The Intelligence Unit Series
The Guardian Chapter 23

Garza was screwed. The realization had hit him somewhere between watching Delia get up and slip back into her panties and shirt (which she'd left open, because, f**k him, of course she had) and heading to the tiny bathroom to clean up. In those moments when he wasn't touching her, he wanted to be. Not just because she'd spin-cycled his brain with the best s*x he'd ever had in his f*****g life. Not just because his job was important to him and he wanted to keep her safe. But because he cared about her, and when she was near, he felt just as right as he did when he was working a case. Maybe more.

Christ. He was screwed, and he felt too good with his arms around her to care.

"You okay?" Delia murmured, propping herself on one elbow to look at him more fully in the waning daylight on the other side of the curtains.

"Why do you ask?" The deflection was pure reflex, but funny, Garza couldn't deliver it with any conviction.

Especially when, rather than getting defensive or mad, Delia laughed. "Because you get this little crease, right here"-she paused to draw one fingertip over the spot between his eyebrows-"when you're overthinking something. Don't get me wrong, it's cute." She kissed the spot for good measure, and f**k, he was gone for her. "But you don't have to keep me protected from everything. If something's worrying you about the case, we can talk about it."

"Nothing's worrying me about the case," he said. At least that was an easy truth. Despite the fact that he neither liked nor trusted Roman, Garza knew his unit would have his back-and by extension, Delia's-as they all kept working this case.

The rest of the truth? Not so easy. His job was as much a vital part of him as a kidney or a lung. Being a cop was an inextricable part of his identity, the real him, the down-and-dirty of who he really was. It was the part of him that kept his family at arm's length. The part that had frustrated Chloe enough to walk away from two years' worth of a relationship. The part he guarded like a secret, never sharing it with anyone because he'd never thought anyone-not even his unit-mates, as much as he trusted them-would see him for exactly who he was and understand.

But Delia had never once backed down on showing the world exactly who she was. She was unapologetically honest, even when it made her vulnerable. She never shied away from the facts, and no facts were as raw or true as who Garza really was. He'd hidden for so long. Made himself impenetrable so he couldn't be rejected. Hurt. Seen.

But now, right here in this moment, with Delia safe and sweet in his arms, he wanted her to see him.

"For as long as I can remember, I've always known what I wanted to do with my life," he started, letting the words fall into the dusk growing between them. Delia remained quiet and still, her body a warm anchor as he fumbled his way forward. "I majored in criminal justice. I enrolled in the police academy the day after I graduated college. I worked my way through patrol, busting my a*s to learn everything I could so I could become a detective. There's never been any question in my mind that being a cop is what I'm meant to do."

"I remember when you passed the detective's exam," Delia said, a smile in her voice. "Camila joked that we'd have to be on our best behavior around you, but I could tell she knew it was a big deal."

Garza's heart gave up a healthy tug. "I know my family is proud. But I also know they don't understand. Being a cop isn't like being a teacher or a financial analyst or, God, almost anything else."

She nodded slowly. "That makes sense. You must see truly awful things. You certainly have to make cases against some really terrible people, not to mention literally putting your life on the line during investigations. I mean, just helping as an informant was overwhelming as hell for me. What you do, day in and day out..."

"We manage it," he said, because it was important to say so out loud. "I can't be a good cop if my head isn't on right, and neither can anyone on my team. Sinclair is a hard-a*s about regular mental health checks. But being a cop isn't a nine-to-five, you know? And that takes a toll on you in a different way."

Delia lay beside him, processing, and hell if her brain wasn't the most beautiful f*****g thing about her. "So many people need help. With how many life and death situations your unit handles, the time commitment must be grueling."

"Not for me. Not usually, anyway," Garza added. "It's not hard to put in the time when you love what you're doing. But for the people around me, it's a different story."

