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Texas is a little boring, to be honest.
Chris misses his friends mostly; even though he's been keeping up with everyone on snap and insta, it's still not the same - especially when said insta stories just serve to give him fomo about all his friends hanging out at the mall without him. He can't even reliably play Halo on his laptop with Denny like he used to, because the wifi at his abuelos just randomly cuts out in the middle of the game sometimes.
Which is exactly how Chris ends up throwing his xbox controller across the room in frustration, a few weeks into the trip. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take, honestly. This trip was supposed to be a punishment for dad, not for him.
He pulls his headphones off with a sigh and forces himself to get up from the desk chair to retrieve the controller. He doesn't really have the right range of motion to bend down to pick it up though, so he ends up just dejectedly lowering himself to floor next to it instead.
It's sort of ridiculous - sitting on the floor of his dad's old room in his abuelos house, frustrated near to tears by a situation entirely of his own making. So of course that's exactly when he finds it- reaching for the controller and accidentally bumping up the edge of a loose floorboard that's definitely not loose by mistake.
Chris doesn't know what he expects to find inside the hidden cubby space underneath - in the few moments between feeling the bit of floorboard come loose and actually pulling it aside, at least - but the reality is a little underwhelming. There's only three things: a half-full box of condoms that expired 15 years ago (ew), an equally ancient ziploc bag of something that Chris can only guess is marijuana, and a single leather notebook.
The notebook is small but thick, easily hundreds of pages, and Chris flips it open without really thinking about it, just idly curious. The page he lands on is filled with small, tidy cursive that Chris instantly recognizes as his dad's handwriting. He sees a date in the corner (mid-August of 2009) and realizes what he's holding at the exact same moment his eyes catch on a particular word further down the page- Shannon.
Mom.
Sometimes my love for Shannon feels too big inside my chest, the full sentence Chris stumbled upon reads. Chris swallows thickly and without meaning to, he finds himself reading the rest of the passage. I worry sometimes that she's the only thing keeping everything else together for me. Everything with my parents, everything with Carlos. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have Shannon. I don't know what I'm going to do when she goes to college.
Chris shuts the journal abruptly, mind racing. Dad never talks about her, is the thing. Even after he started going to therapy and promised Chris he would be better, he still doesn't talk about her. Sure, they'll sometimes visit her grave now, and dad always listens when Chris talks about her, but it's not lost on Chris that he never actually adds to the conversation in a meaningful way. When Chris shares a memory, he'll build off of it, but he won't share one of his own. Especially not from before Chris was born.
And now here he is, sitting on the floor of dad's childhood bedroom, and there's suddenly this huge open window to his mom - to who she was before Chris even knew her - literally sitting in his lap. He can't just walk away and pretend he never found it. It's his mom. It's not fair he never got to know her like this. He wants to get to know her.
So he opens the journal back up - to the first page this time - and he reads.
---
The journal starts four whole years before the first entry Chris read, which means dad was literally 13 when he started keeping it, the same age Chris is now. It's a little trippy to think about.
It's not a daily diary - the entries are sporadic and vary a lot in length, but dad sets the intention of it all in the very first entry with a short explanation:
My thoughts are all over the place lately, almost like there's not always enough space in my brain for all of them. Mr. Crenshaw said sometimes writing something down gets it out of your head, so I'll give it a shot I guess.
Chris doesn't know who Mr. Crenshaw is, but that first entry goes on to detail a fight dad had with abuelo about guitar lessons - apparently dad asked for them but abuelo said no. Abuelo wanted dad to focus on baseball because he was going to be in high school the next year and abuelo wanted him to try out for the junior varsity team. Abuelo won the argument and dad was pissed - but only in his journal. He wrote about all the things he wanted to say to abuelo but didn't.
Chris can relate, unfortunately.
Mom doesn't actually show up until several entries in and even then she's just a brief mention at first, a side character in another fight with abuelo. (Dad does make the junior varsity team, but then abuelo is immediately on him about his stats, already talking about college scouts even though dad is still a freshman.) Mom slowly starts to show up more and more after that though, along with another friend of dad's named Carlos who's on the baseball team with him. By the time the entries hit 2007, both names show up a lot.
The way dad talks about mom in his journal is sweet and funny and even a little reverent. They're just friends in these entries, but it's so clear how much dad admires her. It's there in the edges of every story she features in - how cool she is, how outspoken and bold and daring she is in dad's eyes. Even before anything romantic has started to happen with them, it's clear that she's his best friend. It makes Chris's chest ache a little, wishing he could have met her back then.
He doesn't realize he's crying until a tear hits one of the pages. He scrubs at this eyes and holds the journal out in front of him to protect it better. It feels a little like he's uncovered a piece of buried treasure.
A piece of mom.
He keeps reading until he gets to a page with a short entry that's entirely scratched out, dad pressing the pen so hard into the page that it pushed through in one spot even. Chris blinks. He gets up off the floor for the first time since discovering the hidden cubby and moves over to sit at the desk again instead. He holds the page up to the table lamp, squinting. It's an entry from September of 2007.
Something happened with Carlos when I was at his house last night. He
The entry just abruptly stops there, when dad apparently decided he didn't actually want to document whatever it was that had happened. It looks like he might have started another word but didn't finish it and Chris can't make out the letters through the jagged lines that cover them. There are no new entries for almost a month after.
When the entries start up again, Carlos features a lot less. He's still there in the peripherals sometimes, but he was there almost as much as mom before, so the difference is striking. Chris guesses they must've had a fight on the night featured in the aborted journal entry and stopped being friends. Even though it doesn't seem to have anything to do with mom, Chris still finds himself curious what would cause such a drastic falling out.
He might have started reading for the glimpses he's getting of his mother, but there's no denying that this is dad's journal; Chris can't pretend he isn't getting to know Eddie right alongside Shannon. More so, really, since everything is from dad's perspective. And the thing is, Chris understands a lot of what dad is going through within these pages. He relates. He empathizes. Even though he actively tries not to; he's still so angry at dad.
But that's also a part of it, really. Because the Eddie in this journal? He's angry too.
---
Part of the answer for what happened with Carlos starts to materialize in an entry from January of 2008, when Carlos apparently quit the baseball team ahead of their sophomore season. The entry is ostensibly about a fight with mom, the first one dad's documented so far. Dad writes about how someone had defaced Carlos's locker with a gay slur and mom laid into dad about not standing up for him the way she thought he should have to the rest of the baseball team.
