Page 168 of Filthy Rich Santas

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were different. If the connection I forged with Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett on our road trip wasn’t just a temporary thing. Could we still have moments like this, all of us together, if they were actually… mine?

Would Caleb’s protective big brother instincts kick in the way we’ve all assumed, or would he see how happy they make me and give us his blessing?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge those thoughts before my heart gets any more invested than it already is. No matter how deep our connection was, the guys made it clear that they weren’t looking for more. I need to let it go.

But as Tristan holds up a sweater covered in blinking lights for my approval, I remember how those hands felt on my skin. How his lips tasted. How he knows exactly how I like to be touched, how to make me fall apart.

How they all do.

“Earth to Lana.” Caleb’s voice breaks through my reverie. “What do you think? Is this the winner?”

He’s modeling a sweater with a stuffed Santa stuck halfway down a chimney, the legs kicking comically.

I laugh, refocusing on the present moment. “Oh, definitely. Grandma Meg will love it.”

As we make our way to the checkout, I catch Beckett giving me a long, inscrutable look. My heart flutters, and for a moment, I think he might say something. But then Ryder bumps into him, breaking the spell.

They tussle playfully for a moment, making Caleb put two fingers between his lips and whistle loudly, like he’s a hockey referee trying to break up a fight.

We’re all laughing again as we pile back into the car, now each wearing a truly hideous sweater. A short while later, Tristan pulls up in front of his grandmother’s charming cottage-style house, its porch festooned with twinkling lights and garlands. Even the guest house in the back has a wreath on the door.

I gasp, making all four of them laugh.

“What?” I ask, blushing. “It’s beautiful. You know I love holiday decorations.”

There’s a stark contrast between the warm, inviting atmosphere here and the pristine, almost sterile feel of my parents’ home.

We all pile out of the car, and before we can even reach the porch, the front door flies open. Grandma Meg bursts out, arms wide. She’s wearing a sweater that looks like a Christmas tree, complete with dangling ornaments, and she’s got Baldwin, the adorably ugly little dog she adopted a few years ago, in her arms. Baldwin, of course, is also sporting a festive sweater, and wiggling so wildly it’s a miracle she’s able to keep hold of him.

It’s adorable.

“My boys!” she exclaims, pulling each of them into a fierce hug. When she gets to me, her embrace is just as warm. “And Lana! Oh, it’s so good to see you all.”

As we step inside, the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked cookies envelops us. The house is a cozy jumble of mismatched furniture, colorful throw pillows, and walls covered in photos of smiling faces, the majority of them featuring the four men I’m with. It’s the kind of place that immediately makes you feel at home.

“Alright, everyone get comfortable,” Meg instructs, ushering us into the living room. “I want to hear everything that’s been going on with you all.”

We settle in, and Meg turns to Tristan. “Now, tell me how business is going?”

My eyes almost bug out of my head at the idea of this sweet woman asking him about a kink club, and for a moment, I almost wonder if she knows what “business” he’s really in, or if he’s somehow downplayed Radiance as being a regular nightclub.

I’m quickly corrected on that as I listen in on their chatter, and instead of being awkward, hearing her genuine interest gives me a strange feeling of warmth. She clearly accepts Tristan for who he is, and more than that, she’s proud of the success he’s created with his friends.

He’s never had to hide anything from her, and it’s bittersweet to see firsthand that that kind of familial love exists. And not just toward Tristan, either. She turns to Ryder and Beckett next, pride evident in her voice as she asks about their roles in the club and their planned expansion. There’s no judgment, no comparisons—just genuine interest and support.

“And my favorite hockey star!” she gushes to Caleb after she’s wrung all the details out of the other three men, her eyes lighting up.

“Did you hear that, Tristan?” Caleb teases him. “Her favorite hockey star.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes, but his easy grin reassures me that he really has made his peace with the fact that his accident forced him to take a different path. “She just loves you because you give her something to bet on with her friends.”

“What’s this, now?” my brother asks, laughing.

Meg beams at him. “You know I watch all your games. Nearly gave me a heart attack with that last-minute goal in Toronto.”

Caleb laughs. “Sorry about that, Grandma Meg. I’ll try to score earlier next time.”

“You’d better,” she wags a finger at him playfully. “Mrs. Donovan from my knitting circle roots for the Maple Leafs on account of her having no taste?—”

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