

My stomach swoops. “You do?”

“Of course we do,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You know, when I was recovering from my accident, my grandmother took care of me. She had to do so much, and I don’t just mean physically. I was useless for a while, but she never made me feel bad for it.”

“You were just a kid,” I remind him softly, my heart clenching at the thought of a young Tristan going through such trauma. “You were in pain, and probably in shock from losing your mother. You were what, eight? Nine?”

“What matters is how it felt to have someone give me that kind of unconditional acceptance. And believe me, I’ll never make you feel bad for needing to take care of yourself.”

The ache in my chest intensifies. I know about his accident, of course. I know he lost his mother. But hearing him talk about it gives me a whole new appreciation for how resilient he is.

And how wonderful his grandmother is too.

I cup his face, my fingers playing over the scars there.

He smiles at me, leaning into the touch instead of pulling away like I’ve seen him do so many times before when it comes to downplaying his scars.

“Thank you,” I whisper, burying my face against his chest.

“No thanks even necessary,” he murmurs as his arms wrap around me.

He holds me close, and I breathe in his comforting scent of amber and spice, struck by how safe I feel in his arms.

Ryder and Beckett enter the room a moment later, talking quietly to each other. Beckett’s eyes immediately zero in on me with their signature burning intensity, and Ryder is wearing a mischievous grin.

“What’s up?” I ask as Tristan and I separate.

Beckett crosses his arms, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “We’ve got an early Christmas present for you.”

“You guys didn’t need to do that.”

“We wanted to,” Ryder says, his grin widening. “Especially since this trip will be over soon.”

A pang of sadness hits me at the reminder that we’re almost to New Hampshire now, but I push it aside.

“Well, that really is sweet of you,” I say, a little flustered. “But I hope you know I wasn’t expecting anything. Whatever it is, you can just wait and give it to me at my parents’ house.”

It’s silly, I know, because they’re not just going to disappear from my life when they finally drop me off there. But still, I like the idea that they’d have a reason to make sure to see me again while we’re all in New Hampshire.

But Tristan smirks, sharing a glance with the other men that proves he’s in on this surprise too.

“Trust me, freckles. Not this gift. We wouldn’t let you open it in front of them even if you wanted to.”

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