Shannon says her mom always talks about moving to LA and that when shit like this happens she wishes they would. She says Texas is full of small-minded bigots and that it's different in California, but I don't know if I really believe that. People are always going to judge, so why make yourself a target? She just doesn't get it. If he wouldn't have told anyone then everything would still be normal. It's not like it's anyone's business anyway. But now everything is fucked up and he's quitting the team and for what? Just to be alone and miserable? I'll never understand why he did it.
Chris frowns down at the page. He knows theoretically that things were a lot different back in 2007, probably especially in high school in El Paso, but he never thought his dad would actually be homophobic. It makes Chris think about Buck and the irony that dad's best friend now dates guys too. But actually- dad has a lot of queer friends now, when Chris really thinks about it. So he must've gotten over it at some point. Maybe when they moved to LA? But it's still weird to think about him ever feeling like that. Chris wonders what Buck would think about it.
He doesn't end up lingering on the thought for too long though, because there's suddenly a lot more focus on mom in the entries that follow. In an entry a few weeks later, she and dad finally start dating and it's all dad writes about for several entries in a row.
It's a little weird, to read about things like his parents' first kiss, but it's also kind of sweet in a way. Chris has started dating a little himself, but he's definitely not dated anyone yet that makes him feel the way that dad felt about mom. These entries are just so... sappy, honestly. Chris almost feels a little embarrassed for dad as he finds his way back to that initial entry he'd started with.
Sometimes my love for Shannon feels too big inside my chest, Chris reads for the second time, and he thinks about the feelings that sometimes push out against his own chest, overwhelming him.
Lately it's been anger - at dad, but also at mom if he's being honest. She didn't write him that letter because she knew she was going to die. She wrote it because she knew she was going to leave and she didn't know if she was ever going to come back. Some days, Chris remembers that she did come back and he thinks he can forgive her. Other days, he's not sure if he ever will.
I don't know what I'm going to do when she goes to college, he reads again and it strikes him this time that mom never actually went to college. At least, not in the way dad seems to be implying here, like she'll leave him to go study in some far off place. She got her accounting degree from a local community college after Chris was born, he's pretty sure. He wonders where she had actually been planning to go, before. Before, well-
Before Chris came along and ruined her life.
He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He doesn't let himself think about it often because the guilt swirls up into his throat, sharp and jagged. What are you supposed to do when you know deep down that you're the reason your parents are miserable all the time? Because that's what it is, at the core. Chris was an accident, a mistake. And that's why his parents were never happy. That's why dad still can't be happy, why he keeps making terrible choices that just end up hurting him more. Hurting them both.
It's Chris's fault, really.
---
He keeps reading through the rest of the summer before dad's senior year, but he does have to set the journal aside eventually. It's too long to read all in one sitting, so he's only about a third of the way through when abuela calls him for dinner. He thinks it's a good thing probably. His thoughts are sort of a mess now, all tangled up and somehow still twisting even further.
But he finds that sitting across from his grandparents, fresh off reading yet another journal entry from seventeen year-old Eddie about how much they both hated Shannon, has Chris pushing aside the tangled emotions he has for his parents and unexpectedly fuming at his grandparents instead. Reading about them through dad's journal is almost like reading about two entirely different people. Chris practically lived with his grandparents before he moved to LA, so he's always been close with them. The parents in dad's journal - the absent father who only shows up to criticize Eddie, the long-suffering mother who expects Eddie to help parent his younger sisters and then is invariably disappointed in him when he handles something differently than she would have - these people are strangers to Chris. They've never acted like that with him.
"You seem quiet today, mijo," abuelo comments. "Is everything okay?"
No. Chris wants to say. I'm literally only here because I got so mad at dad I ran away. And you both let me, for some reason. Of course everything isn't okay.
"It's fine," Chris says instead. It's not worth a fight. "Just tired, I guess."
Abuela frowns at him, worried.
"Can I be excused?" he asks before she can try to push further. "I want to call Buck before his shift tonight."
Abuela frowns even deeper at that, and she shares a look with abuelo that Chris can't decipher. But all she says in response is, "of course," before moving to clear his plate.
Once he's back in his room, Chris unlocks his phone but instead of pulling up facetime he clicks into his text messages instead. His text history with dad is practically a one-sided wall at the moment. Dad has texted him literally every day since he's been in El Paso - nothing really important, but just keeping him updated on what's going on in LA. Chris hasn't completely left him on read, but his responses have been significantly fewer, and he hasn't sent anything back in a few days now.
The latest texts are from this morning.
Almost took a meat grinder to Hildy just now because that demon machine started up out of nowhere and spit coffee all over my favorite shirt, so if you come home to a house with no wifi and a manual french press you'll know why.
Then-
Kidding about the wifi. Love you, hope you have a good day with your abuelos.
He says that - love you - in practically every single text. Chris's fingers hover over the virtual keyboard to respond, but ultimately he swipes out of the app and into facetime like he planned. Buck picks up on the second ring.
"Hey Chris!" He says as he comes into frame, a wide grin lighting up his face. It looks like he's in the kitchen of his loft.
"Hey Buck," Chris answers, more subdued. So of course Buck picks up on it almost immediately.
"You okay?" he asks, smile dimming as his brows furrow in concern.
No, Chris wants to say. I found dad's journal from when he was a teenager and I've been reading it even though I know I shouldn't because mom's everywhere in it and it's making me empathize with dad even though I don't want to and I think my abuelos might have been terrible parents actually.
He can't say any of that though, because Buck is dad's best friend. It's why Chris called his abuelos in the first place, rather than just running to Buck's like he had in the past. As he's gotten older, Chris has started to recognize that Buck can't actually be objective when it comes to dad. Chris loves Buck, but he and dad are a unit. It's not that he's not on Chris's side, it's just that he's also always going to be on dad's side. No matter what.
"It's weird being back in Texas," he says instead. "I guess I forgot how different it is from LA."
Buck nods, eyes locked on the screen as he settles down into one of his dining chairs. It's something Chris has always appreciated about Buck; whenever they talk, he never has to wonder whether he has Buck's full attention.
"That makes sense," he says. "This is the longest you've been back there since you guys moved."
"Yeah," Chris agrees, "and everything's fine, it's just. Weird. I don't know. My abuelos haven't mentioned dad even once since we left. That's weird, right?"
Buck frowns.
"Um," Buck says. He looks slightly uncomfortable. "Well. Maybe they're just trying to follow your lead, bud. You know, not push you to talk about uh, about everything that happened if you're not ready."
He says it in a sort of careful tone that makes Chris think he doesn't actually believe anything he's saying. Not like he's lying - Buck doesn't lie to him - but just that he's saying what he thinks he should. Maybe even what he wishes were true. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe Buck doesn't actually like Chris's grandparents very much.
