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Eddie should've known better.
As he sits in his truck, gasping for air with a tree branch piercing his abdomen he thinks about how he should've known moving to Texas wasn't going to be so easy. He thought that leaving his found family to move back to a state he left for a reason to be around people he purposely distanced himself from and be close to his son, leaving somebody who was more that just his best friend, someone who was the second-most-important person in his life was going to be the most difficult part of moving. He never considered that on the drive to El Paso that something would happen to stop him. He never predicted something like a tree falling on his truck and injuring him.
It's only been about an hour since he drove away with Buck shrinking in his rearview mirror. He decided to take the longer route to give himself as much time as he can to think about what to say to Chris when he reaches El Paso. Chris seemed upset that Eddie's moving back to Texas, but he hasn't said anything about returning to LA so there aren't that many options. Eddie found a house to rent monthly so that they can come back home whenever they decide together that it's time. First, though, he needs to fix his relationship with his son.
He's on a scenic road that doesn't get a lot of traffic, so he doesn't know how long he'll be out there considering he hasn't passed any cars on his drive down this street. He looks at his phone that's sitting in a mount on his dashboard, the blue line taunting him as it tells him to turn right in three miles. He reaches out to grab it, wincing as the muscles pull around the branch. Eddie almost calls for help but pauses as he takes in the seriousness of his injury; they'll want to stay on the phone with him, and he doesn't know how much time he has, if he has any at all. He thinks about Chris, about how he wishes he could hear his voice one last time and scrolls through his contacts before finding his son's name and calling him.
The phone rings and rings before going to voicemail. Eddie hangs up and tries again, hoping Chris will see him calling again and realize it's important. But instead it rings twice before he's manually sent to voicemail. A lump forms in his throat as the situation settles in: he's all alone, he wants to talk to his son, and the universe couldn't even give him that. He looks out the window towards where the ground suddenly drops into a ravine. It had stopped raining not took long ago, and with the way the sun is shining through the leaves of the trees, it's absolutely breathtaking. It's something both Buck and Chris would take a picture of. When he hears the beep of the voicemail, a smile appears on his face despite the tears welling in his eyes.
"Hey Chris, hi bud...Listen, I, uh, I know you're still mad at me, and I get it. I know we have a lot to talk about, and it'll take a long time to...to get back to where we were. But, um, I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and that I'm proud of the person you've become. You've gone through so much, and you've come so far. You're smart, you're kind, and you're just such a good kid. I'm proud to say that I'm your father..." Eddie looks around again and winces, taking in a sharp breath as the pain gets worse. He glances down and tries not to panic at the amount of blood that's seeping into his shirt and leaking from the wound. "But, yeah, I just wanted to call and say that I love you, and I miss you. I'll—I'll see you soon, okay? Alright, love you, bud."
He hangs up.
The sun beats down on Chris as he and his friends hang by the pool his grandparents just installed in the backyard. He's laughing at some story Nate's telling when his phone starts ringing. He sees that it's Buck and decides to ignore it; he hasn't talked to Buck since leaving LA, despite Buck's multiple attempts at contacting him. Chris is still upset about everything, and it's awkward to talk to Buck and not his dad.
The phone stops ringing, but almost immediately it starts again. A couple of his friends glance at it, but he pays it no mind, wanting to ignore the looming dread of cutting off someone he considers his best friend. When it stops ringing again, he's not surprised it starts up once more. He is, however, annoyed, so he declines the call. When it starts ringing again, he groans and picks it up, snapping, "Seriously, Buck? I don't want to talk—"
"Is one of your grandparents around?" Buck cuts him off.
"What? Why do—?"
"Chris, is there an adult in your family that I can talk to?"
If Chris was paying better attention, he would hear the clear urgency in Buck's voice. Instead, he's just getting angry about being cut off twice. "Buck, I'm with my friends right now, can this wait?"
"Chris, I don't have your grandparents' phone numbers, and I really need to talk to them, okay? It's an emergency!"
His blood runs cold. He turns to Jake and tells him to grab his abuelo before asking Buck, "What happened? Where's my dad?"
"There's been an accident."
He doesn't hear much after that. He can feel someone grab the phone from him before his abuelo starts talking to Buck, a little cold at first. His tone changes quickly to something more worried before he calls out for Helena, and then he tells the boys that they need to call their parents. Chris is barely paying attention, Buck's words echoing in his head.
It's an emergency!
There's been an accident.
