Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sink in the new house leaks. It’s not a huge deal, totally fixable, just not the kind of thing you notice over Zoom. The realtor is apologetic, says she can have a plumber come by, but Eddie waves her off. It’s fine. It’s nothing, he’s fixed enough sinks in his life.

Other than that, the house is, well- it’s great. It’s spacious and well lit, all open concept, the kind of thing he could never afford in LA. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a big yard, all the stuff Eddie was looking for, all the stuff Buck helped him find. God, what hasn’t Buck helped him do? Helped him pack up everything he owned, helped him wrap his dishes in newspaper like they weren’t a $39.99 set from Ikea, helped him touch up the nail holes in the walls, helped him vet the tenants for the old place when it didn’t move as fast as Eddie needed it to, helped him load boxes into the truck.   

Buck had done it all with an easy grin. And if sometimes Eddie caught him staring off into the corners of the old place as they patched and packed and painted, if sometimes he found Buck looking with his brow furrowed and his mouth a little open like something unpleasant had just occurred to him, well- Eddie never said a word about it. Even if he’d thought Buck was waiting. Especially if Buck was waiting.

So.

This house still smells a little like fresh paint, that new build smell, the realtor says with a glossy smile. Once the keys are in Eddie’s hand, dotted i’s and crossed t’s, the movers manage to dent the living room wall with the coffee table and scuff the floor underneath the bed, and Eddie doesn’t have the energy to deal with any of it. He’s just driven for 12 hours straight, foot cramped from the gas pedal. He’s tired, he’s greasy, his mom still hasn’t answered his “hey, just arrived” text. So Eddie just sighs and waves everyone out. Eats takeout sitting on the couch, which is making a weird creaking noise like maybe it got dropped at some point, and then he walks around and tries to get to know the place.

He’d done that with Chris in California. Walked around the whole house and helped him peek in all the cabinets and told him, “This is our home now, okay? We’re going to make it something good, you and me.”

It’s just Eddie this time.   

He finds the places where the trim doesn’t quite meet the ceiling, where the dishwasher hangs a little crooked. He looks out the windows. He needs to get blinds. Right now it’s just empty windows looking out onto the dark backyard. Takes a shower. Weird water pressure. Eventually he goes to bed. Too keyed up, he’s tired from driving but his body is all awake, and the sink is dripping, incredibly loud in the quiet house. He winds up getting up at 1 am and digging a wrench out of the back of his truck just so he can tighten the fitting, just so that it stops with that stupid plink plink plink.

Then it’s finally quiet.

-

He wakes up to the yowl of his alarm, the sun glaring in his eyes. He can’t find half his toiletries, packed them all away stupidly. He nearly brushes his teeth without toothpaste before remembering the emergency travel toothpaste Buck stuck in his glove compartment last minute. Buck gets really into dental hygiene, unsurprisingly. Eddie texts him a thank you.

His new job is, well, it’s not… ideal. But it’s alright. Eddie’s worked worse. The problem is just that, well, El Paso isn’t huge. Not big enough for the network of firehouses spread across LA, at least. And Bobby tried, he really did, but positions are limited, competition is fierce, and it’s a little more old boys, a little bit more about who you know, family business and the like. And Eddie doesn’t actually know the right people.   

So he’ll reapply in a couple of months, it’s not a big deal. He can just get the lay of the land first, get his feet under him so to speak. And hey, maybe it’s a good thing, like Hen had said in condolence, maybe it’s better to have something a little less adrenaline heavy, at least the first few months, and Eddie can see the sense in that. Not that it was his first pick. Or his second. EMT was his second, but it turns out that it’s pretty goddamn hard to afford two mortgages on an EMT salary, so Eddie winds up as the onsite safety coordinator for one of the oil refineries 20 miles out of town.

The benefits are good at least. And it’s just the first day, walking around and trying to get a lay of the land. The HR woman tries to talk to him about his pension, 10 years at the company, 20 years at the company. Eddie nods. They give him a lanyard. And a tote bag. And then he gets to try to familiarize himself with 15 different report forms.

But it’s just for a couple of months. Just until the next hiring cycle, right? It’s nothing worse than dispatch, better even, because here his office has windows, it’s in a trailer but still, and here the coffee machine gets hotter than lukewarm.

Eddie’s got a goddamn clipboard.

Buck hearts the toothpaste text.

-

Halfway through unpacking the living room boxes, Buck calls.

“Hey!” says Buck. “Been meaning to check in. You settling in okay?”

“Yeah, the new place is great. Thanks for finding it, it’s a dream.”

“That’s awesome man, I’m really glad. Hey, you seen Chris yet?”

“No, not yet, he’s been busy with some Mathletes thing, but we’re all having dinner on Friday.”

“Mathletes, huh,” Buck says. “Think I can talk him into doing my taxes for me?”

“You don’t do your own taxes,” Eddie says.

“I could start,” Buck says, wounded. Eddie snorts.

“Right.”

“How was the drive down?”

“Eh. Drove by The World’s Largest Rubber Band Ball, so that’s exciting.”

“What?” Buck says. “Nuh-uh, that’s in Montana, I saw it when I was like, 21. You saw a fraud.”

“Shoulda had you with me, you could’ve told them.”

Buck laughs. It sounds a little strangled.

“Yeah,” he says. “Guess so.”

“How’s the rest of it going? Maddie and everything?”

“Oh yeah, she’s great, she’s gotten really into hot Lamaze, it’s like regular Lamaze but it’s like, 95 degrees in there. Did you know the guy who invented Lamaze was kind of an asshole?”

“Shocking,” Eddie says, settling into the couch.

“Yeah, apparently it was kind of a big deal, he thought women who screamed during childbirth were failures. Oh, that reminds me, I just listened to a podcast about the history of C-sections, it turns out everyone’s totally wrong about that one.”

“Are they?” Eddie says, hiding a yawn in his fist. “Good to know.”

“Yeah, everyone thinks Julius Caesar was the first one, but that’s not even true. Well, probably not. The name predates Caesar, it’s actually because the word comes from the Latin caedare, which means ‘to cut’…”

Buck talks, and Eddie puts the phone on speakerphone, rests it on the coffee table. Lets the sound of his voice wash over him, making the quiet house a little less quiet, a little more lived in, a little more like somewhere Eddie wants to be.

-

Two days of unpacking. A quick picture of a mess of boxes snapped off to send to Buck, Buck gives it a thumbs up. Sophia stops by to drop off a pan of enchiladas. He calls her an angel, she tells him not to call her that until he tastes them.

Finally it’s Friday. Family dinner, even if Chris hasn’t responded to Eddie’s texts about it, but it’s fine, nobody likes texting their dad at that age. Eddie’s kind of hoping to talk him into coming to check out the new place over the weekend, he’s not above bribery, he’s got a PS5 with Chris’s name on it.

Except then he gets to his parents for dinner and Chris won’t come out of his room.

“I thought we were past this,” Eddie says dumbly, and Helena sighs.

“I know, sweetie,” she says. “I think he’s just in a mood today. You know how teenagers get. But let’s eat before it gets cold, shall we?”

Which is how Eddie winds up sitting at the dinner table with his parents alone, and Helena wants to know how he’s settling into the new place, she always liked that neighborhood, much better than his and Shannon’s old place on Arroyo, did he remember those terrible neighbors? Or maybe he didn’t, maybe he’d never met them, maybe that was just Shannon.

Ramon asks about the new job, of course he knows half the guys, knows the hiring manager, even.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “It’s great.”

“It’s a change,” Ramon says. “You’ll get your legs under you soon enough, you’ll see.”

“Right,” Eddie says.

But it’s worth it, it’s all worth it, because after dinner, Chris finally comes out of his fucking room. Just to wander into the kitchen to grab a coke, but it’s like- it’s like for one fucking second Eddie’s lungs are operating at full capacity again. Suddenly his son is in the same room as him, and Eddie remembers what it’s like to be a person, to exist with his heart intact, not torn across state lines, and he thinks that of course it’s worth it, anything is worth it, everything is worth it. 

God, Chris has gotten tall, gangly like a real teenager, baby fat vanished from his face, soon someone is going to have to teach him how to shave, and Eddie remembers him so small, Eddie remembers holding him with two palms. He says, “Chris.” Hears how hoarse his voice is, clears his throat. Tries again.

“Chris,” he says. And Chris glances at him.

“Hey,” Eddie says lamely.

“Hey,” Chris says.

“You’re not hungry?” Eddie says. Chris shrugs.

“I’m kind of in the middle of a raid,” he says.

“Okay, well, I was thinking, maybe this weekend, you could stop by? Come check out the new place, help me decorate, you know I’m terrible at that.”

Chris shifts.

“I’m kind of busy this weekend,” he says. “I’m supposed to go to the movies with Riley.”

Eddie has no idea who Riley is.

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Well, maybe later this week, then?”

“Yeah,” Chris says noncommittally. “Maybe.”

He pads back down the hall again.

So.

But, hey. The important thing is that he’s here. In the same state, in the same city, in the same place as Chris. And if it takes a little time for Chris to warm up, that’s fine. Just as long as Chris is near. That’s the only thing that matters.

And if Eddie has to get back in his truck at the end of the night and drive away, back across town to the new place. If Eddie has to leave half his heart hiding from him in what used to be Eddie’s own teenaged bedroom, then, well, being ripped in half across the city is better than being ripped in half across the whole goddamn country.

It’s alright. It’s fine, really.

Eddie just needs to adjust.

-

The new house’s heat is touchy, either too hot or too cold. He got too used to California, to perfect balmy 85-degree days and 65-degree nights. Here it’s a little chilly now. Cozy weather, except Eddie doesn’t really have cozy. He has an endless amount of cardboard boxes, none that ever contain what he’s looking for, he’s living off leftovers and microwaved meals, eating in front of the TV. Just like before.

Except it’s not like before, because Chris is here, 5 miles away instead of 800, and his sisters are here, even if other people aren’t. But he can drag his sorry ass over to Sophia’s for brunch, can watch Sophia bounce her daughter on her hip, and Eddie remembers when Chris was that small. Or, well, doesn’t really remember, saw him mostly over Zoom in those days, but it’s different now, it’s better now. Eddie is making it better now. 

