13. Cavil
Cavil
I sat at the table in the back corner of The Book Nook, the scent of old pages and fresh coffee curling through the air.
Around me, the usual chaos hummed—my makeshift family scattered across mismatched chairs, cups half-full, laughter brewing between bites of donuts and sips of hot drinks.
Christian leaned back in his chair, tossing a powdered donut into the air like it was part of some half-baked circus act.
He caught it with a grin, smug but stoic as always.
“Gotta keep my skills sharp,” he said, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Yeah, because that’s what the world needs—more of your skills,” Luke muttered, rolling his eyes. “Next thing we know, you’ll be applying for The Great British Bake Off.”
Javier snorted into his coffee. “With your luck, you’d burn water. I don't know what Claire sees in you."
“Only if I’m not under the watchful eye of Chef Luke over here.” Christian shot Luke a dramatic salute, earning another round of chuckles.
Luke shrugged, a crooked grin playing at his mouth. “Can’t help it if I’ve got the touch.” He leaned in, elbows on the table. “But seriously—anyone got plans for Christmas? My sister’s flying in next week.”
“Lucky you,” Noah murmured, his voice quiet but not absent of emotion. He was always the quiet one, but I heard the weight beneath his words. “Family gatherings always looked fun from the outside.”
Christian gave him a sidelong look. “You know Claire’s cooking enough food for twenty. You’ve got a seat at the table, no questions asked.”
Noah shook his head slowly, eyes drifting toward the window. “Appreciate it. But I’ve got things to take care of.”
The tone shifted. Not jarring—but enough. I felt it in the air, subtle like the first cold snap before a storm. We all did, even if no one said anything. Luke gave it a beat before jumping back in, voice lighter.
“What about here?” he asked. “This place could use a little extra holiday magic.”
“Or a little less cynicism,” Christian added with a smirk.
I leaned back in my chair and let the conversation settle around me like the warm light spilling from the shop’s windows.
There was something grounding in their banter, in the way they teased and talked over one another like brothers without blood.
I glanced at Noah, catching the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth—like he was trying not to smile. That was enough.
“Besides,” I said, cutting in, “who wouldn’t want Claire’s gingerbread cookies?”
Christian perked up. “The legendary cookies.”
Luke snorted. “If by legendary, you mean structurally sound enough to survive a demolition.”
Javier shook his head. “Pretty sure I broke a molar on one last year.”
The laughter that followed rolled through the room, genuine and easy. The kind of laughter that came from shared history—our strange little group tied together by routine, circumstance, and maybe something like loyalty. It was the kind of moment I didn’t take for granted.
But even as I smiled, I felt that familiar pull in my chest.
Callie.
Leo.
The memory of their voices echoing through the snow earlier gnawed at the edge of my thoughts.
I could still see the fire in her eyes when she’d stood her ground—still hear the venom in Leo’s voice as he tried to tear her down.
Something about it didn’t sit right. It felt unfinished.
Like a fuse had been lit and no one was watching the flame.
I fiddled with a paper napkin between my fingers, the laughter around me fading slightly beneath the noise in my own head. Something was shifting. I could feel it. I just didn’t know yet whether we were headed for healing—or another kind of breaking.
“So?” Javier leaned back, arms crossed, his gaze locked on me like a sniper zeroing in. “You gonna tell us what happened to your face?”
I grunted. “It’s the only one I’ve got.”
The guys exchanged looks, then erupted into laughter. Christian rolled his eyes, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away. “Only you could take a hit from your own brother and still look like you walked off a movie poster.”
“Or like a guy who still hasn’t figured out fists don’t fix everything,” Luke added, waggling his eyebrows with that too-familiar spark of trouble.
“Leo must’ve said something stupid,” he continued, leaning forward now like this was some mystery they were all about to solve together.
I exhaled through my nose. “He did.” The words tasted like ash.
Christian’s expression shifted. His voice dropped, lower and quieter. “Was it about Callie?”
