Mistletoe Maverick (The Christmas Valor #2)

Chapter 1

Cavil

The library. Quiet again.

Smelled like dust and coffee. Not fresh coffee—burnt, watered-down sludge. Still, better than silence. Silence had teeth.

I leaned back in the chair that creaked every time I breathed wrong and watched the others. Same crew. Same ghosts. Different day.

Noah sat across from me, shoulders like granite, jaw tight. Always looked like he was waiting for something to explode. He kept rubbing the smooth, prosthetic curve where fingers used to be. Muscle memory was a cruel bastard.

“How’s the new scope?” I asked. Didn’t expect more than a grunt.

He glanced up. “Good enough. Can’t feel my left hand much anymore.” He flexed it—metal, cold and sharp in the overhead light. “But it’ll do.”

“Hmph.” Would have said more, but Luke beat me to it.

“You need to get back out there,” he said, leaning in, too eager. Still had that jarhead energy even if the uniform was long gone. Marine to the bone.

“Maybe.” Noah’s voice dropped. That shadow again. He was always standing half in it.

Javier snorted. Propped his leg—metal, polished, loud—on the table like it was a statement. Probably was. “You should see him on range days. Looks like he’s playing darts.”

Noah smirked. Just barely. That was something.

“Don’t need a uniform to stay sharp,” Luke added, lifting his chin like he was still waiting for orders.

“Some don’t get to choose,” I muttered. Took a sip of coffee. Tasted like regret. Swallowed it anyway.

Javier nodded, sobering. “That’s what this is, yeah? Keeping our heads on straight.”

I didn’t answer right away. Just looked around. Broken men, stitched together with duct tape and dark humor.

“We carry what we carry,” I said.

Quiet again. Not heavy. Just… thick. Like the air before a snowstorm.

Luke shifted. Pulled an envelope from his jacket—worn edges, soft in the way only old pain is. He slid it toward Noah without a word.

Noah picked it up slow. Tore it open slower. Inside—photo. Sunlight. Sand. Smiles that didn’t know what was coming.

He held it up.

“That was before…” Voice cracked like dry wood.

“Before everything went sideways?” Javier asked, soft.

Noah nodded. Didn’t say anything else. That photo would follow him home. Crawl into his bed. Whisper in his ear.

We didn’t fill the silence after that. No point.

We just sat in it.

Luke pressed on gently but firmly, keeping everyone steady without pushing too hard. “You’re not alone in remembering those days.” His eyes moved slow, measured—landed on each of us before settling back on Noah.

“I just miss it,” Noah finally said. Took him long enough. The words hung heavy—raw. Truth buried deep, now dragged into the light.

We all knew that feeling. Brotherhood made under fire. Gone now, except for shadows. Guilt. Silence. Pain with teeth.

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.”

“Speak for yourself,” Luke cut in. “That was a solid rendition of Jingle Bell Rock.”

Christian raised both hands in mock surrender. “You’re just mad I hit the high note.”

“Mad you tried,” Javier said flatly.

The teasing rolled on until Javier leaned back, boots creaking, voice dry. “What about presents? You guys do gifts, or is it just cookies and cocoa now?”

“No presents,” Christian said like he was declaring war on commercialism.

“That’s what you think—till you wake up Christmas morning,” I shot back. Smirked. Meant it.

“Can’t forget your sock collection,” Luke added, grin wide. “Legendary stuff.”

Laughter hit the walls. Hit something in the gut too—good kind. The kind that lingered.

Christian threw his arms out like he’d just won a prize. “Might need help picking them out this year,” he said, half-joking.

The room felt full after that. Warmer. Lighter. Talk turned to dinner at Claire’s inn, maybe baking cookies, maybe just drinks and quiet stories. Didn’t matter. The shape of the night wasn’t important. The people were.

The donuts vanished, but our moods didn’t crash. Didn’t need sugar to feel the lift.

And somewhere in the middle of the noise, I felt it again. That thing we didn’t name out loud. Family. Found in the ashes. Built from nothing but grit, grief, and too many ridiculous holiday pastries.

Didn’t matter what came next.

We’d show up. Together.