He's unaware of time passing, staring at nothing as he's trying to wrap his head around what little he knows. There's been an accident. How bad of an accident? Is his dad okay? Is he seriously hurt? Is he dead? He swallows around the lump in his throat at the thought of losing his dad. Where will he go? Will he stay in Texas? He doesn't want to stay here. He wants to go back to LA and see his friends, hug Buck and goof around with his dad.
"Chris, honey, can you hear me?"
He snaps out of it and looks at his abuela. She's crouching in front of him with wet eyes, but the tears won't fall. His stomach sinks as he asks, "He's dead, isn't he?"
"No, no, he's not dead, sweetie. Your father is alive, but he's hurt really badly." She wipes at her face as the first tears start to roll down her cheeks. He can hear abuelo moving around the house through the open windows. "Buck was kind enough to book us tickets for the next flight to LA, so we need to start moving."
Chris doesn't remember packing a bag or getting in his abuelo's truck, but they're about halfway to the airport when he remembers that his dad left a voicemail earlier. He scrambles to pull it out of his pocket, his movement catching the attention of his abuela. She asks him what he's doing, but he ignores her and swipes through until he finds the voicemail. It's from a few hours ago, and it's a little over a minute long. He puts it on speaker and waits.
"Hey Chris, hi bud...Listen, I, uh, I know you're still mad at me, and I get it," Eddie starts out. His voice sounds a little strained, like he's having a hard time breathing. "I know we have a lot to talk about, and it'll take a long time to...to get back to where we were. But, um...I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and that I'm proud of the person you've grown to be. You've gone through so much, and you've come so far. You're smart, you're kind, and you're just such a good kid. I'm proud to say I'm your father..." He takes a sharp breath, the sound piercing through the small speakers. "But yeah, I just wanted to say that I love you, and I miss you. I'll—I'll see you soon, okay? Alright, love you, bud."
It's silent in the cab of the truck. Chris stares at the screen of his phone until it turns black, and then he unlocks it and plays the voicemail again. He can hear his abuela's breath hitch as his dad's voice starts all over again. The way Eddie's talking, how he's breathing, Chris can tell that he was hurt when he called.
He plays it over and over again, and at some point his headphones end up on his ears. It's difficult to walk around when he has to stop every minute to repeat it every time it stops, but his grandparents don't say anything. Or maybe they do, he doesn't know. He's antsy as they go through security and have to get everything checked. As soon as they're through, he puts his headphones on again and listens to the voicemail, reciting it in his head with his dad.
At some point he's in a car (he doesn't remember getting in) and it smells familiar, but he can't pay attention enough to figure out why. It's only when somebody takes his phone does he snap out of it. He lets out a shout and tries to wrestle it back, but someone places a hand on his shoulder, their grip gentle yet firm. He whips his head around to snap at them but freezes when he sees that it's Buck. Slowly, he looks around and spots a hospital bed. His eyes trail up and land on his dad, who has a tube down his throat. It reminds him all over again of the shooting and the lightning strike. His nose starts to burn as his vision blurs with tears, and he makes his way over to Eddie's side. Hesitantly, he reaches out to touch his hand. It's a little cool, not like the usual furnace-type heat. Without even thinking, Chris grabs the blanket and pulls it over his body until it rests right below his chin. A chair scrapes against the floor as someone places it behind him so that he can take a seat.
Chris knows his dad isn't old, but he looks so young, like the photos of him and his mom when Chris was still a toddler. The worry lines that seem to constantly be on his face are smoothed out, which Chris doesn't think he's ever seen even when Eddie's asleep. There are some bruises on his cheek and forehead, but other than that he looks fine.
"What happened?" he asks.
"Christopher, I don't think—" his abuela starts, but Buck gently cuts her off.
"It's okay. He likes to know the facts." Chris felt a presence behind him as Buck approached. His footsteps stopped just behind the chair but still kept a little distance. "He wanted to take the scenic route to Texas, give himself some time to think about what to say to you when he got there. He was driving through a stretch of woods when a tree fell on his truck. A branch stabbed him in the abdomen and injured his liver. It took paramedics and firefighters a little bit to get him out because there was a chance the tree would pull the truck over the edge of the cliff. He had to be medevacked, and he lost a lot of blood during surgery because of all the splinters. The doctors are keeping him in a medically-induced coma to give his body to heal and recover from the blood loss. They're feeling positive about it, though."
"Chris, why don't we get something from the cafeteria? We haven't eaten in a few hours, I'm sure you're hungry," his abuelo suggests.
"I'm not leaving him," he snaps before saying more quietly, "Not again."
