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The sound of Evan Buckley screaming in pain wasn’t something that was going to leave Eddie Diaz’s mind any time soon.
The entirety of the 118 was camped out in the waiting room, dressed in a haphazard combination of turnouts and uniforms, street clothes and borrowed scrubs in the case of a few that had ended up with blood on them. Filling in any empty seat were family members, including the kids, all waiting to hear if Buck would be okay. As for Eddie, he had pulled a chair off to the side to get away from everything for a moment, only to be joined by Abuela, Tia Pepa, and Christopher less than an hour later. They let him brood after descending upon him with hugs and well wishes, but they wouldn’t let him sit alone.
Waiting was the hard part, because it gave his mind time to reimagine Buck’s shouts of pain with every passing moment.
He hadn’t been one of the people to help lift the truck, even though he’d wanted to. He couldn’t let go of Buck’s wrist. His fingers had been locked, pressed firmly on Buck’s pulse point, giving the man something to cling to while his world became focused only on the pain. He left the lifting to the rest of the 118 and to the amazing people that had rushed forward to help when they needed it most.
Now, sitting here in the waiting room, Eddie was sure that this night wasn’t going to leave any of them any time soon. Not until Buck was healed, out of the hospital, and back with them at the 118.
Until then, he’d just have to do his part to be Buck’s best friend and help him through whatever came next. Screaming in his head be damned.