Always.

I leaned back and let the noise wash over me.

“Honestly, the VA forms are worse than my last deployment,” Luke muttered, rubbing his temple. “Takes longer to fill one out than it did to clear a whole compound.”

Javier snorted. “Yeah? You’ve never seen Noah’s stack. Looks like he’s entering a contest.”

“Hey, leave me out of it,” Noah said.

“Didn't you get a new dog? What’s her deal?” I asked.

“She’s a menace,” Noah replied. “But at least she doesn’t complain about the weather.”

“Yet,” Luke muttered, shaking his head. “Wait ‘til she has to dig your truck out of the driveway.”

“She won’t,” Javier said with a grin. “She’ll just watch while you freeze.”

Noah leaned forward, arms resting on the table. “You should meet her when she’s not barking at shadows or hoarding my socks.”

Christian grinned. “We could start a dog club—Canines of the Crippled.”

I shook my head. Couldn’t help the smile, though.

“What? You don’t think Cavil would join?” Luke said, wide-eyed with fake offense.

“Not unless you dragged him out kicking,” Javier added.

“Oh please,” Christian said, nudging my arm. “Cavil never misses a week unless the sky’s falling or the coffee machine breaks.”

That got them laughing—low and loose, the kind that sat deep in the ribs. I didn’t mind. Not from them. Felt more like an old nickname than a jab.

“Don’t count me out yet,” I said, trying for stern. Failed. “That coffee machine’s practically bloodline.”

The laughter bounced off the walls, warm and familiar. We were still healing. Always would be. But this—this helped. The coffee, the insults, the sugar, the silence.

It was ours. And that was enough to steady the ground beneath us.

I took another sip of coffee. Burned a little. Didn’t care. Heat worked its way down, softened the cold in my bones. Laughter circled the table. Easy. Familiar. Didn’t expect it to feel this good.

Mrs. Tilby entered quiet as ever, shoes soft on old wood. Silver hair neat, bun perfect as usual. She hovered at the edge of the group, hands folded, watching us like a proud aunt.

“Gentlemen,” she said, voice warm with something close to mischief. “I’ve got some news.”

We shut up. When she talked, we listened. Always did. She had that way about her—like she’d keep your secrets and still scold you without saying much.

“The library will be closed for the holidays,” she said, slow and clear.

Groans went up. Noah rolled his eyes like it was a personal betrayal. Couldn’t blame him.

“Three weeks,” she added. “Renovations. Deep cleaning.”

“Three weeks?” Luke groaned, tossing up his hands. “What are we supposed to do? Wither and die?”

“VA forms in the wild,” Javier said. “We won’t make it.”

I didn’t laugh, but I felt it. Still, the weight settled low. This place wasn’t just routine—it was anchor. The thought of losing it, even for a little while, scraped something raw.

I leaned forward, voice steady. “Any alternatives?”

Mrs. Tilby brightened like I’d handed her a wrapped gift. “Actually,” she said, eyes glinting, “I spoke with the girl who runs The Book Nook.”

Luke sat up straighter. “I thought Fletcher ran The Book Nook."

“She inherited it from him after he stepped down a few months ago.” Mrs. Tilby nodded, smoothing her cardigan like she was preparing a speech. “She’d be delighted to host you.”

Noah blinked. “You serious?”

“Deadly,” she said, grinning.

Luke leaned in, interest sparked. “Huh. Didn’t even know it was open again.”

“It is,” Mrs. Tilby replied, chipper. “Cozy, yes. Smaller, but more than enough space for you boys.”

Christian’s grin spread. Could already see the wheels turning in his head—books, armchairs, maybe a fireplace. Always did like the idea of stories stacked to the ceiling.

“Sounds promising,” I said. Let the words land slow. Let the others feel it.

Mrs. Tilby winked. “Delighted is an understatement.” Then she turned, walked off like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

“Let’s do it,” I said before anyone could start debating. Cut it clean.

The air shifted—buzzed with something just shy of excitement. The kind that came from a surprise you weren’t sure you’d wanted… until it showed up and reminded you what change could feel like when it came with the promise of staying connected.