So he’s doing fine, truly. Checks his phone during a lull in the small talk to see if Chris has replied to the picture of the new house that Eddie sent him, even though Eddie knows he hasn’t replied. He’s got an Instagram notification, Hen just posted, a whole host of pictures of what looks like a Christmas party, everyone from the 118 and assorted family crammed into frame in ugly sweaters and grinning. Hen hugging Karen, Chim holding Jee up to make moose antlers with her hands behind Buck’s head, Maddie laughing, Buck flushed the kind of pink that comes usually with him being 3 drinks in and telling a funny story.   

“You’re smiling at your phone,” Sophia says.

“No, I’m not,” Eddie says reflexively, pocketing it.

“You are,” Adriana says. “You so are.”

“Just a work Christmas party for the 118,” he says. “Funny photos.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you were keeping in touch,” Adriana says. “When I left my last job nobody ever texted me again.”

“That’s because you were fired for coming in 45 minutes late every day,” Sophia says.

“Not true!” Adriana says. “I was fired for napping in the walk-in.”

“The kind of shit you get away with,” Sophia says. “As if Mom wouldn’t be camped out on my front porch if I’d ever gotten a single write up.”

“She just worries,” Adriana says.

“Oh I know she worries,” Sophia says. “I am well aware she worries. She’s proud of me but she worries. You’d think having a daughter that’s a lawyer-”

“Soph,” Adriana says. “You’re not in court.”

“Just because she’s never like that with you-”

Adriana rolls her eyes. Sophia pours them more mimosa. Eddie nudges Sophia with his foot.

“Do you remember the clubhouse?” he says. “All those afternoons where you’d say you were gonna run away and then you’d go move into the clubhouse.”

“Mom always said I could come inside if I wanted food,” Sophia says with a tiny smile. “But you’d bring me a PB&J.”

“Eh, just knew I’d get in trouble if you actually didn’t eat dinner.”

“Your sandwiches sucked. You always used too much peanut butter.”

“Hey!”

“They tore that thing down years ago,” Sophia says. “Right after you left. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. I mean, Adri never used it or anything.”

“It was gross,” Adriana says. “Too many spiders.”

“He’s a little old for a clubhouse now, anyways,” Eddie says.

“Yeah.”

They sit there in silence for a while until Sophia sighs.

“Hey, remember when you enlisted to get out of here?” she says.   

“Sophia,” Adriana hisses. Sophia shrugs and takes another sip of her drink. Eddie downs most of his.   

“Yeah, well,” he says. “Family is what’s important.”

“You ever try telling Mom that?” Sophia says.   

“He’s been happy here,” Eddie says. “He’s… I mean, you’ve seen him.”

Sophia doesn’t say anything, just shrugs.  

Eddie gets back to his house, his new house, a little cold, a little empty. Works on unpacking, organizing his- what, his dishtowels? Still a little stained from Buck’s great brownie catastrophe of 2024.

The sink is dripping again.

The fitting doesn’t really have a good seal. Eddie tightens it up as best he can.

-

Hours after that and he’s at the hardware store looking at the wall of caulking. It’s the kind of thing Buck would excel at but Eddie is a little lost- why are there always so many kinds? His dad used to drag him to this hardware store as a kid, on the rare occasion he was in town, for Eddie to wander through the aisles, spend too long in the paint aisle treating the paint color cards like a game. Matching green to green, pink to pink, while his dad argued with an employee over power tool specifics.

Eddie could paint the house any color he wants. Maybe he’ll do an accent wall. Buck was always on about accent walls, how they could really tie a color scheme together.

“Edmundo?” someone says from down the aisle. “Edmundo Diaz?”

Eddie glances up from frowning at paint cans to see an older woman peering down the aisle at him.

“Mrs. Vasquez?” he says.

Eddie barely remembers her. He’d had English Comp fifth period, towards the end of the day, and her classroom was up on the third floor. He hadn’t been a very good student. All the heat of all those teenage bodies crammed together. His desk near the back, and how the afternoon haze would pull at him so he had to fight to keep his eyes open. Always thinking about baseball practice, about Shannon in the front row, the sway of her hair as she gestured emphatically, arguing loudly about Hester Prynne. Saying, “Well, just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean she didn’t have reasons to do what she did.” And Mrs. Vasquez cutting in to say, “Thank you Shannon, what about you, Edmundo? What do you think?” And he’d said, “Uh, I don’t know. I agree with Shannon, I guess.”

Mrs. Vasquez had given him a B- on his college essay. He hadn’t needed it, in the end.

“I thought that was you!” she says. “My goodness Edmundo, it’s been what, 15 years?”

“Something like that, yeah. Wow.”

“How wonderful to see you! I’ve been meaning to tell you, Christopher, he’s a fantastic writer,” she says. “He really has a way of putting feeling on the page.”

“Chris is in your class?” he says.

“Oh yes, didn’t he mention it?” she says.

“It, uh, must have slipped his mind.”

“I can see his mother in his writing,” she says. “I still remember some of the things she wrote, you know. What a way with words!”

“Oh,” he manages.   

“I never got a chance to say, I was so sorry to hear about her. Really just heartbreaking.”

“Right. Yeah. Uh, thanks,” Eddie says. He has been shot four times in his life and he thinks he would prefer a fifth one to whatever this is. “I’m sorry but I actually kind of in the middle of a project at home-”

“Oh that’s right, you moved back fairly recently, didn’t you? I can understand that, all those memories, it can be too much. You know, when my Robert died-”

“Right,” he says loudly. “Look, I- I really do have to go.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“But it was, ah, great to see you. And I’ll tell Chris you say hi.”

“You do that. And your mother too, of course. I haven’t seen her at the knitting group in a while.”

“Will do.” Eddie says.   

Ends up kicking himself for it when he gets back home and there’s that now-familiar plink plink plink.

-

He’s in the middle of hanging pictures, or rather giving up on hanging pictures, because he’s put the hardware on upside-down twice in a row, the next time Buck calls.

“Hey!” Eddie says. “What’s up?”

“Not much, just a slow shift, thought I’d check in.”

“Gotcha. Watch out for curses or whatever.”

He can hear Buck rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t say the word,” Buck informs him. “It only happens if you say the word.”

“Right,” Eddie snickers.

“Oh, how did dinner with Chris go? That was last night, right?”

“It went… it went alright. I mean, it went fine, he just, you know, he’s still a little… Well, we’re working on it.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. I mean that’s why you’re there, isn’t it?” Buck says. Eddie pauses.

“Right,” he says after a minute. “No, right. But hey, how’s it going there? Miss me yet?”

Buck clears his throat.

“It’s-” Buck says. “I mean,  yeah, it’s going fine. Bobby’s got me paired with Janson until the new probie gets here next week- Oh, I tell you we’re getting a new probie?”

“Just don’t terrorize this one.”

“No promises.”

“But yeah, no, it’s normal here, we’re- I mean, it’s great. Had a crazy call the other day, lady got her hand stuck in a taxidermy cat, you shoulda seen it.”

“Sounds wack.”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“How’s the new job? It’s treating you okay?” Buck says.

“I mean it’s not thrilling,” Eddie says. “But no, yeah, it’s good. Really good actually.”

“Oh, cool,” says Buck.

“Name badges and everything,” Eddie says. Buck snorts.

“Guess you always did like it organized. Mr. Army over here.”

“You’re one to talk. You know, they gave me a clipboard. Thought of you.”

“A clipboard, huh? I’d pay to see that.”

Eddie laughs. Pauses.

“It’s… I mean, it’s great to be somewhere more stable,” he says.

“Right,” says Buck.

“But hey, I miss the 118 like hell. Looks like you guys had a Christmas party?”

“Oh, yeah. Hen and Karen hosted, it was really sweet. Bobby dressed up as Santa for all the kids. And then gave them a lecture on fire safety.”

“Now that’s a visual.”

“Yeah, Derek said he should have come down the chimney for the full effect.”

“Derek?”

“Oh, he’s Karen’s coworker, he was at the party. We just started chatting.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Well,” Eddie says. “Glad you moved on from baking at least. Was getting worried about the federal wheat reserve.”

Buck awkwardly laughs.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” he says. “He’s just- I don’t know, I think he’s a new friend?”

“Oh. Oh! Well that’s- that’s great, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, sounding strange.

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

“Listen, I was thinking-” Buck says, and the bell goes off. “Shit.”

“It’s fine, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Okay, yeah. Just. I don’t know,” Buck exhales. “Tell Chris I say hey, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Eddie finishes putting the hardware up for the third time. He hangs the picture.

It’s crooked.

“For the love of fucking…” he says, and goes to bed.

-

Eddie wasn’t lying. The new job isn’t bad. It’s something he’s almost missed, the steadiness of a regiment. Paperwork. Inspections. Not that he enjoys being the one doing the inspecting. And sure it’s a little hard to make friends when his job is Official Narc, but still. He’s protecting people. He’s making people safer, making sure people don’t blow their heads off, which is a worthwhile cause. So if the guys on the floor stop chatting when he walks by, that’s alright. He’s a grown-ass man who can handle a little awkwardness, he can do things on his own.

He runs mostly, he’s always liked running, or hikes. A little cold for hiking right now. But he’ll go out to the movies on his own, even if he kind of wishes he could hear Buck’s thoughts on the latest Nolan.

He’ll go to bars alone, that’s how people socialize, that’s how people meet people. He’s not gonna make friends just sitting alone in his house. So he’s out, out alone, watching a game at the sports bar, because it’s always fun to sit in a crowd and cheer. And he’s three drinks in, and really, he never does this, but why doesn’t he do this? There was always some reason, back in LA, something that felt like it was hanging over his head, even if he could never see what it was. But there’s no real reason for him not to just… have a fun time. Do what people do.

He’s making friends, or acquaintances at least, talking to the guys next to him, listening to a wasted guy complain about his life, when someone taps his elbow. He turns, already dreading whoever has recognized him now, but it’s a woman he doesn’t know. Petite with a curly black bob and a self deprecating smile.

“Hey,” she says. “My friends bet me $20 I wouldn’t come talk to you.”

And he’s a little drunk, so the first thing out of his mouth isn’t an outright rejection, the way it’s always been before.

“Twenty whole dollars, huh,” he says instead.   

“I talked them up from $10,” she says. “I was gonna spend it on getting you a drink or three, if you want?”

He’s never… but there’s really no reason not to. People do this all the time. He could be one of them.   

“Only if you let me buy you one too,” he says.