The heart monitor beeps, taunting Chris. It's been four days since he returned, and all he's done is listen to the heart monitor and his dad's voicemail. He hasn't talked to anyone, he's stayed by his father's side from the minute visiting hours have started to when they've ended and his grandparents are dragging him out of the room, and he hasn't really eaten anything. He knows the members of the 118 have filtered in and out, but he doesn't pay them any mind. He keeps his focus on his dad and pray to a god he's been forced to worship since moving to Texas for any changes.
There's nothing.
Instead there's nurses and doctors checking on Eddie with carefully-neutral faces, hushed conversations between his grandparents that they think he can't hear but he most definitely can, and a calming presence from Buck as he sits silently with him, like he's waiting for Chris to talk first. He probably is, too scared to push him considering they haven't spoken since everything...happened. They haven't even talked since Buck explained how Eddie got hurt.
Chris and Buck are sitting in the room in silence. Chris' grandparents are talking to the one of his tías, giving them an update. Well, there isn’t much of one, but all everyone’s done is sit in the hospital and wait for something, whether it was good or bad. Instead, they watched as Eddie’s chest rose and fell with every breath that was pushed into his lungs by the ventilator.
The longer they sit in silence, the more uncomfortable Chris gets. Buck is always talking, always has something to say, some random fact to share. Instead, he hasn't uttered a word whenever they're around each other. He looks at his phone that's been gripped in his hand ever since they got the call and finally speaks up.
"I sent him to voicemail," he says quietly.
There's movement in the corner of his eye as Buck sits up, turning his attention over. "Huh?"
Instead of repeating himself, he disconnects his headphones and plays the message at full volume. "Hey Chris, hi bud...Listen, I, uh, I know you're still mad at me, and I get it. I know we have a lot to talk about, and it'll take a long time to...to get back to where we were. But, um, I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and that I'm proud of the person you've become. You've gone through so much, and you've come so far. You're smart, you're kind, and you're just such a good kid. I'm proud to say that I'm your father...But, yeah, I just wanted to call and say that I love you, and I miss you. I'll—I'll see you soon, okay? Alright, love you, bud."
He locks his phone and puts it in his pocket. Buck's chair scrapes along the floor as he drags it closer before wrapping an arm around Chris. "Is that what you've been listening to?"
"I didn't tell him that I love him when I left, you know?" Chris looks at him with a lump in his throat. "I was...I was so mad, and I didn't say it back, and now I'm probably never going to."
He wishes he could say it one more time, because he knows there's a chance his dad will never wake up. The medical staff are very careful around him, but he knows they're confused as to why he hasn't been improving. They haven't taken the tube out yet. Chris heard Chim and Hen mention something about how the chances were getting slimmer the longer he was intubated. He wasn't supposed to hear them, but he'd gone to the vending machine for a snack and spotted them on the way back.
"Hey, don't talk like that. He'll wake up," Buck said.
"I know they're worried, okay? I know I'm a kid, but I'm not stupid."
He squeezes Chris' shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. "No, you're not. Maybe I was just hoping you were still young enough to not really pay attention to what's going on around you, but you won't stop growing up."
Chris throws his head back with a groan. "You sound just like Dad."
"Sounds like I'm in good company." Buck glances at the bed and asks, "Have you talked to him at all?"
"No, I...when I talked to you when you were in a coma, you didn't wake up." Chris purses his lips and looks at the ground. "I didn't want to be disappointed again."
"He might be able to hear you, so it doesn't hurt to try. You can tell him whatever you want. I'll even step outside."
Buck walks out, leaving Chris alone with his dad. He's slow to stand, worried he'll feel stupid or something will go wrong, but nothing happens as he approaches the bed. He grabs his dad's hand like he did with Buck's a few years ago and takes a deep breath to try and steady his nerves.
"Hi, Dad. I know...I know we haven't really talked since I left. It hasn't been easy. Every time something exciting happened, I wanted to tell you before I remembered that I was upset. I still am, but...but I miss you more. Please, please wake up. I didn't—I didn't say it back, and I need to, okay? I need to say it back, or else I'll be really sad, and—and I'll be even more mad than I was when I called abuelo and abuela, so you need to wake up." He reaches up and swipes at the tears that have started flowing down his cheeks. "You need to wake up so that I can tell you that I love you too. I love you, and I want to come back home, so you need to just wake up."
