I stared at the hat. “Not happening.”
Christian laughed as he stepped inside and started brushing snow off his shoulders. “Come on, man. It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t you fake a little cheer?”
Claire slipped inside with that soft smile of hers, the one that always managed to crack the ice just a little. Mrs. Bennett gave me a knowing look, her gaze sweeping the cluttered apartment like she saw straight through me.
“We brought cookies,” she said, holding up a tin like it was some kind of peace offering.
I nodded out of courtesy. “Thanks, but I’m not really in the mood.”
Luke clutched his chest in mock horror. “No mood? You’re missing out! There’s gonna be hot chocolate and some truly godawful carolers. It’s practically a Hallmark movie.”
I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Hard pass.”
Claire and Christian shared a look. Then Claire stepped closer, her voice soft. “It’s just one night, Cavil. It might help.”
I looked at her—really looked. And part of me wanted to go. Just to be near something warm for a minute. But I shook my head. “I appreciate it. Really. But I’d rather be alone tonight.”
Christian chuckled and muttered, “This guy seriously thinks solitude is the answer.”
I shrugged. “Hey, nobody’s forcing you to hang out with me. Feel free to go sip your hot cocoa and sing off-key with the rest of them.”
Even as I said it, part of me hated how bitter it sounded. But it was safer here. In the quiet. In the cage I’d built for myself.
“You’re missing out,” Luke said again, giving me one of those over-the-top winks he was known for. “Who knows? We might meet someone. Free hot chocolate draws in all the cute girls.”
I scoffed, glancing toward the kitchen counter where that ridiculous Santa hat still sat like a challenge I hadn’t accepted. Red felt and jingling bells—festive nonsense for a night I didn’t want to celebrate. I left it there, untouched.
“He doesn’t think she wants him there,” Luke said to Noah, who had snuck in as silent as a wraith.
That hit harder than I expected. I masked it with a shrug, but the words echoed in my chest like they’d been aimed squarely at me. I wasn’t going because I thought showing up might make things worse—and wasn’t that exactly what I was doing? Hiding behind excuses. Telling myself staying away was noble, not cowardly. But the truth was, I didn’t know what I’d say to her if I saw her again. I didn’t trust myself not to fall all the way.
“You guys should just go,” I said, firmer this time. “Enjoy yourselves.”
A beat of silence followed. Luke looked like he wanted to argue again, but Christian nudged him toward the door with a resigned sigh. Claire lingered, her gaze gentle and unreadable.
Noah stayed quiet, probably debating if he could get out of this too.
“Take care of yourself,” she said quietly.
Then she followed the others out into the night, their laughter fading as the door shut behind them.
And just like that, the silence returned—too loud, too empty. I stood there, unmoving, watching snowflakes drift outside my window. Their joy felt miles away from where I was. I wanted to believe I’d made the right choice staying behind, keeping my distance. But all it felt like was loss—hollow and heavy, wrapping around my chest and settling in.
I didn’t put on the hat. I didn’t follow them. I just sat down again in the quiet and told myself I’d made peace with it.
But I hadn’t. Not even close.
I sank deeper into the couch, the creak of worn cushions the only sound in the apartment. The silence felt suffocating. But it wasn’t the quiet that unraveled me—it was the memory of her lips on mine.
That kiss. Soft. Uncertain. But real in a way nothing had been for a long time.
And then her words echoed, sharp and clear:“I don’t want to come between you and your brother.”
I closed my eyes, jaw clenched. It wasn’t anger—not at her. Never at her. It was fear. That gnawing, familiar kind of fear that had followed me from deployment to home and settled in my chest like it had every right to stay. I’d spent so long building a life around silence and distance, pretending I didn’t want more. But Callie cracked that lie wide open every time she looked at me like I wasn’t a burden, like I wasn’t broken.
Still, I couldn’t shake the thought:What if I’m just like him?
Leo left wreckage wherever he went. People. Promises. Me. And no matter how much I told myself I was different, part of me still wondered if I carried the same curse—that deep-down rot that made people run before they got left behind.