"Did you ever meet my mom?" Chris asks, and he sees Buck's eye widen at the apparent abrupt subject change.
"I- uh. Once," Buck says. "She came into the station one time, but I mostly just knew her through your dad. Well and I was-"
He cuts off abruptly, looking stricken, like he's said something he shouldn't have. Chris watches him swallow thickly before he continues.
"I was on the call with your dad the day- the day of the accident," he says softly.
The day mom died, he means. He never thought about Buck being there, but of course he was. Buck is basically always with dad, especially at work.
"My abuelos hated her," Chris says, not letting the memory of that particular day linger. "She and abuela fought all the time."
"I'm sure they didn't hate her," Buck says, voice still soft. He doesn't actually sound sure. "There was a lot of stressful stuff going on back then, especially when your dad was overseas. They might not have always gotten along, but they were family. And they always had at least one thing in common, right? They all loved you."
It's not lost on Chris that Buck doesn't say "you and your dad". He wonders whether it's his mom's or his abuelos' love that Buck isn't willing to unconditionally attribute when it comes to dad. Maybe it's both.
"I'm the problem though," Chris mutters, stomach churning with the dinner he just finished. "If mom hadn't gotten pregnant then everything would have been different. Better. Mom would've gone to college and dad wouldn't have gone to war and no one would've had a reason to fight with each other. Maybe mom would still be alive. Everyone would be happier."
"No," Buck says, so quickly and so fiercely that it takes Chris by surprise. "None of that is on you, Chris, and I know for a fact that there isn't anything in the world that your dad would trade for having you in his life. He'll tell anyone who'll listen that being your dad is the best thing he ever did."
He says it with such conviction that it makes all of the ugly thoughts that have been spinning in Chris's head quiet for a moment.
"I know that you need some space," Buck continues, "and that your dad really hurt you. But he's hurting too, Chris. Because he misses you, and because he's upset with himself for hurting you. The idea of you thinking he would be happier without you would break his heart, bud."
"I miss him too," Chris admits. "I miss you too, Buck."
"I uh, I might have cried over an ad for the aquarium the other day," Buck tells him, sheepishly, and Chris huffs a laugh in surprise, some of the heaviness of the conversation lifting slightly.
"Hey listen- okay. There was a billboard for the new sea otter habitat," Buck continues, tone teasingly defensive, "and I snapped a picture to text you that we should go this weekend but then I remembered..."
He trails off with a shrug, still smiling.
"Are you mad that I left?" Chris can't help but ask. Buck's eyes soften.
"No, I understand why you did," Buck says. "And so does your dad, for what it's worth. No one is mad at you."
Chris doesn't think he's imagining the slight emphasis on you and something about it makes him ask another question in response, even though it's hard for him to believe it's possible.
"Are you mad at dad?"
But Buck's shaking his head almost before Chris can even finish the question.
"I'm not mad at anyone," Buck says, but then adds, "it's okay if you're mad at him, though. I get it. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me about it if you are."
Chris is about to answer when there's a sound in the background on Buck's end - a knock on the door that has him frowning and looking over his shoulder, presumably at the clock on the stove.
"Sorry, that's probably a delivery," he says, fixing his eyes back on the screen. "I'll just check it later."
"No, it's okay," Chris says. "Did you get something cool?"
Buck laughs as he gets up to move towards the door, still holding the phone out in front of him.
"I actually don't remember ordering anything," he admits, before opening the door to see what's been left for him.
Turns out, it's not a package on his doorstep though. It's his boyfriend.
"Hey babe," Chris hears Tommy say, out of frame of the camera that's still pointed at Buck. "I was hoping I could take you out to dinner before your shift?"
Buck frowns again, slightly off-center as the camera moves.
"Hey Tommy," Buck says. "I actually- I can't do dinner right now. I'm on facetime with Christopher."
He flips the camera around so Tommy can see him on the phone screen, and Chris just barely catches the slight furrow of Tommy's brow before it smooths out.
"Oh, hey Christopher," he says and Chris waves at him in response, feeling suddenly very young for some reason. Then to Buck, Tommy replies, "no worries, that's on me for not texting first, I guess. My shift ended early so I thought I'd surprise you."
He doesn't sound upset, but Chris also doesn't know Tommy super well yet.
"It's okay, I have to go anyway," Chris lies when Buck turns the camera back around again. "You should go to dinner. I'll call you on Tuesday."
Buck's still frowning back at him.
"Are- you're sure?" he says, voice hesitant. "We were kind of in the middle of-"
"It's fine," Chris cuts in. "You don't need to miss out on a date because of me. We can just talk another time, Buck. It's not a big deal."
"Or we can talk now," Buck says firmly, "like we planned. You're more important to me, Chris."
You're more important to me.
He says it simply, like he's just stating an objective fact, his eyes never wavering from Chris's through the screen. And he says it - presumably - right in front of his new boyfriend.
Chris isn't sure what to do with that.
---
He does manage to convince Buck to go to dinner, holding fast to the lie that he has to get off the phone anyway. He's not totally sure Buck believes him, but he figures there's only so much Buck can do with Tommy literally standing right in front of him.
Besides, Buck had already managed to pull Chris out of the negative spiral he'd been rapidly descending into since before his own dinner. He's genuinely already feeling better by the time he convinces Buck to hang up.
Which means, probably, that he shouldn't immediately go back to the journal now, in case it makes him feel worse again. He eyes it where it's still sitting open on the desk, considering.
He picks his phone back up instead, re-opening his text messages to the thread with dad.
wud u let me do guitar lessons if i wanted, he sends before he can think better of it. The three dots of dad typing back show up almost immediately.
Of course. If you want to try to find something while you're still in TX, I'll need to talk to your abuelos but I'm sure I can work something out with them if that's what you want.
Chris sighs, flopping down from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed to instead lying on it crossways. He doesn't even know what he was trying to prove to himself with that question.
maybe when i'm home, he sends back. The three dots appear again and then vanish. After a moment dad taps back with a heart. Chris tosses the phone back down onto the bed.
He reaches for the anger that's been simmering under his skin for weeks now, but he doesn't find it. Maybe he's not actually angry at dad anymore.
He reluctantly pulls himself back up off the bed, getting up just enough to grab the journal off the desk before laying back down again, propped up against the headboard this time. He still doesn't necessarily think it's a good idea for him to keep reading, but he's more or less resigned himself to the fact that he's going to anyway. He started this, he has to finish it now.
So of course, the very next entry opens with, I had sex with Shannon last night.