The room went still. Even the hum of the heater seemed to fade. I could feel every set of eyes on me, the weight of their silence pressing in.
“Yeah.” I didn’t bother to hide the gravel in my voice. “He crossed a line.”
Javier let out a low whistle, then shrugged. “He’s got some balls thinking he can talk about her like that. Still a jackass, I see.”
Christian shifted forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, gaze locked on mine.
“You know… I didn’t ease into falling for Claire.
It wasn’t slow. It hit me like a freight train.
And there were nights I felt like I was still crawling out of the dark—ghosts from my time in the SAS clawing their way back into my head.
But she stayed. She saw me. Didn’t flinch. ”
He spoke like he was remembering something sacred. Not just her—but himself, the version he became because she stayed.
“It’s easy to believe we don’t deserve love,” he said. “Easy to think what we’ve done, what we’ve carried, makes us unworthy. But we’re wrong. We deserve someone who sees more than just the wreckage.”
Javier offered a teasing grin, but I saw the shift behind it—respect, plain and honest.
I leaned back in my chair, their voices circling me like smoke from an old fire.
Familiar, warm. But if I sat in it too long, it’d choke me.
The truth settled heavy in my chest: I didn’t know if I deserved Callie.
Or if I even knew how to hold on to someone like her without breaking something in the process.
Christian’s words didn’t just land—they lodged. And for the first time all night, I let them.
“She’s my brother’s ex,” I said, the words rough in my throat. Saying it out loud made the whole thing feel even messier—like I was standing dead center in a minefield, one wrong step away from detonating everything.
“Fuck your brother,” Javier snapped, no hesitation.
His tone cut sharper than steel. “With all due respect, family isn’t just blood.
It’s scars. It’s showing up. It’s who you choose.
And Leo?” He shook his head. “He’s loyal to one person—himself.
What he did to Callie…” He trailed off, but the anger in his voice lingered, scorching the space between us.
I shifted in my seat, the weight of their eyes settling heavy on my shoulders. I’d never seen that side of Javier before—fierce, protective, like someone who had drawn a line and dared the world to cross it. And maybe he had. For her. For us.
“You know what happened?” I asked, meeting his gaze.
He nodded, jaw tight. “The whole town does.”
“I don’t,” I admitted, quieter this time.
Luke leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “You went back home,” he said simply. And it landed with more weight than I expected—like that choice alone had made me blind to everything that unfolded here.
I waited for more, but no one filled the silence. It sat thick in the air between us—too many memories that didn’t belong to me. Too many wounds that hadn’t closed.
“It’s not our story to tell,” Noah said softly. There was no judgment in his voice, just quiet finality.
“Right.” I started to speak again, but Christian stood before I could get another word out.
“And I think that wraps everything up,” he said lightly, but there was intent in his tone. The kind that came from someone used to giving orders and knowing when the conversation had gone far enough. “Come on, boys. Let’s get out of here before the snow traps us in.”
The tension broke with laughter and movement as they gathered their things, the storm between us clearing just enough to feel the warmth again. I watched them joke as they grabbed coats and cups, but my thoughts stayed rooted elsewhere—on the bruise throbbing across my knuckles.
“Hey,” I said as they moved toward the door. “I can stay. Clean up.”
Luke tossed a balled-up napkin at me. “You started it. You finish it.”
I caught it with a half-smile. Despite the storm still spinning inside me, their teasing landed like a reminder that I wasn’t alone—not entirely.
As the bell over the door jingled and cold air rushed in behind them, I started clearing the plates. My hands moved, but my mind stayed tangled in Callie’s voice, Leo’s taunts, the weight of everything left unsaid.
The truth was, I hadn’t just been avoiding Leo all these years—I’d been avoiding her. Avoiding what it would mean to want something my brother had broken. But maybe it was time to stop living in the shadows of his wreckage.
Because family wasn’t defined by blood. It was defined by choice. And Callie? She deserved someone who would choose her—every time. Not because of guilt, not because of the past, but because she was worth standing beside when everything turned messy.
