Page 210 of Filthy Rich Santas

Ryder must sense my tension because he leans forward from the backseat, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got your back, love. No matter what happens.”

Beckett grunts in agreement from behind the wheel, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror.

I take a deep breath, drawing strength from their unwavering support. Whatever happens next, at least I know I’m not facing it alone. Still, as we pull up to my parents’ house, I feel my anxiety spike.

Before I can even reach for the door handle, Tristan and Ryder are out of the car, each offering me a hand. Beckett flanks my other side as I step out, the three of them forming a protective barrier around me.

Their housekeeper answers the door, and the house feels unnaturally quiet as we enter. There’s no sign of Vivian or Caleb—just my parents, their faces pinched and wary as they watch us file in.

“We’re just here to get our things,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

My father nods stiffly, and my mother turns away, unable to meet my eyes.

There’s a pang in my chest as I compare this cold welcome to the warmth we just left at Grandma Meg’s, but I don’t regret what I said to them. I can’t, because it’s the truth.

Tristan, Ryder, and Beckett quickly gather their belongings from the guest room, then accompany me to my childhood bedroom. Their presence is a comforting shield as I pack up the last of my things.

It doesn’t take long, but when we head back downstairs to leave, my mother’s voice stops us.

“Vivian called.” Her voice is calm on the surface, but I can hear the shock reverberating in her tone as she adds, “She’s… she’s leaving Kyle. KyleDoherty.”

I turn to face them, seeing the disbelief and disappointment etched on their faces. But the way she emphasized Kyle’s family name, as if him being mayor’s son is more important than my sister’s happiness, makes something inside me snap.

“Good for her,” I say firmly. “You should be happy for Vivian. She’s making the right choice for herself.”

My father’s brow furrows. “But Kyle is?—”

“Rich? Well-connected?” I interrupt. “What does any of that matter if he’s not treating her right? Don’t you think being with a man who loves and respects her, who’s faithful to her, should be the most important thing in her marriage?”

“I don’t think you’re seeing the big picture here,” my father says with a scowl.

I take a deep breath, feeling Beckett’s reassuring hand on my lower back. “No, I think you’re looking at the wrong picture, Dad. The picture-perfect version of this family that only exists in your head, based on your standards. But these are the children you have. Not picture-perfect ones, but me, Vivian, and Caleb. We’re all different, we’re all making our own choices, and if those choices don’t meet your expectations, it’s up to you to accept us or not. But if you don’t…” I pause, steeling myself. “If you don’t, that picture might start to look pretty empty.”

Mom’s lips pinch. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Lana. Your father and I have always wanted nothing but the best for all three of you.”

“No, you’ve wanted your version of the best. And what I’m saying is that you might not have us in your lives anymore if you can’t support each of us living the lives that make us happy. Us, not you.”

My parents exchange a look, something unreadable passing between them, but if I’m hoping for them to have some kind of epiphany, or suddenly declare their understanding and devotion, I’m disappointed. All I get is a stiff nod from my father and my mother telling us that the housekeeper can see us out.

“No need, I know the way,” I say softly, searching both of their faces for any sign that I’ve gotten through to them.

I don’t find it, and as we walk away from my parents’ house, I feel a strange mixture of sadness and relief wash over me. I may be disappointed, but I have no regrets. I’ve said what needed to be said, drawn my line in the sand, and established boundaries that actually feel healthy for once.

And I feel… free.

The moment we’re out of sight of the house, Tristan pulls me into a tight hug. “You were amazing in there,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Ryder joins in, wrapping his arms around both of us. “That’s our brave girl,” he says, his voice filled with pride.

Beckett hangs back a bit, but when our group hug breaks apart, he catches my eye. There’s understanding there, a shared pain that doesn’t need words. He opens his arms, and I step into them, burying my face in his chest.

“It gets easier,” he rumbles softly, his words for me alone. “Choosing yourself hurts like hell at first, but it gets easier.”

I nod, grateful for his understanding, and by how open about his emotions he is with me now. It does help to know that he’s been where I am now, having cut ties with his own abusive father years ago. His strength gives me hope, and his support and understanding mean everything.

We load up our things and pile into the SUV, Ryder taking the first driving shift. As he adjusts the rearview mirror, I notice he’s donned his Santa hat again. He adjusts it to the same jaunty angle as the ornament I gave him, then catches my eye in the mirror and grins.

“All aboard the Christmas Express!” he announces cheerfully.

---