Chris slams the journal closed and bangs his head back against the headboard, suddenly very aware of what else he found hidden in the little cubby alongside the journal. Okay, so maybe he doesn't need to read the whole thing. He can... skim some parts.
He tentatively opens the journal back to the page he was on and squints down at it with one eye, as if that will somehow save him from reading something that might scar him for life. Thankfully, a quick scan of the page says there aren't really any details, so Chris feels like it's probably safe to continue reading. He also realizes that there's another line scribbled out.
It wasn't like I thought it would be, dad writes, and then the next sentence is scribbled out. Chris tries not to think about the fact that he's reading about his parents having sex as he holds the journal up towards the light again. It's harder to make out the scribbled out words this time, though. He thinks the beginning of the sentence says, It was different than it was, but he can't figure out the rest. It was different than what was?
And why was dad censoring himself in his own private journal?
Chris eventually gives up and moves on when no amount of change in angle causes the words to miraculously reveal themselves. He ends up making it almost all the way to his mom and dad's high school graduation before stopping this time. In the latest entries he reads, there are a lot more fights between dad and abuelo about college and the fact that dad hadn't been scouted to play baseball like abuelo clearly hoped. Chris also finds out that that his mom was planning to go to UCLA for college. She was really excited about it. Dad wasn't.
He didn't want her to leave.
It was another one of those things dad only told his journal though. He told mom that he was excited for her and that he'd come visit, but in his journal he confessed he thought she'd break up with him before she left.
I don't know if I can survive this town without her, one entry says. It's the last thing Chris reads before he falls asleep.
---
The next morning, Chris leaves a note for his abuelos on the fridge and heads down to lake on the edge of their property. He sits on a bench overlooking the water and facetimes his dad.
"Chris?" dad's voice is worried as he pops into frame. His hair is mussed and he's clearly just sat up in bed.
Chris feels a pang of guilt. He forgot it was an hour earlier in pacific time.
"Sorry to wake you up," Chris says, but dad waves him off. There's a slight rustling and the camera shakes a bit as he sits up more fully.
"I'm glad you called," he says, and it sounds genuine. He's still frowning a bit though. "What's going on? You okay?"
They haven't spoken on the phone in almost three weeks, exactly how long Chris has been in El Paso.
"Everything here reminds me of mom," Chris tells him. It's not what he meant to say, but maybe it's as good a place to start as any. He watches as dad's breath catches for a moment before being released in a shaky exhale.
"Yeah," dad says, voice rough, "she loved to take you to the lake."
The lake isn't even in the shot - Chris is facing the wrong way - but clearly dad can tell where he is anyway.
"Did you guys used to come out here before too?" he asks, then clarifies- "Before I was born?"
"We did, yeah," dad confirms. Chris thinks for a moment that's all he's going to say and he can feel the annoyance rising back up in him when dad surprises him by continuing, "Shannon loved to swim. Even before we were dating, we would hang out down there all the time. We actually uh-" dad pauses, flushing a little- "we actually had our first kiss on the bench I think you're sitting on, bud."
Chris actually already knew that. He read about it in dad's journal. He still isn't expecting dad to say it out loud.
He never talks about mom.
"You never tell me stuff like that," Chris says. "You never talk about her."
"I know. I'm sorry," dad says. "I want to be able to talk about her with you, Chris, I just- it's hard for me. I'm going to work on it though, okay? I'm talking about it with Frank, I promise."
Frank is dad's therapist, just like Chris has Dr. Lim. The difference is that dad never actually seems to feel any better after talking to Frank.
"Listen," dad says, after a moment. He looks nervous. "There are some things about your mom - and about what happened before you left - that I think we should talk about. When you're ready. It doesn't have to be right now, I just want you to know that I do want to talk to you about it, whenever you want to."
Chris doesn't know if he'll ever want to talk about what happened before he left. But he thinks he understands now that dad not talking to him is right at the center of all of Chris's anger with him, so. He thinks he probably needs to hear whatever dad has to say.
"We can talk now," Chris says, and he watches dad swallow thickly in response. He wonders if dad was actually hoping he'd let him off the hook. It's not a particularly nice thought.
"I didn't realize how much I still- that I hadn't really dealt with your mom's death, until I met Kim," dad says, then clarifies- "that's the- the woman you saw at the house. I'm so sorry about that, Chris. She never should have been there, and I swear I didn't invite her, but she- sorry. Sorry, that's not important right now."
Dad shakes his head a little.
"What I meant to say is that when I met her, it really threw me," he continues. "Obviously you saw how much she looked like your mom, and it just brought up a lot of unresolved stuff for me. I should have gone to Frank when I realized, but I didn't. I made a lot of bad decisions, Chris, and I'm not gonna try to excuse any of them to you. I just want to try to explain what I can."
Chris reaches for the anger again, but he still can't find it. Maybe it is really gone. He wishes that was a more comforting thought, but it's not really.
"There are some things that happened before your mom died, that I should've talked to you about," dad says. "I told myself that it didn't have anything to do with you, but I think I just didn't want to admit some of it. Your mom was so happy to be back in your life - I don't ever want you to doubt that for a second, okay? But the truth is, she had decided that she didn't want to be back in mine, at least not in the same way she was before. She asked me for a divorce."
Chris stares at his dad though the tiny phone screen. His eyes are red now, like he's trying not to cry.
They were going to get a divorce.
It shouldn't be that surprising; Chris can't really remember a version of his parents that were happy together. He knows they existed at some point - in the pages of his dad's high school journal, if nowhere else - but Chris never got to see them like that, not really.
"And I think maybe I got stuck in that moment, in a way," dad continues when Chris still doesn't respond. "She asked me for a divorce a few days before the accident happened, so we never actually got to talk about it again. For a long time, I really wanted to believe that I would've changed her mind and we would've been a family again. But lately I don't know. She wanted a divorce for a reason. If she had lived, we probably would have gotten one, and you'd be splitting time between us now - living with her on the weekends or something, you know?"
Chris tries to picture it, but he's not sure he can. Despite dad's assurances to the contrary, he thinks if mom was planning to divorce dad then she was just as likely planning to leave them both again. Maybe she would've at least left Chris another letter if she'd had the chance.
"I should've told you all of that a long time ago," dad says. "I'm really sorry."
Chris considers him for a long moment. When he finally opens his mouth to respond, the question that comes out isn't quite what he expects.
"Did you even like Marisol?" he asks.
Dad looks surprised too, but now that it's out there Chris realizes he really wants to know the answer.
