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Buck hasn’t always been a janitor. It took many trial and errors before he found a career he loves. He went from bartending in Virginia Beach to construction in Florida, to enlisting in the Navy SEALs, ranching in Montana, and being a mixologist in Peru. Hell, he was even a volunteer firefighter at one point. But nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever brought him true joy. Until he came across an ad in a paper for a janitorial position at Madison Elementary.
Yes, he’s well aware being a janitor, to the average Joe, wouldn’t spark joy, but for Buck, the position was perfect. Any opportunity to plug in his AirPods and tune out the world for a while was worth it, and okay, maybe he lied when he said he loved working with kids, but it’s not like he’s working directly with them; they just happen to occupy the same space. And, to his surprise, one kid in particular managed to worm his way into his heart and make a home there.
“Whatcha drawing today, bud?”
It’s obvious what Christopher’s drawing. The red crayon in his hand is getting shorter with every pass on the lined paper—a stark contrast to the stream of blue running perpendicular. “A firetruck.”
“For your dad?”
The kid nods as he grabs a black crayon. “Whoa whoa, slow down, Bob Ross.” Buck laughs. “Whatcha doing with that black?”
“Trust me,” Christopher says. Then he’s scribbling a dog—well, more like two disproportionate ovals stacked on top of each other. “See.”
Buck touches his chin then brings his hand down onto his other hand before crossing them over his wrists. Good job.
“Buck, why can’t you hear?”
“Christopher!” Miss Flores scolds before turning to Buck with an apology in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Ana,” he reassures. He rolls the trash bin to the side and bends down so he’s eye-level with Chris. “I was actually born like this, buddy.”
“Why were you born with ears then?”
“I’m not sure. Probably because it’d be pretty weird if I was walking around with no ears.”
A smile spreads like Nutella across Buck’s face as Christopher giggles. Then he’s scrambling out of his seat to meet someone in the doorway.
The man in question hauls him up by his arms and into a hug, crutches and all. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispers into his hair. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble, Ana.”
“He’s never a trouble, Mr. Diaz,” Ana says with a warm smile.
“Don’t forget your drawing, Chris,” Buck says.
Christopher wriggles free of his dad’s suddenly suffocating embrace to grab the paper from Buck. He hands it to his dad with a proud smile on his face. “I made it for you, Dad! See, it’s the 118 and the truck. I even gave you guys a dog!”
“Chris,” his dad says, crossing his hands over his hips. “What do we say when someone gives us a very important drawing we almost forgot?”
Christopher thinks on it for a moment before returning with “Thank you, Buck!”
“Is my name Buck?”
Chris swivels to meet Buck with a sigh. “ Thank you, Buck.”
Buck smiles again and signs, You’re welcome, Christopher.
“What was that sign?” Christopher’s dad asks.
“It’s my name, Dad!” Christopher exclaims, bouncing back to face his dad. “Buck gives them to people he thinks are important! You know how you always pack me an apple with my lunches? It’s the sign for ‘apple’ and the letter ‘C’! Isn’t that cool?!”
“You mean the apples I pack for you that you never eat?”
“I eat them now!” Christopher protests. His dad raises a doubtful brow. “I do! Ask Buck!”
Christopher turns to Buck nodding. “He does eat them.”
“I suppose I should thank the man that got my son to eat his fruits. Eddie Diaz,” his dad says, giving Buck his hand to shake. It’s a firm grip. Calloused, but firm.
“The Eddie Diaz?” Buck says. “Christopher talks about you non-stop.”
Eddie glances down at his son, who’s beaming up at him like he just set the stars. “Is that right?”
Christopher nods enthusiastically. “I told him you’re a firefighter, and that you save people and fight fires and eat lots of cupcakes!”
Eddie laughs. “Sometimes people give us baked goods as a thank you,” he explains. “I didn’t catch your name?”
“Evan Buckley,” Buck says quickly, flushing. “The kids call me Buck.”
“It rhymes with—!”
“Christopher,” Ana and Eddie say in unison.
“And he’s deaf!” Christopher exclaims.
“Yeah, I gathered as much, kiddo.” Eddie laughs. It’s a nice laugh. Eddie has a nice… everything, actually. He has a fringe updo, the kind you want to rake your fingers through. His eyes are a deep hazel, the kind soft like homemade chocolate pudding, and his lips, surrounded by stubble, are plush and pink. He's even got a nice build too. Where he’s shorter next to Buck’s six-foot-plus stature, Eddie makes up for in muscle. “You ready to go?”
“Can Buck come with us?”
Eddie’s mouth parts, but no words come out. Buck’s quick to save him: “Um… as much as I’d love to kiddo, I’m sure your dad didn’t plan on having a plus one for dinner.”
“We’re having a pot roast,” Eddie blurts. Buck blinks a few times and Eddie struggles for words again. He finally settles for “I mean… there’s enough for a third. If you want.”
It’s Buck’s turn for his mouth to hang open. This is certainly not where he saw his day going. “Um…”
“No pressure though,” Eddie rambles. “You probably have better things to do anyway. More rooms to clean. Not that there’s anything wrong with janitorial work. Thank you for your service.” Eddie cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. “You can shut me up at any time. In fact, I encourage you to shut me up.”
Buck laughs. “I’d love to join you.”
Eddie’s smile reaches his eyes. “Um… cool. I’m parked out back.”
“Lead the way.” He curls his fingers into his palm and taps his hand on his forehead twice.
“What sign was that?” Eddie asks.
“Eddie.”