Of course, nothing happens, but that's to be expected. It's not a movie, his dad's not going to magically hear him and run towards the light that's the exit of his consciousness. His hand isn't going to squeeze Chris' right as he's about to pull away, his eyelids aren't going to flutter open as he wakes up from a miracle.
Chris knows it's not going to happen, but it still hurts.
That night, Chris asks his grandparents if he can stay with Buck. They seem reluctant at first, and then they downright refuse when they find out that Buck's been staying in the Diazes' old house, but Chris pushes them to agree. He sits in the passenger seat of Buck's truck despite the frown on his abuela's face. She always made him sit the in back of her car even though he's fourteen, and it was always so embarrassing.
The house looks bare. A lot of the furniture is still in the family room, but all of the picture frames are gone. It looks less lived-in. It looks...sad. It looks sad, but so does Buck when he enters the house. He doesn't hesitate to paste a smile onto his face, but Chris can see, clear as day, that it doesn't reach his eyes. He offers to make something for dinner, which Chris agrees to before excusing himself to what was his room. The door is closed, and his hand hovers over the doorknob. Does he even have anything in there? What if there wasn't a bed? Where was Chris going to sleep?
His room looks almost the exact same when he left. There are a couple things missing from the shelves, and when he opens his dresser a lot of the clothes are gone, but other than that it looks the same. He notices that the picture frame of him and his mom is missing from his desk, but the one of him and his dad still sits there.
"He knew you were probably missing her."
Chris turns to look at Buck, who's standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "Why did he leave the one of us?"
When he doesn't answer, Chris can't hold it back anymore. He starts sobbing, gasping for breath as his whole body shakes. Buck leaps forward to catch him when one of his crutches slips, holding him tightly as his sobs turn into wails. He misses his mom, he misses his dad, he misses Buck, and he wants to come home. He wants his dad to be okay, he wants to fix everything, and he wants to tell him that he loves him one more time. He wants his dad to hug him even when he groans and calls him embarrassing, he wants to be sat down and asked what's going on when he gives attitude. He wants to act like he's annoyed that they're still having movie night with Buck when everyone knows he turns down his friends every time they try to make plans. He doesn't want to stay in El Paso. He wants to be home with his family.
They end up sitting on the edge of the bed. It's reminiscent of when Eddie got shot and Chris comforted Buck, only this time the roles are reversed. Chris' lungs are starting to burn as he continues to gasp for breath. The tears won't stop flowing down his cheeks while his head throbs, but he doesn't care because it's nothing compared to the pain in his chest at the thought of how badly he hurt his father. Buck holds him tightly, rubbing his back in an attempt to calm him down.
"Where's your phone?" Buck asks.
"M-my pocket," Chris says with a gasp, scrambling to pull it from his sweatshirt.
Buck unlocks it quickly and swipes through until he finds whatever he's looking for. The voicemail starts to play, and Chris is surprised that hearing his dad's voice helps, even if it's the last message his dad left. His body sags with exhaustion as Buck plays the voicemail again. The crushing weight on his chest slowly, very slowly, lifts as he continues to listen to his father's voice. His head rests against Buck's shoulder, his eyes closing with exhaustion.
When his eyes open again, he's lying in bed with a blanket pulled over his body. He's still in his clothes, but his sneakers are on the shoe rack. His alarm clock tells him that it's just after two in the morning right as his stomach growls. With a groan, he grabs his crutches and rolls out of bed to shove his feet into a pair of slippers before heading to the kitchen. The light over the sink is still on, surprising him a little. In the kitchen he finds Buck sitting at the table, staring at nothing with a beer bottle sitting in front of him. The label's been peeled off and ripped into tiny pieces, gathered on the wooden surface like a pile of leaves in the fall. There's a ring of condensation sitting under the bottle, as if Buck's been sitting there for a while. Chris hesitates before entering the kitchen, heading for the fridge.
"Oh. Hey, buddy," Buck greets quietly.
"Hi." Chris grabs a random container and opens it to see what's inside. It looks like some fried rice. "Mind if I have this?"
"No, uh, go...go ahead."
He places the container in the microwave and watches as it spins around. "They don't think he's gonna wake up, do they?"
"It's only been three days, Chris, and your dad was seriously injured. I wouldn't worry just yet," Buck tries to assure him.
"Is that why you made confetti out of your beer label?"
There's some shuffling behind him as Buck cleans up the mess he's made. "Look, I know waiting feels like torture. Trust me, I remember how it feels from when your dad was shot. All I want to do is shake him awake so that I know that he's okay." Chris turned around as Buck placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your dad is tied with you as one of the most important people in my life. There's nothing I want more than to hear him talk one more time. But he was hurt really bad, and it's going to take some time for him to recover. They're hoping he'll wake up in the next couple days, though."