"What I did was really terrible," dad says after a moment, like he's choosing his words carefully, "especially to Marisol. She didn't deserve the way I treated her, and not only because of what happened with Kim. I did like her, but I knew I wasn't falling in love. I guess I just told myself that I... would, eventually."
"Well I liked Marisol," Chris says, and he doesn't miss dad's wince, "and it sucks that I'm probably never going to see her again and I don't get any say in it."
"I could talk to her," dad offers, steeling himself in a way that Chris knows means he really would even though it's clearly the last thing he wants to do. "I could-"
"I don't want you to talk to Marisol for me," Chris cuts in. "I just don't want to ever do this again. I don't want you to keep making decisions that affect both of us without talking to me."
"Okay," dad says immediately. "Okay, that's fair. That's- I can work on that. I will work on that. I promise. No more family decisions without family discussions."
"Okay," Chris agrees, because he knows it's a start. He knows dad is trying.
"I should go," he adds though, because this conversation has been a lot and Chris kind of wants to crawl back into bed now. "I'll talk to you after your next shift."
Dad doesn't ask how Chris knows his schedule. Chris isn't surprised; he's sure Buck has at least told him about Chris's calls in passing, if not in substance.
"I'm really glad you called, Christopher," dad says. "I love you."
"I love you too," Chris says before ending the call.
He stares out across the lake as he tries to sort through the knot of emotions in his chest. The roiling anger from when he first left is gone, but some amount of frustration is still there. There's also pockets of anxiety and sadness and stress and helplessness. There's still the ever-present pit of grief. But there's some relief and comfort now too. Some burgeoning trust and hope. Everything isn't broken irrevocably. It can still be fixed.
Chris just has to go home first.
---
He spends the rest of the day holed up in his room with dad's journal.
It turns out Chris's mom found out she was pregnant literally the day after graduation. He's been dreading the entry where dad finds out, trying to prepare himself for the disappointment he knows he'll find. But when he finally gets there, it's not what he expects.
I proposed to Shannon today, the entry starts.
And suddenly, where so many previous entries had been full of his dad's anxiety about the future, this one is strangely... calm. Confident even. If anything, he's excited.
Shannon doesn't love the idea of deferring her enrollment a year, or of me enlisting, for that matter. But she came around when I laid it all out. With just one tour as a medic, I could set us up enough to afford on-campus family housing the year after. And if I enlist now, I might even be done by the time the baby is born. Or at least be close to it. We'll move to LA together, and I can watch the baby while she's in class and find a place to work nights. Lots of places want to hire veterans, so I bet I could find something. I know I can build a good life for them both.
That's not what happened, though, of course. Chris's birth had complications and with his CP diagnosis, he'd needed several surgeries in the first few years of his life (and several more in the years since). Surgeries that had cost a lot of money. So mom hadn't ever made it to UCLA, and dad had re-enlisted after his first tour, and eventually got discharged with three bullet holes and a medal to show for it.
The guilt crawls back up Chris's throat. He doesn't know if he wants to read anymore, but there's only two entries left now.
One is just before dad leaves for basic training, still hopeful and excited about the future. The other entry - the last entry - is on Chris's birthday.
Christopher. God, but he's the most perfect thing I've ever seen. I can't believe he's mine. Shannon - I'll allow she could make something that beautiful, absolutely. But me? I keep feeling like the nurses are gonna pull him out of my arms and tell me there's been a mistake, that he's not for me to have. I don't know how I can have something this precious. He is everything. He's like all the love I have for Shannon made solid. More love than I knew I had even. Like maybe they pulled my heart right out of my chest and now it's just Christopher.
I only have a week left of my leave before I have to go back and finish my tour, but I know now there's nothing in this world that could keep me from coming home to my son. I don't know anything about what it means to be a good dad, but I swear I'm going to try. I'm going to try so hard to be everything he needs. I'm going to take care of them. Of him. I promised myself the moment I saw him, and it's promise I'm going to keep. No matter what.
Christopher is my whole world now.
Chris shuts the journal and cries into a pillow so that his grandparents won't hear him. He cries for a really long time.
When he finally gets up again, he texts dad that he's ready to come home.
---
Dad shows up in El Paso just after seven the next morning. Which should not be possible, for a number of reasons. The chief of which is that dad should still be on shift at the firehouse in LA. And it's not like Bobby might've given him special consideration, because there's a different captain at the 118 right now, someone who Chris knows for a fact that Buck, for one, really does not like.
Which makes Chris even more concerned when Buck climbs out of dad's truck right behind him.
"What are you doing here?" Chris says, maybe a little sharper than he means to in his worry. Dad has the grace to at least look a little embarrassed.
"You said you were ready to come home," dad reminds him, his voice affecting a cheer that doesn't quite land. "So we thought we'd make a road trip of it."
Chris narrows his eyes, glancing back and forth between his dad and Buck.
"Are you guys fired?" he asks.
Buck winces.
"Um, probably not?" But he does not sound particularly confident in that assessment.
"Either we get back and Bobby's also back, in which case everything will be fine," dad says. "Or we get back and find out Bobby's never coming back, in which case we wouldn't have wanted to stay at the 118 anyway. So either way, it's- it'll be fine."
Buck nods, and it feels a little like a speech they've both been practicing telling themselves for the whole twelve hour trip.
"So you are fired. Great," Chris mutters sarcastically. "Well, don't tell abuela because you know she'll freak out and try to keep me here if she finds out you don't have a job."
"We can brainstorm new careers on the trip back!" Buck enthuses brightly. "I can always go back to bartending and I think your dad would make a good mechanic."
He's bouncing on his heels slightly, all chaotic energy and typical upbeat Buck, but Chris knows it's an act. He remembers how depressed Buck had been after the bombing had him out on medical leave for so long. He loves being a firefighter. So does dad.
Chris doesn't even want to think about the last time dad gave up firefighting.
"Look, I know it sounds bad," dad says, like he knows exactly what Chris is thinking. "But it's different this time. Buck and I are in this together. We all are. So we'll be able to figure it out even if Hen's plan to get Bobby back falls through, okay? Together, Chris. I promise."
It's the right thing to say.
"I need to pack my stuff," Chris says, moving to head back towards the house, but dad motions for him to wait. He shares a meaningful look with Buck.
"Is it okay if Buck takes care of that for you?" he asks. "I was hoping I could talk to you about something before we head back out."
Dad looks nervous, but Buck smiles at him reassuringly. Whatever dad wants to tell him, Buck already knows. Chris supposes he would be more surprised if he didn't; they did just spend twelve hours in a vehicle together, and Buck isn't one for long silences.
"Okay," Chris agrees eventually. "At the lake?"
Dad smiles, more genuine than he has since he and Buck arrived.
