So, he gave Brian a Death Star cookie jar full of Oreos, and Brian gave him socks with roosters, and shit like that which didn’t feel like pressure. Their stuff for Charlie and Lori was a bit less tacky, but mostly they had fun opening boxes and ragging on each other. Luger was actually the big winner, once Charlie got down his stocking full of treats from where it’d been put out of reach in the hall closet.
The whole thing was… nice. Warm. For the last three years, Nick had volunteered to work Christmases so some officer with kids could stay home. Even before that, he’d mostly spent the day on his own, wondering what Ariana was doing, worrying— Nick rubbed Luger’s butt as the dog gnawed a chew bone. Brian leaned against Nick’s shoulder, fiddling with a mini-flashlight Nick had taped over with a vaguely dick-shaped hole for the beam. Brian played the dick-light up and down Nick’s jeans.
“This is real nice.” Nick was surprised to hear Lori echoing his thoughts. “Best year yet.”
Brian sat up. “I thought you liked Christmas with Mr.— with Marston.”
Lori gave him a scornful look. “I used Christmas with Vern. If someone wants to give me a ten-thousand-dollar necklace today, to pawn for the kid’s education, sure, gimme.” She held out a hand, rubbing her fingers together. “Damn, I wish I’d had time to get into the safe when we had to run. I could’ve bought a house and a pony.” She dropped the pose. “But otherwise? It was all about the image, and I wasn’t ever quite good enough. He had decorators in, and caterers for the menu. He even had someone pick out my clothes for each party we went to.” Her voice dropped. “‘Just be your lovely, decorative, and silent self, my dear.’ I knew the drill.”
“Was it worth it?” Nick asked. “Why do it?”
She raised a cool eyebrow at him. “You want to know what Christmas with Mom was like?”
“It wasn’t that bad.” There was a thin stress in Brian’s tone that made Nick shift over and brace an arm behind him. Not quite a hug, but support he could lean into. “Mom tried.”
“Yeah. Every year she tried. This year would be different. She’d cut back on the drugs and find a job, something temp for the season but she was sure it’d turn into more. For a few weeks, it’d get better. She might even buy presents, or a ham dinner, or something. Then a couple of days after Christmas—”
“I remember,” Brian muttered.
To hell with it. Nick slid his arm around Brian’s shoulders in a real hug, and Brian shivered and pushed close.
“Then she’d lose the job and start with the booze and the smack, and by New Year’s she’d have no way to pay the rent. Our fucking fresh start would be out on the street looking for a new place, or pushed out of the way while she went after a new man.”
Nick said, “At least you got the decent Christmas Day. I remember one place—” He bit off his own words. He was not going to start comparing sob stories. “Anyway, this is great, and I can’t wait to see what Helen thinks southern Christmas cooking should be like.”
“Pies,” Charlie said, clearly going with the effort. “The house has smelled like pies all week. If she wasn’t ancient and married, I’d be courting her.”
“I can cook,” Lori said. “I just don’t.”
“Well, today we don’t have to. That chicken can stay in the fridge for tomorrow.” Charlie turned to struggle up off the floor, using the side of her chair as a support. Lori didn’t reach to help and didn’t watch. Nick wondered if that was her aloofness or learned tact. Dammit, I hope it’s ’cause she knows he hates it. I hope she’s good with Charlie. He deserves it.
He said, “Now, if Damon brings my car back intact, I’ll sign off on best Christmas ever too.”
Charlie pulled out his phone. “I’m gonna text Zander, let him know he has gifts waiting.” He tapped the screen, paused, and then there was a chime. “He says he’s coming over. His mom’s thing isn’t till later.”
“Cool.” Brian slipped out of Nick’s hold and bounced to his feet. “I’m going to take Luger for a run. Nick, wanna come?”
“Sure,” he said. “Good idea.” Charlie and Lori could use the time as an excuse to stretch out and rest. He hated seeing Charlie moving like he was ninety, although