Chapter Text
Los Angeles looked different now. Not because the streets had changed or the sounds felt unfamiliar, but because Eddie was different. His time in Texas had been a forced breath — a break from routine, from the noise inside his head, from the things he still didn’t know how to name. But it was also a mirror. There, he saw himself more clearly than he ever had. And it was Chris who, unintentionally, held that mirror up to him.
The conversation had started simple, like most of their talks. They were in Abuela’s backyard, watching the Texas sky turn orange. Chris was fiddling with a small rock in his hand when he suddenly asked:
— "Dad... have you ever been happy with someone?"
Eddie paused. Swallowed hard.
— "What do you mean?"
— "Like... with someone you dated. Mom, or Ana..." Chris shrugged. "I was trying to remember if I’ve ever seen you really happy. Like, laughing. Like you felt light. But I don’t think I have."
That was it. A soft, precise knife to the chest. Chris hadn’t said it with bitterness — just pure, childlike honesty. The kind that strips away excuses and cuts straight to the truth.
And Eddie… didn’t know what to say.
Maybe because the answer had always been there, screaming inside him. But now, spoken through his own son’s voice, it became impossible to ignore:
He had never truly been happy with anyone.
And it was time to ask himself why.
After that conversation with Chris, everything started to fall into place… or maybe fall apart.
Eddie began revisiting the quiet battlefield of his own memories — places he had long buried and never dared to return to. But the truth had been there all along. Truths that started long before any uniform, any deployment, any war.
Since he was a child, he had always felt… off.
Like he was too much. Too sensitive. Too different.
He never truly felt like he belonged — not in his family, not at school, and, later, not even in his own skin.
His first love had a name. A face. And the scent of childhood.
Matías.
The boy who lived next door. Between the ages of seven and twelve, they were inseparable. They spent every moment together, shared stories, fell asleep side by side. Eddie didn’t have a word for what he felt — he just knew that when Matías rested his head on his shoulder, the world made sense.
Until one day… Matías was gone.
No warning. No goodbye.
Eddie cried for weeks, grieving as if a part of him had been ripped away. He missed Matías like someone would miss a limb.
It was only later that his abuela, with a heavy voice and tired eyes, finally told him:
— “Matías was deported.”
In that moment, everything suddenly made sense. Or so Eddie believed.
"Loving like this is wrong. Life takes away sin before it can take root."
It sounded just like something he’d heard in those endless church sermons.
And so, still just a child, Eddie accepted it.
He swallowed it whole. And never allowed himself to feel like that again.
Being back in El Paso pulled Eddie straight to Matías.
Not because he visited his old neighbor’s house, or walked the streets where they used to play — but because the dry Texas air, the stillness of that place, made him remember who he was.
Who he had been, before the world told him that was wrong.
And he saw, with cruel clarity, that he had never felt that kind of joy again.
Matías hadn’t just been his childhood best friend.
He had been the only place where Eddie ever felt a happiness that came effortlessly.
No fear.
No shame.
Just belonging.
A love with no name, but full of everything that mattered.
Eddie realized he had spent the rest of his life running from that feeling.
As if avoiding it meant avoiding punishment.
The idea of sin had paralyzed him.
It stopped him from moving toward the things that might have made him whole.
But he never forgot.
He knew, deep in his chest, what it felt like to be that free.
He knew it so well that nothing had ever come close to it again.
And when he tried — when he let his heart open even a little — life reminded him quickly:
That’s not how a man is supposed to be.
Back in El Paso, it felt like the walls could speak.
Like the ground remembered.
The air was thick with everything he tried to bury.
But nothing — nothing — hurt more than being away from his son.
Eddie had always known he wasn’t healed.
But now, he also knew those wounds wouldn’t kill him anymore.
So he endured.
He was strong.
He took the job change.
Let go of the hero uniform.
Moved into a modest house.
Spent what little savings he had.
Took three steps back just to be able to walk forward next to Christopher.
And he made it work.
Their relationship flourished.
Chris asked to stay with him — in a house Eddie hated, but his son had grown to like.
Eddie thought… maybe this could be life.
Maybe it didn’t have to be so hard.
He started to see the small lights in that new routine.
Adjusted his workout schedule to avoid the heat.
Learned how to earn more tips at work.
Figured out how to talk to other parents at school meetings without feeling like a failure.
He even spoke with his father more than he expected.
It was almost peace.
Almost.
Until that Sunday.
It was just another family lunch — loud, filled with too much food, too many side comments, and the kind of glances Eddie had grown up with.
At some point, his mother started in again — urging him to return to church, to bring Chris to Sunday services, to reconnect with God.
But Eddie had already made that choice. Quietly.
Christopher didn’t need to know that part of their world.
He had spared him from it on purpose.
Then the conversation took a turn.
— “It would be such a blessing to have a man of faith in our family,” his mother said, almost wistfully.
— “A priest. A true servant of God. Maybe even a bishop one day. Can you imagine?”
Chris tilted his head.
— “What’s a priest?”
His grandmother smiled.
— “Someone who lives for the church. For God. Who gives up having girlfriends, or getting married, or having children. It’s a pure life. Free of sin.”
Chris didn’t even hesitate.
— “Oh, then I can’t be a priest,” he said proudly. “I’ve already had girlfriends.”
Eddie chuckled.
But the smile died the second he heard his mother’s reply.
— “You didn’t have girlfriends, Christopher. You opened the door to sin early in your life.”
She turned to Eddie, eyes hard.
— “Just like your father did. And now he’s reaping the consequences.”
Silence.
For the first time in six months, Eddie raised his voice.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t explode.
But his tone cut through the air like glass.
— “Mom… that’s enough.”
The entire table froze.
He said it out of respect. But it was a boundary. And everyone knew it.
And for the first time… no one corrected him.
Because she had gone too far.
Chris lowered his eyes.
He cried.
Softly, almost silently — but he cried.
Maybe because he could feel it now.
Maybe because he finally tasted, even for a second, what his father had swallowed for a lifetime.
Later that night, after they split a pizza on the couch, Chris looked at him — red eyes, quiet voice.
— “Dad… I want to go home.”