"Yeah," he says, "let's go to the lake."
---
It's almost déjà vu - sitting on the bench by the lake in the early morning Texas sun, about to have an important conversation with his dad. Obviously it's different in some ways - sitting next to him instead of seeing him through the small phone screen - but it's mostly the same.
"I'm really glad you called yesterday," dad says, squinting out over the lake before focusing back on Chris, "and I really appreciate you being willing to talk about what happened. I know we used to tell each other that talking about things makes them less scary and I really believe that, I do, but it's still really hard for me sometimes. You're a lot braver than I am."
Chris looks up at him sharply, worried he's being condescended to - dad is a war hero who runs into burning buildings for a living, of course he's brave - but he looks sincere. Sincere and maybe even a little... ashamed?
"You've been shot four times," Chris reminds him. "This is just talking."
Dad laughs, and the heavier emotion, whatever it was, leaves his eyes.
"Okay smartass," dad says, but there's no bite to it. "Let's talk then."
Chris sees the tension creep back into dad's shoulders as he takes a steadying breath though.
"The conversation we started yesterday- I told you I'd been working on things with Frank," dad starts, "and talking things out with him made me realize something, about myself."
Dad shifts his gaze out to the lake again, and this time he leaves it there.
"I really loved your mom," he says softly, wistfully almost, and Chris wonders if he's remembering all the moments he wrote about in his journal - two kids who didn't know what life had in store for them yet. "She was my best friend, you know? So even when things got really hard between us, I guess I still always believed we'd find our way back eventually. And uh, when- when she died, I think with Marisol - with Ana - I was trying to recreate a picture I had in my head that uh, maybe wasn't ever real to begin with."
Dad sighs, finally looking back at Chris again.
"I think dating those women, maybe even with your mom - I was trying to be someone that I'm just... not. I was trying to do what I thought other people needed, instead of what would actually make me happy," he says.
"So what would make you happy?" Chris asks.
"Being your dad," dad says immediately, and Chris rolls his eyes.
"No, I'm serious," dad says, hands up in defense. "That's what I realized, bud - I love our family just the way that it is. You and me. I'm done trying to force something that neither of us needs, let alone actually wants."
Chris narrows his eyes slightly.
"So you're done dating?" he asks.
Dad huffs a small laugh, a little on the self-deprecating side.
"Yeah," he says. "I'm done dating. At least for awhile."
He shifts a little and then takes another fortifying breath.
"But also," he adds. "If I do date again - in the distant future - I don't think it'll be a woman next time. I- I'm gay, Chris."
Chris blinks.
That... is not what he expected dad to tell him.
He thinks about the way dad wrote about his friend Carlos in his journal and how Chris had thought it meant dad was homophobic, but maybe it was something else entirely. He wonders if Buck- oh god. Buck.
I really loved your mom. She was my best friend.
"No," Chris says aloud, forcefully, as soon at the thought hits him.
"No?" dad repeats warily.
"You can't- You-" Chris knows he's not saying anything coherent, but his heart is suddenly pounding and he can't focus on anything else, "I don't care if you're gay, dad. Whatever, okay? But you- you're not allowed to date Buck. You can't."
Chris thinks he might be shaking. Dad reaches out and puts his hands on his shoulders, steadying him. He looks alarmed.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," dad says.
"No, no!" Chris says. "It's not- it's. Buck isn't just your friend, he's my- he's mine too. He's- you can't date him. You have to promise me."
"I'm not dating Buck," dad says, his hands soothing up and down Chris's arms. "Chris, I hear you, okay? I hear you. No family decisions without family discussions. That's what we said. It's okay. You're okay. Breathe, buddy."
Chris pulls in a shaky breath and then another. He reminds himself that Buck is up at the house right now, that he drove twelve hours to be here, that he's not going anywhere.
"Marisol was- I really only knew her for a few months," Chris says when he feels a little calmer. "But Buck- Buck is really important to me, dad."
You're more important to me, Chris, he hears Buck's voice echo in his head.
Dad looks at him, ducking his head a bit to make sure he can catch Chris's eye and hold it.
"I know," he says, seriously. "He's important to me too. But we're not dating, okay? He's dating Tommy, remember?"
Tommy. Right.
"Right," Chris says aloud, "but that's-"
You're more important to me, Chris.
Chris grimaces. Tommy is like Marisol, he thinks - he's not permanent.
"Buck wouldn't choose Tommy over you, though," is what Chris ends up saying aloud. He doesn't miss how dad flushes in response.
"Well that's- that's Buck's business," dad says, "but we just established that I'm not going to be dating anytime soon, right? And if I did, I would talk to you about it first. That's what we decided."
"Okay," Chris says eventually, feeling a little silly as the anxiety starts to fade. "Okay. Yeah, okay."
"Okay I- Sorry. That I freaked out," he says after a moment, when it no longer feels like his heart might beat right out of his chest.
Dad laughs a little, but it's tinged with relief.
"I have to admit that when I practiced this conversation with Frank, that was not actually one of the responses we considered," he says.
"You practiced with Frank?" Chris asks, a little incredulous.
"Hey, cut me some slack, kid. You're only the second person I've come out to," dad says.
"Oh," Chris says, feeling suddenly terrible, rather than just silly. He reaches out and touches dad's chin to get him to look up again. "I uh. I think that's really brave, dad. I should have said that first. Sorry."
Dad smiles at him, eyes a little wet.
"I love you, Christopher," he says. "I'm so glad you're my kid."
"I love you too," Chris says.
Then-
"Can we please go home now?"
---
It's only slightly awkward when they get back to the house. Buck has all of Chris's things ready to go and has also apparently had time to make french toast in abuela's kitchen, now serving it out to Chris's utterly baffled grandparents.
"You made breakfast?" dad teases Buck fondly.
Buck flushes slightly.
"I figured it was the least I could do, showing up unannounced," he says, glancing at abuela nervously. Then he looks between Chris and dad. "Everything... good?"
Chris flushes a little, thinking about his outburst at the lake. He hopes dad won't tell Buck about it.
"Yeah," Chris answers for them both. "We're good to go."
"You're going to leave now?" abuelo finally speaks up. "No. Come, sit. Your father hasn't even said hello to us. And your Buck made enough french toast to feed the neighborhood."
"Hi dad," dad says, rolling his eyes but dutifully taking a seat at the table. He looks over at abuela and adds, "hi mom. Sorry I didn't tell you we were coming."
"Well I suppose we didn't really give you a heads up last time either," abuela acknowledges, and dad's eyebrows shoot up, surprised. Abuelo snorts.