Her apartment is just around the corner. She tastes like tequila and her bedroom smells like laundry detergent. She has a fish tank. He stares at it, briefly getting lost in the flashing colors, and when he looks back at her perched in his lap, a little blurry, she laughs at him.

“My eyes are down here,” she says, gesturing to her bare chest.

“Right,” he says, and goes back to the task at hand. There’s always been satisfaction in a job well done. He kind of understands the appeal of Buck 1.0 and the fabled manwhore days of old. She could be anyone, and so could he, just a random guy from a bar she picked up. He doesn’t have to be Eddie, he could just be parts, just a body in motion tangled up in sheets.

There’s something kind of calming about it, like he can view it all from above. He could be any man thrusting into her right now as she shudders and clenches. She says, “Yeah baby, you’re so close aren’t you? Come on, give it to me.” And he’s not really, but he can get there, knows himself well enough to get there.

He wonders if he moves the way other men do, wonders if he moves the way Buck would, if it were Buck’s hands on her hips, Buck’s mouth on her breasts. A shudder runs through him up the length of his spine, and he wants to know if this is what it’s like for Buck, his hips jerking and grinding into her, if this is how Buck comes, and she sighs and says, “Yeah, there you go, there you go.”

He showers afterwards, grabs a ride home. He gives her his number, more as a formality, and she says,“Thanks, this was fun,” and he knows she isn’t going to text.   

And that’s alright with him, he knew that from the get-go, knew the roles and the lines, and it’s easy, in its way, like he’s still outside himself, like he can take a backseat in his body as he leans his head against the Uber window, street lights flashing by outside. He could close his eyes and he wouldn’t have to be anywhere, wouldn’t have to be anyone at all.

And then he’s chugging water at his kitchen sink, and he settles back into himself like a fog. Still smells kind of like her, women’s showers always smell different, and he doesn’t- it’s not a bad smell, but it’s not-

And if suddenly that house is loud in its emptiness, claustrophobic in it’s open spaces, if he smells wrong, if his skin doesn’t feel the way it should-

It’s not like he hasn’t- It’s not like he doesn’t… He tries not to think about it, mostly. It’s just never been that important, it’s not anyone’s business, it's never been worth changing anything over, it’s never been relevant. Facts are facts, and he lives a factual existence, so it just never- Even if sometimes he wonders-

It’s not really wondering. He knows, he’s known for decades, he’s just never-

But isn’t that what this whole thing has been about, isn’t he allowed to... try new things, or whatever, nothing has to be- even if- it could just be- He could just, what was it, something just for you. It isn’t. It doesn’t. He could just…

Grabs his phone. Fingers a little clumsy. He should text Buck. Text him and tell him- Eddie doesn’t know what. Can’t remember what.   

Goes to the app store instead. Hits download.

-

Eddie wakes up at some point, mouth desert-dry, drinks his bedside water, stumbles to the kitchen, drinks more water. Takes an aspirin for good measure. Checks the time, 4:33am, nearly drops his phone at the notifications. And the pictures.

Deletes Grindr. Goes back to bed.

-

He finally gets Chris to the new house. Takes him a week longer than he’d like, Helena telling him Chris is in AV club after school, he’s in Robotics Meet, Chris is tired, he’s busy, until Eddie gets a little bit of an edge to his voice, says, “I came all this way, I’m not going anywhere now,” and Helena says, “Of course not darling, I’m sure he’s so glad you’re finally around.”

But at least Chris does come to see the new house. Gives it a cursory glance over and Eddie is reminded of California, though now Chris is far too big now for Eddie to lift up to see the upper cabinets, not that Chris would care anyways, too focused on his phone to give any of it much attention while Eddie enumerates the virtues of the den. They could have a gaming room, what does Chris think about that? Chris shrugs. Says, “Can I see my room?” And even hearing him say it, my room, makes something in Eddie settle a little, makes some tension somewhere in him ease a little, and he says, “Yeah, of course, you have your own en suite,” and Chris just nods, goes into the room and shuts the door.

Leaving Eddie staring at it, but hey, maybe that’s a good sign, treating the bedroom like his own. Eddie was going to talk to him about decor, see if Chris had opinions about paint colors, but that can wait, he can let Chris get acclimated, he’s a teenage boy, they need their space. Eddie goes into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, drinks it in the living room, and then he goes to knock on Chris’s door. There are voices inside, like maybe Chris is on Facetime, and Chris is saying, “-don’t know why he’s doing all this, I’m doing fine without him, why would I ever wanna live with him?” and a girl’s voice is saying, “Ugh, he sounds like the worst,” and Chris is saying, “He’s not the worst, he’s just a deadbeat,” and Eddie steps away from the door.   

Winds up in the backyard taking deep breaths, staring out at the lawn he needs to mow, he’s gonna have to get a lawnmower, he’s gonna have to get… He focuses on keeping his breathing even, Chris is just 14, he tells himself, he’s just 14. Which is true, he’s 14, and out of those 14 years Eddie’s missed at least four of them-

Chris wanders out of his room eventually, finds Eddie scrubbing the already clean kitchen counters.   

“Can I go back to Abuela’s now?” he says. “I have a lot of homework.”

“Yeah, of course mijo,” Eddie says. And he can’t help himself, always a glutton for punishment, throws in a, “So, new place, huh? What do you think?”

Chris shrugs.   

“It’s fine,” he says.   

“Think you might want to spend some time here?” Eddie says. “We can get the downstairs done, get a whole set up down there.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Chris says.   

He drives Chris back to his parents place, watches as Chris drops his backpack in the entryway and says, “Abuela, I’m home.” Watches as Helena appears to tell him dinner is in 20 minutes, he should go wash up, and she gives Eddie a glance where he’s still standing in the doorway.   

“How did it go?” she says. “I’m sure it was a lot for him to take in.”

“Great,” Eddie says. “It went- yeah.”

His mother gives him a sympathetic smile.

-

He paces. He shouldn’t, knows Buck’s probably busy, knows he’d drop everything to answer anyways and Eddie should let that be, shouldn’t take advantage of that, should let it lie, but he wants, feels it stretched thin like a rubber band across four states, the tension ratcheting tighter, and he wants-

He gives in.

“Hey!” he says. “You busy?”

“No, what’s up?” Buck says.

“Oh no, nothing, just calling to say hey.”

“Right,” Buck says, a little too prescient.

“How are you? How are things with… Derek.”

“I told you, it’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Buck sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says. “We went to go see that new Nolan movie.”

“Oh, I saw that. Thought it was kinda slow.”

“Yeah, me too! Derek really liked it, though.”

“Oh. Well, he has terrible taste, we already knew that,” Eddie says.

“Har-di-har-har.”

Silence.

“Eddie. Why are you actually calling me?”

“No reason,” Eddie lies.

“Eddie.”

“Just showed Chris the new house, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Buck says. Waits a beat. “Well, how did it go?”

“He- Yeah, I think he- I mean it’s an adjustment, isn’t it. It’s going to take time to settle in.”

“So, not great.”

“No, it went fine, it’s really all going fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Buck says.

“Well, he wasn’t thrilled with the place.”

“He’ll come around.”

“He also, uh,” Eddie says. “Called me a deadbeat.”

“Ouch. To your face?”

“What? No, I just overheard, he was talking to some girl.”

“Oh, okay.” Buck says.

“Okay? ”

“I mean, I don’t know about you, but at 14 I’d have said anything to impress a girl. Didn’t mean it was true.”

14 years old and standing on the dock with Shannon. She’d been so pretty. He’d been so scared.

“I guess I would have too,” Eddie says.

“See?”

“Yeah, but… he’s not wrong”

“What?”

“About me,” Eddie says. “About me being… a deadbeat.”

“Eddie,” Buck says. “You were never not providing.”

“I mean, I could say the same thing about my dad, couldn’t I?”

“I…” Buck’s voice gets all soft. “Eddie. You were just a scared kid.”

“Right,” Eddie says. “And now, so’s he.”

Buck sighs.

“He didn’t mean it,” Buck says. “Come on, you can’t let a 14 year old get to you.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I guess.”

“Look, if you were a deadbeat, you wouldn’t be there,” Buck says.

“It just feels like...” Eddie says.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says. “I just keep trying, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m sure he appreciates it. Even if he doesn’t say anything.”

“Right.”

Pause.

“I guess I should...” Eddie says.

“Right, sure,” Buck says. “I won’t keep you.”

“Well.”

“Yeah.”

“Talk later.”

“Yeah, of course.”

-

Honestly, Eddie should have known. What’s that Einstein quote, the only two infinite things are the universe and human stupidity? Well, Eddie’s found that one to hold up. The one constant he’s found throughout his time as a medic, as a firefighter, as an on-site safety coordinator: people love finding new and stupid ways to hurt themselves.

At least it’s not that bad. Comparatively. Minor explosion, barely rattles the paperweight on his desk. Issues with the ventilation, the filters not replaced when they should be, build up of off-gassing. Nobody is all that hurt, one guy just gets knocked off a scaffolding onto his ass, but Eddie’s got to be the one saying no don’t move, yes call 9-1-1, and everyone around Eddie is glaring, like somehow this is his fault, like he hasn’t written up improper vent maintenance twice in the last week.

God there is going to be a mountain of paperwork, and the foreman is yelling bloody murder at Eddie by the time the ambulance gets there, and then the fire chief is yelling at Eddie too, and Eddie stands there and takes it. “These are your guys,” the chief is saying, “this is on you, this is your job here, you get that, right? Their lives are on you,” and Eddie stands there, stiff at attention because that’s a reflex that will die when he does, and he says, “Yes sir,” and the fire chief scowls at him, and says, “Where’s your goddamn supervisor?”

There’s going to be an inquiry. Eddie will be lucky if they don’t hang him out to dry, which is so stupid, because Eddie checked, went back and double and triple checked, and the safety reports were current, filed by his predecessor right before retirement. And maybe, asking around, the guy had a bit of a reputation, maybe he didn’t leave his office quite as much as he should have, maybe one of the HR women caught him asleep on the clock one time, maybe it wasn’t always coffee in his mug, but he’s good people, he was with the company for 20 years.

Eddie is new, nobody gives a shit about years of service at some firehouse they’ve never heard of, Eddie’s the fresh meat, and it’s so fucking stupid. Stupid, when he comes back from a meeting with his boss’s boss, where he’s told he’s lucky nobody died, and Eddie said “I checked those reports sir, everything was in order, my predecessor signed off on them,” and his boss said, “Well this didn’t happen on his watch, now did it.” and Eddie said, “No sir.”

