Javier leaned forward. No jokes this time. Just quiet truth. “That’s why we’re here every week.”
He nodded toward me. I didn’t say anything yet—just watched them. The four of them. Worn. Still standing. Haunted, but not broken. Not completely.
“If you ever feel like taking another shot?” I added. Voice calm, low. Not pushing. Not pity. Just fact. We show up for each other. No one else gets it.
Something flickered in Noah’s eyes. That dead-light look he carried most days—faded for a second. Not gone. Just dulled.
“Yeah… maybe,” he murmured, like he wasn’t making a promise. Just not saying no.
Javier gave him a grin. Luke leaned back, satisfied. The air loosened. The edges of grief softened.
Conversation started up again. Easy flow. Old rhythm. Laughter slipped in and out, like it never left.
And just like that—life moved on. Even here, where the ghosts still lingered.
I leaned back. The warmth in the room—jokes, shared silence, sugar and sarcasm—pushed the shadows to the corners. Wouldn’t last, but it was something. Noah picked up a donut from Javier’s box. The usual peace offering. Took a bite like he expected it to fight back. Didn’t. He eased. Laughter stirred again.
The door creaked open. Heads turned. Christian stood there like he’d walked off a postcard—arms full, grinning like a fool. Red box in his hands. Too bright. Too festive. Trouble.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” I muttered, smirking.
He strode in like he owned the place. “You lot are gonna love this!”
“Don’t tell me Claire picked those out,” Luke said, one brow high.
Christian rolled his eyes. Didn’t mean it. Man was glowing. “Nope! All me.” He dropped the box on the table. Flipped it open with flair.
Silence.
Christmas-themed donuts. Frosting. Sprinkles. The kind of thing that screams sugar coma and bad decisions.
“Jingle bell donuts?” Noah blinked. “What is this? Are we twelve?”
“They’re delicious,” Christian said, already elbow-deep in the box. “Claire thought they were cute.”
Javier picked up one that looked like a snowman. Held it like it offended him. “Yeah, and that’s exactly why we’re giving you shit.”
“No one wants to see your frosted pastry fantasies,” Luke muttered, snatching a donut with a nose red enough to be a beacon.
“You’re just jealous,” Christian said, biting into a tree-shaped sugar bomb. “Not everyone has an eye for cheer.”
“Or an inner child,” I added, grabbing one dusted in coconut that looked like snow.
Christian dropped into the chair next to me, smug as hell. Hard not to like him. He’d changed since Claire showed up. Softer around the edges. Still ridiculous.
Christian dropped into the chair beside me, still riding high on his Christmas donut victory like he’d just saved the holiday single-handedly.
“What’s everyone doing for Christmas?” he asked, brushing powdered sugar off his shirt without a care in the world.
“Same thing I do every year,” Noah muttered, reaching for a second donut. “Ignore the phone. Sleep in. Hope the snow keeps everyone away.”
“Cozy,” Javier said, leaning back. “Or depressing.”
“Cozy sounds good to me,” I said, voice low. “Long as there’s hot drinks, and a fire involved.”
“I could bring some brandy,” Christian offered, eyes lighting up like he had a mission. “Start our own damn tradition.”
Javier shook his head. “You with brandy? That ends with someone singing carols off key in the driveway.”