"Yes, maybe we can all be a little better about communicating with one another in the future," abuelo suggests.
"Yeah," dad agrees, still looking a little shocked. He glances over at Chris. "Christopher and I were just talking about that. I think that would be good for... for all of us."
"Thanks for letting me stay with you these last few weeks," Chris says, because he is grateful. He needed this time away, he thinks.
"Of course, mijo," abuelo says. "You know you're always welcome here."
He looks at dad and then, oddly enough, at Buck, before adding-
"You know you boys are all welcome here. We're your family."
Abuela purses her lips like she might be physically stopping herself from saying something in response to that - but then she just smiles instead. It looks a little forced maybe, but it's still progress.
"We do have to get going soon," dad says, though he does actually sound apologetic now. "We've got a long drive ahead of us."
"Driving all the way from California," abuela tsks in response, shaking her head. "I don't know why you couldn't have just flown here."
"Plane tickets are expensive, mom," dad replies evenly, the good humor he'd gained seeming to vanish all at once. "Especially last minute."
"Well it didn't have to be last minute," abuela says, looking to abuelo. "You know we would have been happy to have Christopher for another couple of weeks while you... figured things out-"
"Helena," abuelo cuts in. "It's already done. Our son can handle his own affairs."
Abuela snorts at his choice of words, but then seems chastened when abuelo frowns at her. Dad flushes - though whether it's from annoyance or embarrassment, Chris can't tell.
"Okay," dad says, standing up abruptly. Annoyance then. "We need to get going."
Everyone else reluctantly stands as well, and Chris isn't surprised that dad immediately moves to hug abuela goodbye, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Even when he's mad at her, she's still his mom.
They say their goodbyes and when Buck grabs Chris's bags to head out to the truck, Chris sees abuelo stop him for a moment, their voices too low for Chris to hear what they're saying before abuelo offers his hand to shake. Buck takes it but uses it to pull abuelo into a hug instead. Abuelo seems a little startled, but then returns it readily.
Chris chances a glance at dad and he isn't surprised to see his eyes caught on the same scene. His smile is back and it's gone a little goofy even.
Chris feels his stomach sink.
---
They don't end up driving all the way back to LA. At least not all in one day.
They make it as far as Phoenix - about the halfway point - before Buck pulls off the interstate. It's only about three o'clock, so there's still plenty of time to make it to LA, but Buck declares they need a break.
"So there's a huge aquarium nearby, biggest one in the entire Southwest US," Buck says. "I looked it up."
He pulls out his phone - open to the aquarium home page - and hands it to Chris, while dad gives him a pointed look over the center console.
"We don't have time to go to an aquarium, Buck," dad says.
"So we'll spend the night in Arizona and head home tomorrow morning," Buck argues. "It's like you said - if we're fired, we're fired. What does one extra day matter?"
Dad shakes his head but Chris can tell almost immediately that he's going to cave.
So they spend the day in Arizona. The aquarium is really cool and while dad is distracted, Buck even buys Chris a little penguin plushie keychain from the gift shop. It's a good day.
Dinner is gas station pizza while Buck googles an affordable motel that isn't gross. He finds one pretty close by. Buck is an expert at googling things.
The only problem with the motel, it turns out, is that they don't have any doubles left. Dad shrugs at the guy behind the counter and he looks from dad to Buck a little skeptically, but he still takes dad's card.
Dad calls first dibs on the shower when they get to the room, so Chris and Buck lounge on the bed while Buck fills him in on what's been going on at the station with the captain he doesn't like. It's kind of a wild story, but Buck doesn't try to dumb it down for Chris. He never does when they talk about things.
"So if the councilwoman doesn't step down or if she does and he still doesn't get fired, you're all going to quit?" Chris asks. "Even Hen and Chimney?"
"Yep," Buck confirms. "It sucks, but. We gotta stick together on stuff like this. Y-you can't let bullies push you around, you know?"
"Yeah," Chris agrees, a little reluctantly, "but then you guys won't get to work together anymore."
"But we'll still be family," Buck says confidently. "That doesn't change."
Chris nods, but he doesn't know if he has Buck's conviction. People still leave. Even when they're supposed to be family.
"Hey," Buck says, after a moment. "Your dad told me what you guys talked about this morning."
Chris's head whips up to stare at him in panic.
"He did?" he asks. They've been together all day; when did he even have time? "When?"
Buck frowns.
"Well, I mean, we talked about it on the drive out," Buck clarifies, and Chris's heart slows back down in relief. "I know it was a big deal for him, to- to share that with you. He told me he doesn't want you to ever feel like he's keeping secrets from you again."
Chris nods, looking at a painting on the far wall to avoid Buck's searching gaze. It's of a sailboat in a storm.
"I guess I just wanted to check in with you about it," Buck adds when Chris doesn't otherwise respond. "See if you wanted to talk about anything?"
"I kind of freaked out," Chris admits softly, his eyes tracing the edges of the waves in the painting. "He keeps making decisions about our life that I don't get any say in and I got worried it was happening again."
"I get that," Buck says. "But I think maybe some of those decisions were because your dad was, uh. Because he's maybe been struggling with this, even if he didn't realize it. So now that he's figured it out, I think maybe it's kind of like a- I think maybe he'll be able to make better decisions now. Because he understands why those things - the uh, the things he was doing before - he understands now why those things were hurting him. Hurting you both."
"He said no more family decisions without family discussions," Chris tells him. He thinks he sees Buck smile out of the corner of his eye, but Chris keeps his gaze locked on the little sailboat.
"That's a good rule," Buck says. "I like that."
Chris sighs and drops his eyes down to the bedspread.
"Buck?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"If mom didn't die, I think she would have left again," Chris says. He can feel his eyes welling up and he tries to push the tears back down. This is already so embarrassing; he doesn't want to cry about it.
"W-why do you think that?" Buck asks. He shifts a little closer to Chris so that their arms are pressed together.
Chris shrugs.
"Dad said she asked him for a divorce," he says.
"Well, a- a divorce just means that she didn't want to stay married to your dad," Buck tells him, "not that she didn't want to be your mom. I think she was really excited to be back in your life. I think she- she felt really bad about leaving and she was really glad to have another chance with you."
"But you don't know that," Chris snaps. "You barely even knew her."
"That's- that's true," Buck admits softly. "But-"
"Dad said that too," Chris says, feeling the frustrated tears starting to build despite himself. "He said that she wanted to stay, but he doesn't really know either. No one does, because she's dead!"
Chris doesn't even realize the water has shut off in the bathroom until the bed is dipping down with a new weight as dad sits down on the opposite side from Buck.
