The rest of the team waited, frozen in place. Kitsch didn’t do well during the holidays. They were the few times during the year he couldn’t pretend. We were all on edge, dreading hearing the worst.

“Trex actual to Kitsch,” Trex repeated. “Do you copy?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Sloan said.

“I know,” Trex said, staring at the door and waiting for a response on the radio.

“This time of year is rough on him,” Sloan said.

“I know,” Trex snapped. “Trex to Kitsch. Do you copy?”

The radio crackled. “Lima Charlie, out,” Kitsch responded, signaling he’d heard Trex loud and clear.

We all sighed and relaxed.

“We’re headed to chow, and it’s comfort-food day. Get your ass in here,” Trex said.

“On my way, over,” he said. The radio crackled again.

Martinez leaned back, letting his head hit his locker. None of us dared say it aloud, but holidays had us all on edge.

“I invited him over tonight,” I said. “I’m cooking if you guys want to stop over,” I said to Martinez and Sloan.

“Can I bring a date?” Martinez asked.

“Sure. Just make sure Kitsch comes.”

Martinez nodded once. “Will do.”

Lunch was a slice of roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, giblet gravy, cranberry salad, and apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. We had all sat down by the time Kitsch made it to the table, not mentioning that his face was red and blotchy, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. The knuckles on his right hand were skinned and bloody, his napkin soaked with crimson.

“You’re not going to flake out on me, are you, Kitsch?” I asked.

“Huh?” he said, snapping out of the hell he was in. “No. I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’m picking you up. You’re my date,” Martinez said.

I eyed Martinez, seeing the moment he’d decided not to bring anyone else so he could keep Kitsch company.

Kitsch nodded.

“Everyone be sure to bring liquor. We’re going out after, and the bar marks up the alcohol on holidays,” I said.

Kitsch frowned.

I pointed at him. “You’re the only one who can two-step.” I pointed at his bloody hand. “You’re cleaning that shit up, then you’re taking me out, fucker.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“I’ll be DD,” Trex said.

I grinned. “You’re coming?”

“Someone has to drive you drunken losers around. I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail so you’re at work on time. I don’t like leaving Darby at home alone on Thanksgiving…”

“Bring her,” Sloan said.

I frowned. “I’m not bringing my very pregnant girlfriend to a bar. Besides, she has to be at work by eleven.”

“You guys should come by,” I said.

“She’s been cooking all day.”

“So go after,” Harbinger said. “We’re stopping by after dinner.”