And he gets home and the thing about this job is that he comes home dusty, that West Texas dust, he remembers that dust from childhood worked into the seams of his fathers jeans, and Eddie hates the way it sticks to him, hates getting home late to an empty house, Chris far away, and he eats a microwaved dinner sitting in front of the TV, and the sink is fucking leaking again.

The sink is fucking leaking again. And Eddie gets down on his stomach on the kitchen floor and tightens it up for the umpteenth time, and staring at the underside of the sink he just. He doesn’t fucking. He can’t fucking. He’s tired of feeling like this, like it’s all a second skin a little too small for him, something itchy, something he chafes at, he is tired of how quiet the house is, he wants to break shit, he always wants to break shit, but he’s not going to, he’s mature, he’s stable, he’s doing fine, god is he tired of doing fine, he wants-

Winds up at the bar again, complaining about his day to a group of college kids who keep edging away from him, until it’s Eddie sitting alone at a table and he thinks fuck it. Fuck it. He’s so fucking sick of all of it, fuck it.

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, has never really- but the internet exists, he can figure it out, and he’s just riding the wave of it, the wave of fuck it fuck it fuck it, and it takes him pretty goddamn far, and he isn’t picky, goes with the first one who’s sent him an album, he just keeps on saying fuck it, why not? What’s left to lose? What has he possibly got left to lose?

Paces. Drinks. Showers. Drinks more. Paces more. Thinks it’s a good thing the bat is still packed away, he could hit something pretty hard right about now-

And then there’s a knock at his door. And that kind of- startles it all out of him.   

And he’s standing in his entryway, about to answer, a little drunk and a lot crazy. He wants to know what the fuck is he doing. Wants to know who the fuck he is, doing this. For a second it’s like the camera shifts and he can see himself from the top down, a man standing in a hallway reaching for the doorknob, a man standing at the edge of something.   

Eddie was never really a jumper. That was always more Buck’s thing. Eddie’s always the one on the line. Eddie’s always the one at the lip.

Eddie’s a little sick of what Eddie’s always been.

So.

Hand on the doorknob like pulling a trigger. Eddie’s done that before.   

The guy looks fine. Unremarkable, an inch shorter, ten pounds broader.   

“Come in,” Eddie says, and the guy does.   

And the thing is it’s fast. One minute they’re just watching each other, the next the guy’s hand grabs the front of Eddie’s shirt and tugs him in. And Eddie slams back into his body at a hundred miles an hour, the breath knocked out of him. The guy tastes like cigarettes, and his mouth is hot and mean as he walks Eddie backwards to slam into a wall, and Eddie, Eddie’s just trying to keep up, trying to gasp for air. It’s hands all over him, pinching at his nipples, working at his belt buckle, and Eddie gives as good as he gets, or tries to, a little clumsy, his brain buzzing like a power line at a stranger’s tongue in his mouth, the scrape of stubble against his neck, Eddie’s hand shoved down a stranger’s pants, his hand wrapped around a stranger’s cock. The guy barely responds, just exhales once through his nose before he’s pulling back.

“Turn around,” he says. And Eddie’s barely able to hear him over how loud the whole thing is, but he does. Chokes out a noise as the guy yanks down Eddie’s pants to mid thigh, hand reaching around to wrap around Eddie’s cock, hard and aching. His touch is firm, a little dry, and Eddie can feel it in the soles of his feet as he jerks him fast, his thumb catching under the head, Eddie shivers, and the guy laughs, says, “Shit, look at you squirm.”

And abruptly Eddie is dizzy with the force of want, lip caught in his teeth, sounds catching at his throat as the guy jerks him off, as he pulls Eddie backwards into him, and Eddie feels caught, pinned, all he can do is rock forwards into the hand on him or backwards into the body behind him, the want scratching at him in an itch just under his skin, everything feels too tight, too small, like he could rip it apart with his teeth, burst it to pieces, he’s making some kind of choked-off sound and the guy says, “Yeah I know what you want, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it to you.”

The hand on his dick is gone and there’s the sound of the guy spitting into it before it’s back, reaching down the cleft of his ass before there’s a broad thumb pressing against his hole, finding him soft and ready, slipping just barely inside to the first knuckle and Eddie makes a noise, his forearm braced against the wall, other hand on himself, and the guy says, “You like that?” and Eddie gasps, can’t stop gasping until he’s choking on it, but in a good way, nerves and anticipation and want want want curdling in his throat as there’s the sound of a bottle opening and cold lube drips down his buttocks onto his hole and Eddie flinches a little, shudders, the guy huffs a sound that might be a laugh.

And then the guy’s fingers are probing into him, crooking inside him for just a second, just enough to make Eddie twitch and whine, and then they’re gone, and there’s not really any warning except for the sound of a condom wrapper opening, and Eddie’s bracing again the wall gulping for air, and then the guys hands are back on Eddie’s hips, holding him steady as the head of his dick nudges in, huge and fat and hot and like nothing Eddie’s felt before, nothing like a toy or fingers or anything like that. Eddie’s one long line of tension from his crown down to his feet and it burns, it stings and Eddie likes how it hurts, how the burn seeps into him as the guy eases in and Eddie’s shaking, his eyes are watering, hands clenched into fists against the wall because it hurts and it feels so fucking good, his mouth cracked open, just the sounds of his own ragged breathing, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he swears he can feel his heartbeat everywhere, soles of his feet, roots of his teeth, the guy says, “Fuck, you’re tight” and Eddie whines in agreement.   

And then it’s just fingers digging into his hips as the guy pulls him back the last couple of inches onto his cock and Eddie is making some kind of sound, and one of the guy’s hands comes up from his hip to hold Eddie by the nape of his neck, push his head forward onto his forearm braces against the wall as the guy starts to fuck him. And if it was weird before, it’s weirder now, the slide of a cock in and out of him, the way it burns even as his body opens up to it, but it’s good, god is it good, the head bumping up against his prostate with every thrust, and the guy fucks him fast and hard, working up a rhythm until he’s slamming Eddie into the wall and Eddie’s bracing with his forearms and everything, every single thing in the whole world is narrowed down to the pleasure that’s tangling up in his guts, winching tighter and tighter, the hand that is on his hips digging in, the hand at the base of his skull pushing his head forward.

He feels so fucking stretched, stretched open and stuffed full, his own tongue feels too thick for his mouth, his hand is on himself and it all sounds filthy, the wet slap of his hand on his dick and the squelch of the guy fucking him and his own shaky breathing, and he’s wondered, the thought has crossed his mind, what it would be like to be with someone bigger than you, stronger than you, but he’s never, he wouldn’t, hadn’t thought it would be like this, getting pinned down and fucked open, he’s making noises he’s never made before in his life. Shannon always said he was too quiet in bed but he can’t help the way he’s moaning now, hand thumbing just under the head of his dick on the upstroke and his balls pulling up tight as the guy shoves into him and nails his prostate dead on, and Eddie clenches and makes a ragged choked-off noise and then he’s coming, cum splattering against the goddamn wall, dripping out from between his fingers down onto the floor, and the guy doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking him through it until Eddie’s pitching forward, knees buckling, landing on the floor in an uncoordinated heap.   

The guy grabs him by the shoulder and half turns him around again and Eddie is buzzing, humming, can still feel the muscles in his abdomen twitching. The guy's hand is in his hair tilting his head back and there’s the wet slap of the guy jerking himself off, his brow tight.

“Open your mouth,” he says, and Jesus fucking Christ Eddie does, doesn’t even hesitate, and the guy gives one short grunt, and then he’s coming across Eddie’s chin and neck, warm streaks of cum dripping down, and Eddie splutters, finds that he can taste it salty and bitter when he licks his lips.   

He laughs dazedly, croaks out “Holy shit.”

The guy leans one forearm against the wall, breathing ragged for a second, and then he shudders and steps back. Pulls his pants back up and redoes his fly.   

Eddie’s in kind of an undignified heap on the floor, struggling to stand up with his pants caught around his thighs, he says, “Um, you can use the shower if you want, first door on the right.” And the guy says, “Nah, I’m alright.”

And the guy says, “Alright, well, thanks.” And Eddie says, “Yeah, you too.” And the guy says, “Well, have a good night.” and Eddie says, “Yeah.” And then the guy is gone.

-

Wakes up and feels different. Strange in a way he wasn’t expecting. Kind of sore, but mostly like his body is... humming faintly, a little. And he’s never... Eddie flexes his fingers, stares at his nail beds, stretches his arms overhead. It doesn’t feel like this, usually. Mostly he’s just inside, and all the rest of it is outside, and his skin is the barrier between the two, and he just- rides it out. But now the morning sun is peeking through the blinds onto his face, and he squints, and it’s kind of… different. Like it’s hitting a different part of him than it did the morning before that, or before that. Like there’s something new there.

And usually, when he feels weird, his instinct is to call Buck. Which he doesn’t want to do for obvious reasons. Even if he can’t exactly name what those reasons are. Just, he knows what he’s holding cupped in his hands is some kind of spark, dancing, delicate. Something that is the potential more than it is the real thing. And Eddie doesn’t want to... Maybe Eddie just wants to keep it, for now. Maybe it could just live cupped in his palms like that, and that’s the best space for it.

He’s seen plenty of time the damage that a loose spark can do.

-

It’s an accident that Eddie finds out. Not even finds out, because that would imply it’s some big secret instead of just something nobody bothered fucking telling him. Saturday brunch with Sophia and Adri, and so sue him, maybe he’s a little distracted. Maybe he got up with with a weird crick in his lower back, because it turns out that he’s aged out of the getting fucked against the wall bracket, and maybe it occurred to him then to go clean off said wall, which was not his ideal start to the morning. So he’s mostly just trying to concentrate on the huevos rancheros, which are a little rubbery, and Eddie is prodding at them while Adriana goes on about their cousin’s new baby, and says, “Oh, I’ll tell everyone you said hi tomorrow Eddie,” and Eddie says, “Hm?”

“Sucks to miss it, but it’s okay, I wrote your name on the card.”

“Miss what?” Eddie says.

Sophia puts her mimosa down.

“Oh, that bitch,” she says.