"Hey, hey," he says, matching Buck's softness. "What's going on?"
Chris leans sideways into dad and buries his face in his slightly damp t-shirt as he starts to cry in earnest. God, it's so embarrassing. He's thirteen, not a toddler.
But dad just rubs his back and presses a kiss into his hair.
"Hey, you're okay," he soothes, "I got you. I got you."
Buck shifts beside him and the arm that had been pressed against Chris's instead comes down across his shoulders, hugging Chris from the side even as he's still pressed into dad's chest.
"Here's something I do know," Buck's voice says above him. "Me and your dad? We're not going anywhere. Even if you get mad at us sometimes. Even if we hurt each other sometimes. You could even go all the way to, I don't know, let's say... Texas-" he can hear the smile in Buck's voice now- "and your dad and I would just wait until you were ready and then we'd come find you and bring you home. You're stuck with us, kid."
Chris feels, more than hears, dad's chuckle in response.
"Exactly," dad agrees. Then he adds, more seriously, "I know everything with your mom- it's a lot. It's really hard. And I should've done more to help you process it. I'm sorry I was so caught up in my own grief that I haven't been there for you the way I should've been. But I am now. And when we get home, maybe we can even do some sessions with Dr. Lim together, okay? And she can help us talk about the things that are really hard, the things that are scary."
Chris sniffles a little, but he can feel himself calming down.
"But Christopher," dad continues, squeezing him just a little tighter. "just because your mom left, that doesn't mean she didn't want to stay. And it doesn't mean that anyone else is going to leave. Especially not me. And not Buck, okay?"
Chris finally pulls back just enough to look at his dad, then over at Buck too. Both of their eyes are wet and it makes him feel a little less embarrassed.
He takes a shaky breath and forces himself to keep his eyes on Buck when he asks-
"What if you and dad aren't friends anymore, though. What would happen then?"
Chris sees Buck's gaze flicker to dad before holding his, steady.
"Well unfortunately, you're actually both stuck with me," Buck says, but when he sees Chris's brow start to furrow he relents- "But, okay- even in some bizarro world where- where your dad becomes tiktok famous and decides he's suddenly too cool to hang out with me anymore - you, kid, are still stuck with me. We'll just hang out without him and leave him to his adoring fans."
Chris rolls his eyes at the same time dad does and Buck laughs, loud and bright.
"Why is dad tiktok famous?" Chris can't help asking.
"Oh he rescues Felisa Valdez's cat from a swimming pool and a video of it goes viral," Buck answers instantly, and dad smacks him.
"Felisa doesn't have a cat," dad says, and Buck snorts.
"See? Look who's on a first name basis with famous movie stars," Buck says. "You're just proving my point here, Eddie."
As Chris listens to them banter, he feels the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen and eventually fall away. And when he falls asleep that night, tucked between them, he realizes he feels a new emotion settling in it's place, warm and comforting.
He feels safe.
---
When they get back to LA, Bobby is indeed captain of the 118 again, and no one is fired.
Well, no one besides the other captain. Buck says he deserves it though, so Chris guesses that's okay.
It's not until a few weeks later, after dad nags him for the third time, that Chris bothers unpacking his bags from Texas. So it's also not until then that he accidentally finds dad's journal again for the second time, tucked into a pocket of his backpack. Chris realizes he'd left it sitting out on the desk and Buck must've assumed it was his.
He turns it over in his hands a couple of times, considering. He re-reads the last entry again, but manages not to cry this time.
Then he goes to find his dad.
Dad doesn't seem to understand what he's being given at first when Chris finds him folding laundry on the couch and hands it over. He frowns down at it for a moment before glancing back up at Chris.
"I found it when I was at abuelos," Chris explains. "I um. I read it. I'm sorry."
They had their first session together with Dr. Lim the other day and it had been really hard - they'd both cried - but it had been good too. Chris can see that dad really is different now. Steadier. More open with Chris. He wants dad to know he's trying too.
Dad flips open the journal and skims a couple of pages, eyes widening.
"Oh my god," he says, but he's smiling. "I never thought I'd see this again. I'd forgotten all about it."
He looks back up at Chris.
"You read it?" he asks. He doesn't sound angry.
"I saw mom's name in it and I wanted-" Chris starts then stops. Tries again- "I never got to know her the way you did."
Dad's smile turns a little wistful.
"Did it- was it- I don't really remember what all is in here," he admits.
"There's a lot of mom in it," Chris tells him, "so it- yeah, I- I feel like I got to know her a little more. And you too."
Dad's face does something complicated that Chris isn't sure how to interpret.
"Are you mad at me?" he asks.
"No, no I'm not mad," dad says quickly. "I understand why you wanted to read it, and honestly, it's been too long for there to be any secrets in here still worth keeping, if there ever were any. I appreciate you telling me, though."
"You uh, you wrote about me," Chris tells him. "towards the end of it. I thought maybe you would be scared or sad when you found out mom was pregnant, but you weren't."
"Oh I was plenty scared," dad says with a laugh. "I was scared I wouldn't know how to be a good dad. That I would screw up, fail you and your mom. But I also knew I loved you enough to never stop trying."
Chris sits beside him on the couch and lets himself be pulled into a side hug.
"I love you too, dad," he says and he feels dad press a kiss into his hair.
After a moment, dad sets the journal aside and goes back to folding the laundry, giving Chris silent permission to end the conversation if he wants.
But there's something else Chris needs to say.
"I'm sorry for how I reacted at the lake," he says, and dad pauses with the shirt in his hands half-folded. He lets it fall back into the pile as he turns back to Chris.
"You don't ever have to apologize for telling me how you feel," dad says, tone serious. "That's exactly what I want you to do, Chris. Even when you think I don't want to hear it. Especially then."
"I know, but-" Chris sighs, trying to figure out exactly what he wants to say- "it- it wasn't. I was just scared. I didn't mean to freak out."
"I understood why you were scared," dad reassures him, but it feels like he's still not understanding what Chris is trying to say.
"But I'm not anymore," he says. "I'm not scared anymore, dad."
Dad raises an eyebrow.
"Yeah?" he asks, cautious but also maybe... hopeful.
"I want you to be happy," Chris tells him. "I want us all to be happy. Together."
Dad's eyes go a little shiny and he leans over to press another kiss into Chris's hair. Chris huffs a little but lets him.
"Family decisions mean family discussions," dad reminds him. "So maybe- maybe when Buck comes over for dinner later, we can have a family discussion about it. Would that be okay?"
And honestly? Yeah.
Chris has never been more sure that everything is going to be okay.