Page 33 of Under Cover

Crosby nodded before tilting his head back again and taking a deep breath, blinking those marvelous eyes out of existence.

“Families are so hard,” he said on a sigh. With a little shake, like he was trying to get rid of the sad, he straightened and gave Garcia a look. “I mean, I’m pretty sure Harding doesn’t have any family, which is a real shame. But IknowI was avoiding going home this holiday. I was so grateful Natalia had Thanksgiving at her house I almost offered myself for babysitting for a year. I get the feeling you were doing the same.”

It wasn’t an invitation to talk so much as it was anopening, should Garcia choose to walk through.

Tonight, feeling vulnerable and a little alone on one of the happiest nights of the year, Garcia chose. “My folks… let’s just say they don’t approve.”

“Of what? Being in law enforcement? The military? What?”

Oh, so so many things—even the one big thing he’d never told them about but was pretty sure they suspected.

“All of it,” he said, gesturing with his coffee. “They didn’t want me to join the military—wanted me to join Dad’s business. Didn’t want me to join law enforcement, because same. When I was in Florida, they were mad because their neighbors knew I was a cop. When I left, they were mad ’cause I was gone. When I was in ATF, they were mad because, well, most of the people they know are on the watchlist. When I started this, they were mad ’cause Nana gave me the house, even though theystilldon’t fucking visit. My dad’s mad ’cause of the LEO. My mom’s mad ’cause I haven’t married yet. Take your pick.” He shrugged, realizing he hadn’t even acknowledged the resentment that had come coursing out of his mouth. “Not a picnic.”

“No,” Crosby murmured, taking a sip of his coffee.

“What about you?”

Crosby grimaced. “Iwasthe perfect son. Football scholarship, and then when that went south, I got to be a neighborhood cop. My dad was a cop, my grandpa was a cop—theylovedme.”

Garcia sucked in a breath. “But then….”

“I fucked up. They had to move out of the neighborhood. I moved here, which, you know, feels like the moon to them. Last year I couldn’t wait to see them for Christmas, but I swear, it almost ended as bad as that family’s we just met. I moved hell and high water and got a plane back to Virginia and then rented a car and drove twelve hours north. I’m the reason Denison got to see her kids last year, ’cause I left New Mexico on the twentieth and was showered and napped by Christmas Eve morning. Spent the day with Joey Carlyle, a lot like I spent it today with you and Harding. Didn’t regret a thing.”

Oh. “Do you miss them?” Garcia asked, wanting to touch himso bad. Wanting to stroke his thigh, cup his cheek, nuzzle his temple, soothe the bruises on his knuckles. Comfort. Couldn’t anybody see his boy needed comfort? Garcia had never felt so loved, soright, as he did with the SCTF, but Crosby had lostsomuch to get there.

To his surprise, Crosby shook his head. “I miss who theywantme to be,” he said after a moment. “I miss being that kid who could do no wrong in their eyes. I mean, I know that kid was a myth. I know nobody’s that perfect, and I also know it’s not a prize to grow up just like your old man. My old man would have backed his partner, dead kid at their feet. He told me so himself. Me? I’m not that guy. I don’t ever want tobethat guy. So if that’s who I had to be to stay where I was, I guess it’s okay I left.”

“Would you go back if you had a chance?” Garcia almost took it back. God, he was surprised he’d asked it. What was in him that had to know that bad?

But Crosby shrugged. “I’d like to visit,” he said after a moment. “I’d like to let my folks go back, ’cause that was no goddamned good.” He looked up and flashed a grin so unfettered by sadness, so untouched by bitter regret, that Garcia had tofightnot to clutch his chest. “I’d love to show you around,” he said. “You and me? We could go to the dance clubs there. I’d show you the sights. The tacky stuff like Navy Pier and the shopping district—you’d go nuts over the shopping district. Leather jackets formiles. The architecture. God, even that giant fucking dinosaur head?”

“Chicago Sue?” Garcia asked, delighted. He’d been in Chicago as a stop, never as a destination.

“That’s the one.Lovedthat museum. Not that the Met isn’t great. But, you know.”

“Familiar,” Garcia said.

Crosby’s smile lost none of its luster. “Yeah. It’s like I want to go back to remember there was good shit. I want toshowyou the good shit. You’d appreciate it, I’m sure.” His face eased into thoughtfulness now, the bitterness gone. “But I don’t want to go back. Not for good. I-I mean for one thing, I’msmarternow. Harding trains us up right and keeps us smart. Sociology, criminal justice—our down time isn’t a joke, you know that.”

“Always an online class,” Garcia said, winking.

“Fuckin’ always. I love it. It’s like all the bad stuff that festers with the old street cops, it gets flushed away with new knowledge. The wholeworldshould be doing this shit.” He nodded. “But more’n that. If I could only get a fuckin’ apartment someplace in the city, this would be perfect.” And again that smile. Garcia would have wept, but Crosby would have stopped smiling then. “I love what I’m doing right now. I love my team. I feel like we do some goddamned good.” He made a frustrated gesture with his bruised hand. “That thing we just did? It could’ve gone wrong. I know a thousand different ways people in that club could have gotten hurt. And all of those people—did you see them? They looked like us. They were there ’cause they wanted to be home, and that was the closest thing they had. They could’ve gotten hurt, and all that safety, all that hope, it would’ve gone away. That family—dad, well, you know. Picking up a gun isn’t the best idea,ever, but his wife, his daughter, they could’ve been hurt just loving someone with issues like his. It could’ve ended so wrong. But ’cause we didn’t rush in being all high-and-mighty cops and shit, everybody there’s got a second chance. You and me, partner—wedidthat. I’m not giving that up.”

Garcia grinned, and there must’ve been something in his grin like there had been in Crosby’s, because they ended up staring at each other, smiling, quiet, until Garcia’s heart started thumping. He thought,This reallyisit. This will be the night. I’ll make my move. Something quiet. Christmas movies on television, us on the couch. I’ll sit close…. God, he can’t smile at me without it meaning something, can he?

Their food came, and the moment ended. They talked about other things—football and the best stuff to look at when they were at the Met—and eventually they left and took Harding his meal.

Harding was napping on the lounge couch when they got back to the office, covered with his own coat. He struggled awake when they walked in and thanked them for the food. He was about to tell them to leave—Garcia could tell—when Crosby met Garcia’s eyes and Garcia nodded.

“You know, Chief, we got a pie in there. Like, anentire pie.You, uh, wouldn’t want to share that pie over a game of poker, right?”

Harding gave a quiet, melancholy smile of his own.

While he never told themhislonely Christmas story, it didn’t matter. They stayed the rest of the night, leaving when Denison checked in, and in the meantime, they spent Christmas playing poker.

Didn’t make sense for Crosby to go back to Garcia’s place then. Just as well to go home, right?

Garcia wouldn’t have traded the night for anything. Being there for Harding was important. He risked his ass to back them, time and time again.