“Julia’s baptism,” Adriana says, slowly. “It’s tomorrow, there’s a BBQ at their place afterwards... Mom said... you had to work...”

“I said it was a Sunday,” Sophia says. “I said he doesn’t work on Sundays now. Oh, that bitch.”

Eddie’s stomach curdles. He pushes the plate of eggs away from him.

“Well,” he says. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I’ll call her after this.”

“Oh shoot, sweetheart,” Helena says, when he does call her. “The invites went out months ago, it must just have slipped Celia’s mind you’re back now.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says. “And your mind?”

“Eddie,” his mother says, sounding annoyed. “You are not 8 years old. I cannot keep track of your social calendar for you.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Look, there’s no need to get upset. I’m sure we can squeeze you in.”

“Squeeze me in.” he says.

“Yes, well, you’ll have to forgive everyone for not being able to keep track of where you’re living these days.”

“These days. Mom, I bought a house. I’m here. I live here. That shouldn’t be that hard to understand.”

“Oh, I understand it just fine,” Helena says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing. Just, you seem very focused on what I have or have not done, when I didn’t... Eddie, I have done nothing but help you.”

Eddie sighs.

“I know, I just...”

Eddie rubs at his face.

“Look, I gotta go,” he says. “Need to go buy a baptism present, or whatever.”

“Well, we’ll be happy to see you tomorrow,” Helena says. “First baptism you’ve been to, isn’t it?”

And he says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

-

He paces, he seethes, he calls Buck.

“Hey!” Buck says.

“You know when I said my family wasn’t screwed up,” Eddie says instead of hello, and Buck blows out a sigh.

“That great, huh,” he says.

“No, it’s... it’s fine,” Eddie says. “Really, it’s fine. I just... Man, I wish people would talk to me instead of just assuming things.”

“Right,” Buck says, sounding a little strange. And then he’s quiet.

“What?”

“No, nothing! Sorry that it’s... going shitty.”

“It’s not going shitty,” Eddie says, a little too sharp. “It’s just... It’s going fine.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez.”

Eddie paces some more.

“Have you thought,” Buck says carefully. “Maybe it could be...”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Spit it out, Buck.”

“Well,” Buck says. “Just, I don’t know, two way street, and all that.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know, Eddie, you just- you know how you get.”

“How I get?” Eddie says, tone dangerous.

“All shut down, or whatever,” Buck says. “Maybe if you would just try-”

“You think I’m not trying?”

“I think you love punching walls,” Buck says, bitter, like he just can’t help himself.

Eddie is quiet.

“I don’t know why I called you,” he says.

“Eddie, hey-”

“No, it’s- look, it’s all fine here,” Eddie says. “Really.”

Silence.

“Yeah,” Buck says finally, sounding kind of raw. “Okay.”

And abruptly Eddie can’t do this. Can’t be- stretched thin like this, pulled in too many competing directions, too many fires, not enough water, he’s just one man, he’s just one person.

“I think...” Eddie says. “Maybe it’s better if I don’t call you for a while. I kind of need to focus on what’s here, you know?”

Buck is quiet for a while.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

“It’s not- look, I’ll check in in a couple of weeks or whatever,” Eddie says. “I just, I gotta get my head on straight.”

“Okay.”

“I just- I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later,” Buck says.

And then Buck just sits there in silence for a moment, Eddie can hear him breathing, sitting there like he’s waiting.

Buck is always waiting.

Eddie hangs up the phone.

-

He puts the baptism gift off longer than he should, which is how he winds up at Target at 8pm on a Saturday night, staring at the stuffed animals which all have these god-awful giant eyes that really kinda creep him out, and honestly, this has never exactly been Eddie’s strong suit. He’s certain that Buck would have 12 different ideas of appropriate baby gifts. Even if lately it’s felt like, like Buck is haunting all the corners of his life. Like any thought Eddie has only leads in one direction. 

But Eddie’s doing fine, he’s got this, he’s sticking with the tried and true, which is to say the stuffed animals, so he grabs the least horrendous looking bear and goes to find a card, maybe something not too Jesus-y, which is a moot point because it’s literally a baptism present. 

So he’s staring at the cards, blocking the aisle, when a woman says, “Excuse me,” and he says, “Oh, sorry” and steps to the side to let her go by, followed by a cart which a man is pushing, a toddler strapped into the front seat babbling, and Eddie glances at them. And the man looks at him. And Eddie looks at the man.

Who Eddie last saw as he got fucked face-first into a wall.

The man kind of freezes, and then blinks.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Didn’t you say we needed dish soap?”

“Oh, right,” the woman says. “What is that, aisle 6?”

“I’ll get it,” he says. “Meet you at the registers.”

She nods absently and the guy is gone. And Eddie is left standing in front of the card display, the woman walking away with the cart and now-fussy toddler.

Eddie grabs a card at random. Tosses it in the basket with the bear. Checks out. His mind carefully blank.

Back in the truck, he leans his head forward and rests it on the steering wheel.

He’d once gotten in a fight with Shannon in this exact Target. He’d grabbed the diapers, and she’d said, “Those are too small for him,” and he’d said, “Are you sure?” And she’d said, “I think I’d know better than you,” and he’d said-

Eddie tightens his hands on the steering wheel, tight tight tight. Tight until it hurts, and he breathes. Even and deep the way Frank taught him. His truck is huge, stupidly big, he can admit by now it was a vanity purchase, but right now the inside of the cab feels so stupidly small. Claustrophobic, but with too many windows, like everyone can see in, like they all know about him, and exactly how much of a fuck-up he is, how everything around him splinters, how he ruins everything he touches, how, how, how, deep breaths. Deep breaths.

He’s not going to lose it in the Target parking lot. He’s not.

He’s gotta go wrap the ugly fucking teddy bear.

He drives home.

-

The baptism goes fine. His bear gets put with the veritable Noah’s Ark of stuffed animals piling up on the table. Eddie mingles and fields questions from his cousins, yeah just moved back, yeah the new house is great. Chris is playing Fortnite downstairs, and presumably kicking everyone’s butt by the sounds coming up through the floor. Eventually Ramon starts yawning, which means there are about thirty minutes left before his Sunday nap, and Helena says their goodbyes. Chris is whining “C’mon Abuela, 15 more minutes,” and Eddie says, “I can take him home later.” Helena says, “I don’t know if…” and Chris says, “It’s fine Abuela, just go.” 

Which Eddie counts as a win, even if it does mean an additional hour and a half of listening to his idiot tío talk about politics while everyone else tries to avoid him. Even if Chris doesn’t actually say a single word to him in the car, just starts playing TikToks on full volume. It’s still something, right, that’s still something. And when he drops him off Helena says, “Come in Eddie, won’t you have some coffee?” And Eddie hopes, Eddie thinks that maybe, maybe for the first time since he’s gotten there, maybe they’re coming around, maybe-

And then it’s just Helena and Ramon and him in the living room, Eddie drinking his coffee, Ramon talking about his stocks like Eddie has an opinion on the fluctuating price of manufactured plastics, and Helena says, “What about you Eddie, heard there was a bit of trouble at work?”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Yeah, it wasn’t- something blew up.”

“You must be stressed, dealing with all that,” Helena says. “Hard to find time for other things.”

“I manage,” he says. “It’s all about priorities, right.”

Ramon shifts in his chair.   

“Of course,” Helena says. “I just meant, that sounds serious.”

“Well, nobody died, so.”

“Would you have told us if they had?”

“Excuse me?” Eddie says.

“Your mother just means,” Ramon says, “we worry about you, you know.”

“About me.”

“That thing,” Helena says carefully, looking down at her hands, “with that woman, that wasn’t-”

“That’s over,” Eddie says. “That’s been over.”

“Of course,” Helena says. “But it’s not- it fits into a pattern, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“We just want what’s best for you,” she says. “And for Chris.”

“Chris,” Eddie says. “Has nothing to do with this.”

“See, that’s part of the problem!” Helena says. “You think your actions don’t impact him!”

“Believe me, I am aware of my impact,” Eddie snaps.

“Are you? Were you, when you enlisted? When you moved him away from his family? When you-”

“Helena,” Ramon says. Helena stops, takes a deep breath. Shakes her head.

“She only means,” Ramon says, “we see how hard you try. But Chris, he needs stability. He needs… support, and people around-”

“He has-” Eddie says, and he hates that he’s choking up. Hates how quickly he feels 18 years old, sitting on this same sofa and saying, ‘So there’s this girl.’  

“You love him so much,” Helena says. “I know you do.”

“Of course I love him,” Eddie says. “He’s the most important thing on the planet. Haven’t I proved that? I’m not saying I’ve been perfect but I am trying, I am trying-”

“We want full custody,” Helena says quietly.   

Eddie can’t breathe.   

“What?” he says.   

“We want-”

“No, I heard you, I just- Are you out of your mind?”

“Mijo,” Ramon says.   

“Don’t you ‘mijo’ me, what is wrong with you? That’s crazy, you can’t just think I’d-”

“He shouldn’t feel so alone that he has to call us for help,” Helena says.   

“I made a mistake,” Eddie says. “I’m not saying I didn’t, but you can’t just...”

“Eddie,” Ramon says. “He deserves more than we gave you.”

Eddie is silent.

“You’re serious,” he says finally. “You- And he- What does he say?”

Helena looks at her hands.

“You haven’t asked him yet,” Eddie says.

“We wanted to make sure,” Helena says. “That it wasn’t going to be… difficult.”

“Ask him,” Eddie says. “Ask him, and if he wants to go. Then. Then we can talk.”

Helena sighs. 

“If that’s how you’d prefer to do it,” she says. “Eddie, believe it or not, I don’t want to see you get hurt here. I don’t want-”

“Ask him.”   

“Alright,” She says. “Alright, we’ll talk to him later. But Eddie, you need to be prepared for his answer.”

“We know you’ll always put him first,” Ramon says. “That’s what parents do.”

-

The sink is leaking. The sink is always fucking leaking. Eddie closes his eyes and he hears it, he opens his eyes and he hears it, that stupid little drip, always fucking going, running through everything, wearing it all down one tiny droplet at a time. It’s all he can fucking hear.