"What if he doesn't?" Chris asks.
"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get there."
That bridge approaches far faster than anyone expected. Chris can hear his grandparents arguing with Buck in the hallway over what the next steps should be as the doctor tries to mediate. He tries to ignore them, but then his abuela shrieks, "He did what?"
"He made me his medical proxy," Buck states. "So whatever decision that needs to be made will be made by me, and I say that we don't do anything yet."
"You're not thinking about Christopher and Eddie," his abuelo says lowly.
Buck makes a confused noise before stating, "They're all I'm thinking about. Look, we'll just give it a few more days, and then if nothing changes we can...we can start discussing what to do next."
There's a long pause before his abuelo says, "Buck, I...you understand how surprising this is for us."
He hears Buck sigh as the doctor walks away. "I know. Eddie's been really good at not disclosing important information...but every decision he's made has been with Chris in mind, no matter how insane it is. I know—I know the whole thing with that woman made it seem like he's incapable of taking care of Chris, but he's been working on himself, I mean really working on himself." There's another pause, like he's waiting for Chris' grandparents to interrupt, but they don't. "Eddie knows that it's never going to be the same between him and Chris. That's something he acknowledged pretty early on. And I know you guys weren't happy to hear that he's moving back to Texas."
"It just seems like another rash decision," his abuela states.
"Yeah, no kidding," Chris mumbles.
"Trust me, I thought so too. But he told me that he found out Chris was learning chess when he mentioned chess club, and that he was tired of missing the big moments through a screen, that he'd already done it once." Another sigh. "Look, I'm not trying to tell you how to handle a family matter. Lord knows my parents don't give a shit about me. But Eddie wants to be in Chris' life. It's time you let him."
Chris doesn't take his eyes off his dad as Buck walks back into the room, but he does reach a hand out, his shoulders dropping as Buck grabs his fingers and squeezes.
"Sorry you had to hear that, buddy," Buck says quietly.
"I needed to," Chris replies. "I think—I think I wanna come home."
"We can talk about that with your dad when he wakes up."
Waiting around means tense moments where Chris wants to go home with Buck and has to ignore the pointed look his abuela gives him. It means feeling like his grandparents are going to force him to return to their hotel and eventually Texas. It means feeling like he's suffocating whenever they're in the same room as him and Buck, as if one wrong move can make everything fall apart. He just continues to watch his dad breathe while listening to the voicemail every time the ache in his chest grows at the want that claws at his insides to hear his voice one more time.
Chris can't say he regrets going to Texas; he doesn't, and he doesn't think he ever will. What happened was scary and upsetting, and he needed to get away. What he regrets is how long he's stayed away, because now his dad is in the hospital because he felt the only solution was to move back to El Paso despite his subtle hints that he never wanted to go back unless it was to visit, that Chris made him feel like it was the only option to repair their relationship.
If he had just talked to his dad instead of holding the grudge that he was getting tired of holding, this wouldn't have happened. His dad wouldn't be fighting for his life in the hospital, and Chris wouldn't be dreading the thought of going back to Texas permanently. They would probably be playing video games with Buck or watching a movie, or he would be in his room to talk to his friends while his dad and Buck drink beer and watch shitty TV. It wouldn't be like this.
Nobody will ever say it to Chris, but he knows they're all thinking it. Because he's thinking it too.
He doesn't know what time it is when he hears it. The room is dark so that Chris and Buck could sleep peacefully; Buck had finally convinced the medical staff to let them stay overnight. Chris blinks rapidly to try and clear the fogginess from his vision as he blindly reaches for his glasses. Once they're situated on his face, he looks around to figure out where whatever sound that woke him up is coming from. His eyes land on his dad who's slowly moving around and—wait.
"Dad!" Chris calls out as he reaches forward to frantically hit the call button over and over again. "Buck, wake up!"
"Huh? Wha's goin' on?" Buck slurs as he sits up abruptly. He looks at what's unfolding in front of him and trips over his feet to get to the doorway and shout, "We need help in here!"