And I was done watching from a distance.
I was rinsing out the last of the coffee cups, letting the warm water run over my bruised knuckles, when the bell over the door jingled.
I didn’t have to look up to know it was her.
The air shifted. Got heavier—and warmer, somehow.
Callie stepped inside, the cold clinging to her coat, her eyes sweeping the room like she was looking for something urgent.
She stopped when she saw me. Her gaze landed on the bruise at my cheekbone, and I watched something flicker behind her eyes—concern, anger, maybe both.
I turned away instinctively, suddenly all too aware of how I must look.
Like trouble. Like the kind of man who couldn’t keep his hands—or his temper—to himself.
“Cavil.” Her voice was steady, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent. She didn’t wait for permission—just crossed the room and put her hands on my shoulders, guiding me toward the back room like she had every right to. Like I wouldn’t argue. And the truth was—I didn’t want to.
“Sit,” she ordered. Not asked. And I did.
She dug out the first aid kit from under the shelf, flipping it open with practiced fingers, her jaw set like she was preparing for a confrontation. I watched her move, fast and focused, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, though I already knew she wouldn’t buy it.
“Nothing doesn’t leave bruises,” she snapped, and before I could stop her, she slipped off my jacket and took my hand.
Her fingers were gentle, but her expression was anything but.
She examined the scrapes across my knuckles, the cut just under my jaw, like each mark told a story she hadn’t been allowed to hear yet.
The antiseptic burned when she dabbed it on, and I grunted under my breath. Her touch wasn’t soft—not because she didn’t care, but because she did.
“Why would you fight Leo?” she asked, each word tight and clipped, like she was holding something back. “What were you thinking?”
I didn’t answer right away. My eyes dropped to the scattered supplies across my lap, the sting in my hands nothing compared to the ache sitting just beneath my ribs. “Because he said something I couldn’t let go.”
Her hands stilled. Her gaze rose to mine, steady and searching. “About what?”
I hesitated, but lying would’ve felt worse than the bruises. I met her eyes and let the truth land between us.
“About you.”
That stopped her. Her mouth parted, just a little. Surprise. Maybe even something softer—something I didn’t dare name.
“What did he say?” she asked, her voice low now. Fragile, but not afraid.
I held her gaze, throat tightening. I could still hear Leo’s voice in my head, the venom in it. “He said something unforgivable.”
And for the first time since she walked in, I saw it—her armor crack just slightly. Enough to see she already knew. Maybe not the words, but the weight of them. The damage. The scar they’d been meant to leave.
Her breath caught, just barely, but I felt it. Heard it. And somehow, that small sound said more than anything else could.
“Why does that matter to you?” she asked, quiet but sharp. The kind of question that came from years of silence. Not anger. Not accusation. Just… the ache of never knowing where we stood.
“Because you matter,” I said. Simple. No excuses. No escape hatch. Just the truth laid bare.
And in that moment, everything shifted.
Something electric passed between us, brittle and alive, like the breath before a storm. I saw it in her eyes—the fear, the hope, the disbelief. She didn’t move. Neither did I. We just stood there, suspended in something that felt bigger than either of us.
Then I stepped forward, closing the space like it had never belonged there to begin with.
I kissed her.
At first, it was cautious—like testing if the ground would hold beneath us—but the second she kissed me back, that hesitation crumbled.
All of it. Years of what-ifs and too-lates burned up in the space between our mouths.
Her hands gripped my shirt like she was afraid I’d disappear, and mine slid into her hair, anchoring me to the one thing that finally felt right.
It wasn’t clean. I wasn’t careful. But it was real.
We fit together like something unfinished finally clicking into place; the tension breaking not with distance—but with fire. Her lips moved with purpose, drawing out every moment we hadn’t taken, every truth we hadn’t spoken. And for once, I didn’t hold back.
The rest of the world faded—no ghosts, no guilt, no Leo.
Just Callie. And me.
And the feeling that maybe… this was the beginning of something we should’ve never stopped wanting.