He takes the faucet apart. He can still hear it. Dripping in the background. It won’t fucking stop. He takes the sink apart. And then takes the hinges off the cabinet because they’re creaking. And then the light is buzzing overhead so he takes that apart too. The fridge is humming. He takes its door off. The dishwasher beeps, he takes that apart. The microwave clock is blinking, he unscrews that bit by bit. Blender. Coffee machine. Everything unscrewed into neat piles on the countertop.

Until he’s going through the house methodically, screwdriver in hand, anything to stop all the fucking noises he can’t stand them it’s too goddamn loud no matter what he does it’s too goddamn loud and he’d swear that sink was still leaking, he can still hear it, it’s driving him crazy, slipping under everything, everything is in pieces and he still can hear it, doesn’t know how to make it stop, he’s in the basement staring at pipes trying to figure out how to get it to fucking stop, what to unscrew, which line to cut-

His phone goes off. It’s Buck.

2 am and he’s standing in the wreckage of his house yet again and Bucks calling. Of course Buck is calling. Ghosts and echoes, that’s all anything ever is. Just around and around and around while Eddie gets sicker and sicker and the ride doesn’t stop.

Buck calls again. And again. Round and around. Eddie picks up the fourth call, the ceiling is spinning.

“Eddie,” Buck says, too fast, he sounds strange. “You picked up. Sorry it’s. It’s late, I know, I just. I’ve been thinking a lot-”

“My kid won’t talk to me, my parents want full custody, and I fucked a married man,” Eddie says.

Buck is quiet.

“Can you…” he says after a minute. “Can you run that by me again?”

“Never mind,” Eddie says. “Never mind it’s all fine here, it’s all so totally fine here-”

“Eddie-”

“It’s fine here,” Eddie says. “I’m fine here. I’m so totally fine. Everything is great, it’s all fine, it’s all fine.”

“Eddie. I think you should talk to someone,” Buck says slowly. “It doesn’t have to be me, it could be some teletherapy thing, just-”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Okay, well, that doesn’t sound fine.”

“What, you’re the only one who gets to do it?” Eddie says.

Buck is quiet.

“That was different,” he says.

Eddie scoffs.

“Was it?” Eddie says. And Eddie, he knows a bruise to press when he sees one. 

“Why did you call me, anyways,” he says, like he doesn’t know. Like he can’t read Buck like a book, knows Buck is pacing around right now, or sitting in the loft on one of the uncomfortable stools, mind rattling a thousand miles an hour towards the thing they’d always agreed never to talk about.

“Never mind,” Buck says. “It’s not- It isn’t- I just thought-”

“Thought what?” Eddie says. He wants to see how far he can stretch it, wants to see it snap. Wants to see Buck smash into it at a thousand miles an hour, just blood and bone, and Eddie can feel reassured then that that’s what he does to people, that he’s selfish enough to want to do it to Buck.

“About you,” Buck says kind of quietly. “I just keep thinking about you.”

“Why?” Eddie says, and it’s grinding at him, gritting like sandpaper, metal shrieking under pressure.

“Because, Eddie,” Buck says and his voice is getting louder, less shaky, “you said you wanted space, but I didn’t, I never told you, I just- And I know we aren’t, but sometimes- I don’t think- Eddie, we aren’t supposed to be apart. We are supposed to be together. You and me, and now it’s too far, it’s too far, and I just- Eddie. Eddie, I am supposed to be with you. I’m always supposed to be with you.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. And there it is, the impact, the crash, right up into the concrete, into the asphalt, blood in his mouth, all those years of it. And he doesn’t, he can’t, he wants, he wants, he has seen where his wants lead him.

“If I wanted you in El Paso, I would have asked you to come to El Paso,” Eddie says.

Buck inhales and goes quiet.

“Oh,” he says faintly. “Right.”

And immediately guilt floods through Eddie. He can hear Buck spin, can hear him spiral, he just- he just…

“Buck, I didn’t-” he says.

Eddie’s phone lights up with a different incoming call. From Chris.

“Shit,” Eddie says. “I have to take this, it’s Chris. But we’ll- I- look, we can talk later, alright?”

“Right,” Buck says, still sounding kind of faint.

“I wasn’t…” Eddie says. But he can’t. So he doesn’t. Chris’s name is still flashing on his screen, so he ends the call.

“Chris?”

“Dad?” Chris says. His voice sounds slurred, barely intelligible. “Dad, can you come- can you come get me?”

Every single hair on Eddie’s body stands on end.

“Chris? Where are you? What’s going on?”

“I don’t...” Chris says. “I don’t know. I just.” He makes a wet sound somewhere between a sob and a gag. “They made me get out of the car and I just-”

Eddie looks on Find My Friends, thank god Chris never disabled his location, he’s not far, Eddie’s grabbing his keys, two different shoes, who cares.

“Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Just sit there, okay, I’ll be right there. Don’t hang up.”

“Dad, I-” Chris says, and then there’s the unmistakable sound of retching.

“Yeah, okay, I know,” Eddie says. “Just don’t hang up.”

It’s not far in the end. 10 minutes away. Chris sitting on the curb in some suburb, leaning over and puking in the street.

“I know, I know,” Eddie says. “That’s right, just get it all out.”

“We left the party and then I threw up in the car,” Chris says. “And Riley made me get out and I- I don’t, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “It’s okay. I’m glad you called me. It’s good. It was the right thing to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris mumbles.

“I know, mijo, it’s okay.”

“No, I’m sorry about- the rest of it I just-” Chris gags again. Spits onto the street. Eddie hands him a bottle of water, helps him take baby sips.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s get you home, okay? We can talk later. Right now you just drink your water.”

Helps Chris into the car, water bottle cradled in his lap. Chris slumps against the window.

“Don’t take me to Abuela’s,” he says.

“Yeah, wasn’t planning on it,” Eddie says.

“I hate the way they treat me,” Chris says. “I hate it, I hate it. Like I’m some stupid fragile little- like they can’t even say big words in front of me like- Abuela acts like I’m some baby, some scared little kid, and the counselor, like I’m a problem, I don’t want to be a problem-”

“What counselor?”

“At school. Mr. Perkins. All just because, because I wrote that stupid short story, it wasn’t even real, it was just a stupid fake short story. And now I have to see him every week so I don’t jump off a bridge or whatever they all think.”

Eddie remembers that helicopter crash. The explosion and the lurch, how loud it had been, but how the terror had really come from suddenly realizing he was in the air, suddenly realizing he was falling.

“Chris,” he says.

“It was just a stupid story,” Chris says. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just thinking, just wondering. And then-”

Chris hiccups and wipes at his face.

“Thinking what?” Eddie says.

“I don’t know,” Chris says. “I don’t know. Just what it would be like not to be here.”

“No baby, no,” Eddie says.

“I didn’t mean it, I just…” Chris says.

And Eddie has to drive, so Eddie can’t think. Eddie has to drive, so he can’t think about it. Chris sitting in Mrs. Vasquez’s class staring at the clock, Chris in his after school clubs listening to other people laugh, Chris at the pool, staring at that water, Eddie used to be 14, used to go to that pool, and wonder, and wonder-

And Chris is retching again, saying, “Sorry,” saying, “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

“Never,” Eddie says. “I’m never going to, never, never.”

-

Wakes up on Chris’s floor, a crick in his neck, a crick in his back. Someone is knocking on the front door.

Chris in his bed sleeps even and deep. Eddie watches his chest rise and fall, and rise and fall.

There’s a loud banging coming from the front door again. A woman’s voice is yelling.

“Open the door, I’m not kidding Eddie-”

He shuffles to the front door, T-shirt and yesterday’s jeans, there’s Chris’s vomit on the hem. Eddie flings the door open. Sophia is standing there.

“Oh,” she says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says. “Is there a reason you’re banging on my door at 7am?”

“Someone on Instagram DMed me- look, can we talk?”

“Chris is inside,” Eddie says. “Asleep.”

“Okay, so come outside.”

“It’s cold,” he says, but steps out into the driveway. Follows her to her car parked behind the truck. Has a strange flash of teaching Sophia to drive in his high school truck, ‘No Soph gas then clutch,’ her saying ‘I am, I am.’ She drives an SUV now. Baby carseat in the back.

“Sorry,” she says. “I just- someone on Instagram DMed me last night at like 3am, and then- you didn’t pick up the phone, so.”

“Someone DMed you,” he says flatly.

“Yeah, here, I just...”

Sophia shoves her phone in his face. Eddie squints at the Instagram message.

Hey, so sorry to do this, you don’t actually know me. My name is Buck and I used to work with Eddie at the 118. Could you check up on him? He always talked about you, I think he’s going through a lot right now and he could probably use the extra support.

Eddie sighs and drops his head back against the car seat headrest.

“Yeah, that’s Buck for you,” he says.

“Sorry, it just kind of. Freaked me out,” Sophia says. “After that thing with Chris-”

“You knew about Chris,” he says, his voice going icy. He nearly gets out of the car, but Sophia grabs his shoulder.

“No, I didn’t, I just- Mom just let it slip yesterday,” she says. “I was going to tell you, I just-”

“You should have called me! Immediately!”

“I wanted to give them a chance to tell you!” she says. “It’s not like- Look, he’s going to be okay Eddie, he really is, it’s not-”

“That’s not your call to make!” Eddie snaps.

“I know, I just-”

“I am his father,” Eddie says. “I am his fucking father, why the fuck doesn’t that mean anything to anyone?”

“I know,” Sophia says. “I know, okay? The way they treat you is fucked up. It is. But don’t you put this on me, okay? I have been on your side since the beginning. I have been the one here, trying to deal with their bullshit. While you’ve been in California fucking moping or whatever. So don’t tell me I’m not doing shit.”

“I haven’t been-”

“Yes, you have,” Sophia says. “You’ve been fucking sulking around instead of- He needs you, okay Eddie? He needs you here. With him. And I would have told you, I would have, I just wanted to give them a chance first. And if they didn’t, then I would have. I’m with you, okay Eddie? I know what they’re like, I’m with you . But you can’t just go around acting like- like it’s you against the world. People are in your corner, okay. If you’d stop pushing them away.”

“I wasn’t-” he says.

But now Sophia is going.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she says. “I’m here and all I get is these updates, Eddie is in Afghanistan, Eddie’s been shot, Eddie’s moving away, Eddie’s been shot again, all these stupid fucking updates, and whenever I talk to you, you’re just fine, and it’s like I’m watching the world bite away pieces of you, and you don’t even act like you care, and I hate it, I hate it. You’re my big brother, okay? You can’t just…”

“I…” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“I just,” Sophia says. “Fuck!”