His dad starts to flail, choking around the tube that's still down his throat. He goes to reach for it, but Chris reaches out to stop him without even thinking. It doesn't take long for a nurse and doctor to rush into the room, and he steps back to let them work on his dad. He looks away as they start to pull the tube out, wincing as he gags and coughs. Buck appears in front of Chris and pulls him into a hug, placing a hand on the back of his head to comfort him. When it seems everything has calmed down, Chris peeks out to look at his dad. His head is thrown back as he pants, his eyes closed in exhaustion. Hesitantly, he pulls away from Buck to move towards the bed. His fingers reach out, grazing against the back of his dad's hands. He watches as his eyes flutter open, darting over to see who's touching him. They stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, and then—
"Hey, mijo."
Just like at this house, Chris starts sobbing uncontrollably. He lurches forward and practically throws himself on his dad. There's a grunt as arms catch him, but they tighten when he tries to pull away after realizing he probably hit the spot where the tree branch pierced him. He feels his dad shake his head, probably at Buck who most likely stepped forward to get Chris to be easy on the man that just woke up from a coma.
"I'm-I'm so gl-glad you're o-okay," Chris sobs. The feeling of his dad rubbing his back only makes him cry harder. He didn't think he'd ever feel it again.
"I'm here, bud. I'm right here."
A throat is cleared before the doctor says, "We would like to run a few tests, make sure everything's okay."
"No!" Chris exclaims before he can stop himself.
"Chris, buddy, it won't take long," Buck tries to assure him.
"Can I just—I haven't held him in months," his dad rasps out. "Can we just have a couple minutes?"
There's a beat of silence before multiple footsteps move towards the door. It's only when a hand on Chris' cheek moves him to look at his dad does he realize they're alone. Reaching out, his fingers graze his dad's cheeks as if he's making sure he's actually alive, that this isn't a dream. Eddie grabs his hand and places a kiss to the pads of his fingers.
"I'm not going anywhere," he assures him, reading his mind.
Chris' lower lip trembles as his eyes well up again. His dad is awake, he's alive, and he's not mad at him. He should be, but he's not. Instead, he's looking at Chris like nothing else matters, and at this point it probably doesn't, not when Chris is in LA again and talking to him.
"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry I never said it back," he says with a trembling voice.
He hears his dad's breath hitch before he's squeezed tightly, practically getting pulled completely onto the bed. "Oh, mijo. I know you do. I know you love me. I didn't doubt that for a second."
"Liar," he mumbles.
His dad sighs and says, "In the back of my head, I knew. You didn't like me, but you loved me."
Chris leans back and asks, "Why aren't you mad at me?"
"What?"
There's a knock on the door. "I'm sorry, Mr. Diaz, but we would really like to get those tests run."
Reluctantly, Chris pulls away and moves into the hallway where Buck is waiting with open arms. He practically collapses into his embrace, suddenly exhausted by the onslaught of emotions from his dad waking up. They wait in the hallway as the doctor and nurses speak with Eddie, asking him questions and taking small vials of blood to test. When they leave the room, the doctor has a smile on her face. "Well, everything seems to be great! We'll had the results of the blood test in a couple hours, but he doesn't seem to have any amnesia, and his breathing sounds really good. Depending on the test results, he should be able to leave in a couple days."
"Thank you so much, Dr. Frey," Buck says with a smile.
When they're allowed to go back in, Buck doesn't hesitate to scoop Eddie into a hug. Chris watches as they share a moment of whispering to each other, soft smiles on their faces as they talk quietly. When Buck pulls away, Eddie looks at Chris and frowns before patting the bed. Chris heads over and sits down, waiting for whatever he wants to say.
"Buddy, why do you think I should be mad at you?" he asks.
Chris looks at his hands and mumbles, "Because this is all my fault."
"Chris, I don't think a tree falling is your fault," Buck says carefully.
"But it's my fault that he was on that road in the first place!" he argues. "If I had just talked to him, then he wouldn't have tried moving to Texas, and—and he wouldn't have almost died, and I wouldn't have sent him to voicemail—"
"Whoa, okay. Hold on." His dad places a hand on his back and waits until he looks at him. "Bud, that tree was going to fall whether I was there or not. I chose that route instead of the faster one to give myself more time to think. It was just an accident, okay? A really unfortunate accident, but an accident. Nobody's at fault for it."
"But—"
"Nobody."
Later, when they think he's asleep, Buck and Eddie are talking quietly. He can hear their soft mumbles, their voices melting together as they chuckle at the same time, a melodious sound that he could listen to forever. He watches through cracked eyelids as they talk, leaning towards each other like there's a magnetic pull between their bodies. He sees the look of fondness on their faces as they glance at him, unable to see that he's actually awake. They look at each other again with a different fondness, something he's seen between his grandparents, and Chris—
He feels like he can breathe again.