"Your family must understand," she said, and his heartbeat accelerated in his chest, the ingrained warning system he'd hard-wired into his brain screaming that he was about to say too much. To show too much. But here, in the shadows with Delia, he felt safe. So, he gave his defenses the finger and kept talking. "It's complicated. Remember, I come from a big, traditional Latinx family. I'm already the black sheep because I'm not married with at least two kids. I know Camila's still single, too," he said, heading off the intake of breath that was surely about to become an argument from Delia before she could let it fly. "But she's six years younger than I am. Unattached at thirty-three in my family is...let's just say a lot of eyebrows go up at Thanksgiving. My mami's not exactly subtle about asking me when I'm going to finally settle down. My abuela, even less."

"So, why don't you?" Delia asked, her soft tone taking any sting out of the honest question. "I know you said you don't, ah. Normally do relationships. But you could, right? If having one was something you wanted."

"I did, once." Funny, the admission didn't taste as rotten as it used to. "Chloe and I met the year before I became a detective."

"Oh, the brunette with the legs." Delia paused in apology. "That's what Camila called her."

Garza huffed out an approximation of a laugh. "I guess that's accurate. We hit it off and everything went great, for a while. Great enough that she met my family, obviously. But once we moved in together and my detectives' exam got close, things started getting tense."

He paused for a breath, not used to airing out so much, and definitely not all at once. But Delia simply gave him space to roll his thoughts together, and hell if that didn't make it that much easier to let it all spill out.

"It started small. Chloe was really social and wanted to be out all the time. I was cool with it, if she had to go without me, but..."

"She wasn't?"

"Not even close," Garza said. "I never ditched out on anything on purpose, and I tried really hard to prioritize the important stuff, like holidays or birthdays. But between Wednesday night cooking classes and Friday happy hour and Sunday brunch dates with her friends, I couldn't prioritize everything." Delia scoffed. "First of all, that sounds kind of exhausting. Secondly, good Lord, Matteo. Had she even met you? I mean, I'm just spit-balling here, but I'd have to guess Sunday brunch is your personal hell."

Christ, but she read him like a movie screen. "I didn't mind trying for her, but yeah. For most cops, compartmentalization is a survival skill. You learn to lock the job up, to keep it far away from your personal life, but it's still there. After a long week of investigating brutal crimes, brunch was kind of low on my wish list. Once I made detective, it only got worse-new guy always gets the most work. Plus, I loved the job. Chloe definitely did not."

"I'm so sorry," Delia said. "That must have been really hard for you."

The irony of how often Chloe had made him feel like the burden had all been hers hit Garza in that moment, full force. "It was. Chloe had micro-aggression down to an art. The guilt trips started out small enough, but they got bigger pretty fast, until finally, we were snapping at each other all the time. It got harder to balance a job I loved with a person who made me feel like shit for it, especially when I'd always been upfront about my career. Then, Chloe started talking about how when we got married, I'd have to scale back on work for good, and that was when I realized I could never have both. We had a big fight, and she told me I had to choose. Her or the job."

"And so you did," Delia whispered.

Garza nodded, his head shushing against the pillow behind it. "I know my parents were disappointed. But Marianna and Julian and Gianna were already carrying out the Garza family legacy just fine. I got used to dodging their questions, and they got used to me being married to the job instead of to Chloe."

"Okay, so Chloe definitely wasn't the right person for you," Delia said, her tone putting just enough smack on the words to add on a nonverbal also, she sounds like a bitch. "But that doesn't mean you can't replace that balance if you want it."

Garza's pulse kicked faster in his veins. But this was really the heart of it, the thing he wanted to show her most of all, so he said, "I didn't think I did want it. I figured, if my family didn't get it and Chloe didn't get it, there couldn't possibly be anyone else out there who would understand that being a cop is a part of me. It is me. So, I stopped wanting anything more than a one-night stand. I told myself it was enough." A joyless laugh flew out of him. "Hell, for a long time, it was enough. But now? Being here with you, like this? It makes me think there could be more."

He paused for a breath. "It scares the hell out of me, but you make me want more."

Delia cupped his face, turning him toward her. Night had fallen, and he couldn't see anything other than shadows, but he felt her in every last part of him as she said, "You don't have to be afraid to want anymore. I see you, Matteo." She lowered one hand to press it over his slamming heart, her other hand holding him close as her lips brushed his. "I see you, and I'm not going anywhere."

And that was when Garza understood how screwed he really was. Because he didn't just want more.

He wanted forever.