She wipes at her face.

“So yeah,” she says. “I kinda freaked out about the message. But that isn’t... That doesn’t... Eddie, are you okay?”

Eddie looks at the car ceiling.

“Not really,” he says.

Sophia is quiet.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t know. I keep making choices and it seems like whatever I do is the wrong choice. I’m trying to do what Chris wants, what everyone wants, and I just can’t- I keep trying and-”

“What do you want?” Sophia says.

“I don’t...” Eddie says.

“Eddie.”

“I just,” Eddie says.

He looks out the window at the street, dawn just emerging.

“I don’t think I’ve ever known that,” he says.

“You’ve never known it, or you’ve never done it?” Sophia says.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Sophia sighs

“Look. I don’t…” She says. “I can’t tell you what to do. All I know is, I’m tired of watching the way you let other people treat you. I’m tired of watching the way you treat yourself.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I think I’m pretty tired of it too.”

-

Back inside the shower is running in Chris’s room. Eddie strips the bed and throws the sheets in the wash. Reassembles what he can in the kitchen, puts the door back on the fridge at least, shoves the rest in the closet for later. Starts on breakfast, at least the toaster oven still works, even if he has to resort to French press coffee.

Chris picks at his toast. Looks pale, terrible actually. Eddie remembers the horror of his first hangover.

“We gonna talk about it?” Eddie says.

“It isn’t a big deal,” Chris says.

“It kind of is,” Eddie says.

Chris groans. 

“It was just a party,” he says.

Eddie sighs. Grabs his coffee mug but doesn’t take a sip.

“We haven’t actually talked in a long time, huh,” he says.

“We’re talking right now,” Chris says.

“Yeah, but... I don’t tell you things. Things I should tell you.”

“What, like about that woman,” Chris says. “Like how maybe you should have told me you were cheating on Marisol with a weird clone of my dead mom.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Like that.”

“Yeah, well,” Chris says. “You didn’t.”

“Chris I- I’m trying to talk to you now. I’m trying to…”

Eddie trails off.

“I loved your mom,” He says. “I loved her so much. And when she died it was- I was…”

“Yeah, yeah, you were so sad you had to go bang her clone or whatever, I get it.”

“Chris, for the love of god, can I just speak for a minute?” Eddie snaps, and Chris shuts up. Eddie takes a deep breath.

“We were young,” Eddie says. “We were so young when we had you, and I didn’t, I wasn’t- I should have just…”

“We were very different people,” he says. “Your mom and I. And then I just. I just left, because I was so goddamn scared, and then she left, because I put too much on her, and we never just- we never actually...”

“And it just turned into a pattern,” Eddie says. “It got so much bigger than me. Like suddenly I was like- a part I was playing. And the production kept on going so I had to keep saying my lines. And I never…”

“Dad?” Chris says, looking kind of unsure.

“I never let you know me,” Eddie says. “And it’s made you feel alone. I’m so sorry I made you feel alone.”

Chris is silent.

“Anyways,” Eddie says. “I think we need to be honest with each other. I think we need to... There’s a lot of things I haven’t told you. And there’s a lot you haven’t told me. And, it can’t just be... We can’t do what we’ve been doing.”

Eddie takes a deep breath.

“I’m gay,” Eddie says. 

Chris stares at him.

“You probably should know that about me.” Eddie says. “It’s not… I mean, it can be as big a deal as you want it to be. But it doesn’t change anything, okay, it doesn’t mean-”

Chris starts laughing.

“Oh my god,” he says.

Eddie opens his mouth and then closes it.

“Chris,” he says.

“No, it’s just- oh my god,” Chris chokes out, cackling harder. “That’s so- you did all that and you’re gay?”

He hunches over in his chair, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Chris-”

“You’re just- you’re just lies all the way down,” Chris says. “You’re not even- I hate you. I hate you.”

“Chris-”

“Shut up,” Chris says, face red. “Just shut up, you’re always trying to say things, always trying to fix things, you can’t fix things, you can’t, you didn’t even- You can’t do anything right, you just break everything and then you can’t fix it, you were supposed to come and get me.”

“What?”

“You were supposed to come and get me,” Chris sobs. “You weren’t supposed to let me go and just give up, you pathetic- you- I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“I came,” Eddie says lamely. “I’m here now, I-”

“Yeah, three months later,” Chris spits. “Abuela was right.”

“I didn’t-” Eddie says, trying to talk through how thick his throat is. “I just.”

“You left me behind. You always leave me behind,” Chris says. “Why didn’t you come and get me?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “I don’t know, I am trying, I am trying-”

“Well it’s not working,” Chris howls.

“I know,” Eddie says.

Chris hiccups.

“I have loved you since the second I knew you existed,” Eddie says. “You are the most important thing in my life. I would do anything for you. Anything. And I. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I know I’m supposed to,” Eddie says. “I know I’m supposed to know, I’m supposed to be the parent and know these things, but I keep trying to do the best thing for you and I keep fucking up. Over and over again.”

“I thought you might do better, here,” Eddie says. “I thought maybe they were right. Maybe I shouldn’t... drag you down.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Chris says, and Eddie says, “Chris.”

“You were supposed to fix it.” Chris says. “You were supposed to come here and fix it.”

“I know.” Eddie says. “But Chris, I… I don’t think I can.”

Chris kind of sniffles.

“I think I hate you.” He tells Eddie.

“Yeah, I get that.” Eddie says.

“You never even said sorry.”

“I… I didn’t think you’d…”

Chris is glowering at him.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie says. “Chris, I am so, so sorry.”

Chris wipes at his face. Clumsily, the way he used to do when he was little. Eddie’s chest aches.

“Fine,” he says.

“Okay?” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “I mean, no, I’m still mad, but. Okay.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to live with Abuela anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“Her cooking sucks.”

Eddie exhales.

“Yeah,” he says. “It really does.”

Chris is glaring expectantly at him. Eddie puts his hands flat on the table.

“Okay. But we’re going to… We’re going to do it differently this time. We’re going to be honest with each other. We’re going to tell each other stuff.”

“Okay,” Chris says.

“Yeah?”

Chris nods slowly.

“Abuela’s going to be pissed.” He says finally.

“You let me worry about that.” Eddie says.

-

Pissed is an understatement, when he calls later. It’s the tears he can’t stand. Helena thought they had an understanding. Doesn’t he want the best for Chris? Isn’t that all he’s ever wanted?

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “It is.”

And he hangs up.

-

It’s not seamless. Eddie has to put all his shit back together, which is a headache and a half. The first night is fine, Chris eats his dinner, does his homework, goes to bed. The second night, Chris screams at Eddie that he’s the worst, he’s a failure, and he hopes Eddie dies in a fire. Eddie says, “Okay, well, can we talk about that?” And Chris slams his bedroom door so hard it rattles the whole house.

Eddie finally gets the run-down from the counselor who gives him a somewhat cool look. Eddie appreciates that. Chris deserves to have people in his corner.

Sophia brings by enchiladas. They’re terrible enchiladas.

Chris screams a lot. 

Says Eddie is the worst father in existence, and Eddie says, “I know, mijo.”

Says Eddie should have died instead, Chris never wants to see him again, and Eddie says, “I know, mijo.”

He doesn’t mind when Chris screams. He hates when Chris cries. When Chris gets quiet, skinny shoulders shaking, when he looks so much younger than 14, when he says, “Why did she leave me?” and Eddie says, “I don’t know.” When he says, “Why did you?” and Eddie doesn’t have an answer, can only say “I won’t, not ever again,” and Chris says, “I don’t believe you,” and Eddie says, “I know, mijo.”

Takes a day off work. Take Chris to the botanical gardens, he used to take Chris here all the time as a little kid, one of the more accessible places, wide paths, no stairs. It’s chilly, most of the plants are in hibernation or whatever, Buck would know the word, but it’s still nice, to walk around the same old paths with his son, Eddie used to carry him on his shoulders, he walks next to him now.

Chris stops to read a plant plaque, and then says, "Did you know this one is a hallucinogen?"

"Don’t even think about it," Eddie says.

"No way, Buck told me about it," Chris says. "Apparently it makes you crap your brains out."

Eddie sends a silent thank you to Buck.

"Hey Dad, can I ask you something?" Chris says, looking at the cactus.

"Of course," Eddie says.

"Were you and Buck dating?"

"Oh," Eddie says. They resume walking, Eddie’s hands in his pockets to keep warm. "No.”

“Dad.”

“We… Not exactly."

Chris frowns.

"Why not?"

"It’s complicated," Eddie says.

"I’m 14 years old, Dad." Chris says. "I can handle complicated."

Eddie smiles.

"I know you can," he says. "I just… I said some things. Did some things. I’m not too sure that Buck wants to hear from me right now."

"Oh," Chris says, his breath steaming in the air. After a moment: "Buck isn’t going to care."

"Without getting into specifics. I’m pretty sure he will."

"Okay, first of all, gross to whatever that means. Second of all, he’s like, so stupid in love with you, Dad."

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. He keeps walking.

"I know," he says, after a minute.

"You know? Then what are you even-”

"Chris, it’s... Sometimes things are messy and it’s not that simple."

"Ugh," Chris says. "You’re such a wimp."

"Excuse me? I am not-” Eddie starts, but Chris is giving him the I-successfully-wound-my-dad-up smile, and Eddie sighs.

"You’ll understand when you’re older," Eddie says.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," Chris says.

-

When Eddie thinks about Buck, well, he doesn’t. Not just because he’s intentionally ignoring it, but because it’s like Buck is already a given. Eddie turns and there’s Buck. That’s how it’s always been. It must have started small, that very first call. Something got lit then, some kind of fuse, or more like a peat fire, something low and smoldering underneath. So he could go about his daily life, and suddenly at some point Eddie had switched to buying Buck’s preferred beer brand, not because anyone asked him but because he liked Buck’s slightly chagrined smile, like it surprised him that anyone would consider him when he wasn’t around. 

Eddie never- he knew what it was from the beginning but he thought he could handle it. Thought he had the reins on it and he could just coast along, and eventually Buck would meet some nice person and settle down, and Eddie would buy him a wedding present and be his best man with a grin. Eddie could do that, Eddie could give him that, and then that was the first bad sign, that Eddie could give him that so easily, that it would make his insides turn to glass shards and Eddie wouldn’t even factor that in if it made Buck happy. 

But by the time Eddie realized it, really realized it, it was too late. Buck’s groceries in Eddie’s kitchen and Buck’s and Chris’s drawings on the fridge and a Buck-sized impression on Eddie’s couch. 

And Eddie had looked at it all, known where it was headed, looked at it all and done it anyways. Because he wanted just a few more seconds, wanted just a few more years, he would have taken anything, anything at all. Because he wanted more right up to the edge, that hard edge of time where there just wasn’t any more of it. Right up to and over it. 

Buck on the other end of the line, and Eddie tumbling, knife in hand, and saying sorry, even if Buck couldn’t hear him. There’s a kid down here. Eddie can’t leave. So the line’s gotta be cut. Regardless of what happens next. Eddie’s getting the kid out. And if it means they’re apart on opposite ends of an impassable divide, if it means Eddie’s alone if it means the mud is crashing down if it means the water is rushing up, well. Eddie’s getting the kid out.

Buck would have made the same call.

They are both going to have to learn to live with that.

-

Sitting in the driver’s seat of his truck like he could teleport all 803 miles in an instant. Like he could close his eyes and will it hard enough and it would almost be that last night where Buck had packed and painted and spackled and given Eddie his big empty smiles, given him the very last pieces, given him everything left, and Eddie had stood there next to him with a paintbrush in hand and he’d thought. We should have. Why didn’t we? Why didn’t we ever?

We should have.

When he calls, it rings, and Eddie almost thinks don’t do it, don’t answer. Just let it be what it is, stretched so thin, torn in two, he could do it, he could do it a little longer. 

But Buck picks up.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and Eddie says, “Hey,” then they sit together in silence. Finally Buck says, “I’m sorry for-” and Eddie says, “I think about you all the time.”

It feels like an admission, as though he hasn’t said worse things before. Buck inhales.   

“Oh.” Buck says.

Eddie sighs.

“You’re not something that can be thrown away,” he says. “I know you think you are. But after Chris, you’re the most important person in the world to me. You matter so much. And not because of what you do, Buck. You matter because of who you are.”

“Eddie,” Buck says. And then, “Why are you saying this now?”

“I think about you all the time,” Eddie says again. “And I didn’t want you to think, don’t want you to think… I just. I keep trying to show you stupid shit on my phone. Or buy you that weird bread you like at the grocery store. Or just hear about your day or whatever. I miss you. Fuck, I miss you. And I can’t- I need to be here, Buck, you get that, right? I mean, I know you get that. But I have to…”

Buck sniffles and Eddie’s face feels hot, his neck feels hot, he’s wiping at his eyes and it’s not helping.

“This just sucks,” Eddie says. “This really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, his voice all small.   

Silence.

“Look,” Eddie says. “This isn’t gonna- I’m not just gonna forget, okay.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“No, I mean five years down the line, ten years down the line. I’m not just gonna forget.”

“Eddie,” Buck says miserably.

Eddie almost says it. Almost just opens his mouth and says, “So come here. Come find me. I can’t wait for you to meet me. Did you know me this whole time? I think I’m starting to.”

But if he asks, Buck will come. Regardless of anything else, regardless of if it will make him happy. Eddie can say please and Buck will say yes. And then he’ll be there. Away from his friends, away from his family, away from the job that he loves so much. And he’ll never bring any of it up. He’ll just live in Eddie’s house, and sleep in Eddie’s bed, and kiss Eddie every morning. And Eddie, Eddie will have everything he’s ever wanted.

And Buck won’t.

So he doesn’t say it. Instead he just says, “I know.”

Buck makes an awful sound then, a half-choked sob that Eddie is going to hear for the rest of his life, and he says, “Yeah.” And then they just sit there listening to each other sniffle for a while. Eddie doesn’t want to end the call, doesn’t want to say it, he’s said it hundreds of times before at the end of every phone call but now it feels too big and too terrible to speak out loud. So he says, “I’ve gotta go,” and Buck says, “Yeah, yeah me too,” and Eddie just hangs up. And neither of them ever say it, and that’s fine by Eddie. 

Eddie’s lived different versions of this enough times to know that it’s not true what people say. It’s not ever any better to have said goodbye.

-

It’s not easy and it doesn’t get easier. He still wakes up and thinks about Buck, goes to sleep thinking about Buck. Spends most of the day trying to corral his thoughts away from off limits areas. Distractions help. Distractions like the new gym, and the guy who helps spot him, and soon enough Eddie has a new friend, or something close to it, someone to watch the game with. It doesn’t… it still all feels weird, like an outline he doesn’t quite fit into, but it’s getting smudgier, something he could make his own.

Work sucks, and Eddie hates it, and Sophia says, "Why are you even still there then?" and he complains about the lack of firefighter and EMT jobs, and she says, "Ugh, toxic masculinity, just go into nursing." And he says, "Huh." Starts looking into maybe getting his license.

He comes out to his sisters. Adriana says, “Celia owes me $20.” Sophia gives him a long, long hug, her face buried in the side of his neck, and they’re both a little teary eyed when she pulls back.

Chats with some guy from Grindr, gets to know his actual name this time. They grab tacos, he goes down on Eddie in the truck, Eddie does a terrible job returning the favor, but the guy is nice about it, understanding even. Says, “Here’s my number, if you ever wanna do this again sometime.” Eddie says, “Thanks.”

Doesn’t text him.

The problem is that the ache doesn’t go away. The one that sits right under his sternum. It feels like there’s a gap in him, some kind of hole worn thin, and underneath it’s just wind. Eddie wants-

Eddie wants.

But Eddie has. He has Chris, the most important thing. He has Chris, who only lost his shit one time this week, which is progress. He has friends from the weekly soccer game, friends from the gym. He’s got a lot. He has his family, brunches at Sophia’s house are a bigger event with more people coming by now that his parents house is officially a no-fly-zone, a new Cold War punctuated by Chris’s occasional phone calls, where Eddie overhears a “No Abuela, he isn’t- he doesn’t- Abuela, it’s fine, I like it here,” and can’t resist the curl of vindication in his stomach. He’s got a future here. He really does.

He’s got plenty.

-

Chris keeps talking to the counselor. Sulks as Eddie gives him the whole “please don’t get drunk at parties” after-school-special spiel. Yells at Eddie more. Yells at Eddie less. Eddie is fine so long as Chris is there, so long as Chris is talking. Eddie gets broad updates, doesn’t really ask what they talk about. Chris complains to him sometimes. Says the history class curriculum is stupid. Says he doesn’t really like his friends, he thinks. Eddie tries to help him, but really, there’s only so much Eddie can do. Mostly Eddie just listens.

“Have you noticed the sink leaks?” Chris says. Eddie lets out a very long sigh.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ve noticed.”

“I don’t think I like this house very much,” Chris says. “Since we’re being honest with each other and everything.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

The sink plink plink plinks.

“Can we not live here anymore?”

“I mean. Chris, we gotta live somewhere. I guess we could… we can look? Maybe there’s something better on the market, I don’t know-”

“No, I mean. Can we go back to LA.”

“Oh.”

Eddie exhales.

“You’d want that?”

“Yeah. It’s not... Texas isn’t...”

Chris fidgets.

“It’s not home,” he says finally. “And, we could still go back, right? To LA? You didn’t sell the house, we could go back-”

“Mijo, we can’t just keep moving across the country on a whim. It’s not...”

“Do you like it here?”

“Well, no, but it’s not...”

“I feel like with Abuela, and at school, everybody here has an idea of who I am. But I don’t like who they think I am.”

An idea is blooming in Eddie’s chest, blooming, bubbling up, too fragile to hold onto.

“I miss Carla and my friends,” Chris says. “I miss Buck.”

And Eddie, god he hates this house. Hates the dripping faucet, the touchy AC, the stupid personality-less-ness of the architecture. Nothing like the old place, lived in, something built, something he and Chris built together, battered and reconstructed over and over again but still beating.

“Chris,” he says. “You have to be sure. If we go back to LA, and you don’t like it, we can’t just…”

“I know, Dad,” Chris says. 

“If it gets hard, we have to stay.”

“I know, Dad,” Chris says.

“I mean it,” Eddie says. “Sometimes you have to work through things. No more running away, okay?”

“I know, Dad,” Chris says. “So can we please go home?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, we can do that.”

-

A different moving company this time. One very confused realtor. Eddie’s credit score is never going to recover. Cash for keys, at least the renters took the offer, Eddie still feels bad about that one.

13 hours and 45 minutes, traffic and bathroom breaks included. Chris asleep against the window. Chris awake looking at the interstate.

“I think I remember this part,” he says, and Eddie laughs, says, “Yeah?”

Once they’re off the interstate the windows are down, and it’s just after sunset and it’s dark out, smells like smog, smells like hot garbage, smells like ocean, smells like home, and Chris says, “You should go talk to him.”

And Eddie says, “Maybe tomorrow, it’s kind of late.”

And Chris says, “Oh my god.”

Eddie says, “I mean. We just got back, are you sure? We can just get take-out, watch a movie.”

Chris rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be fine Dad, I promise I won’t throw a rager in the two hours it takes you to go be gay for Buck.”

“Christopher,” Eddie says, but his tone is given away by the smile he’s failing to hide.   

“Just go,” Chris sighs. So Eddie grabs his keys and does.

-

How many times has he made that drive? Gotten stuck at that stoplight? How many times has he sat in Buck’s parking lot?

How many times have his hands been shaking? How many times has he thought to himself it’s now or never, now or never, and he’s always picked never over now. Always figured there’d be another now. Until there weren’t any more of them.

Eddie didn’t used to believe in second chances. Used to think, what’s done is done, and then you have to live with it.

Funny thing about living. Doors close. Doors open. Over and over and over again.

Doors like the one to Buck’s apartment, which he’s staring at, fist poised, feeling- feeling young again, like a kid, like he could be Chris’s age, stuck in a world where nothing and no one makes sense. Feeling old, like all of his years are etched into his bones, like tree rings, all his past selves wrapped up inside the most current one. Feeling terror, what if Buck doesn’t open the door, what if Buck tells him to go away, what if it’s too broken to fix. What if it’s just Eddie holding his beating heart in his hands and saying, “I’m here, finally I’m here," and no one hears him.

But there’s only one way to find out.

Eddie knocks.