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[He’s] mean and [he’s] kind
Strong and divine
And Lord only knows how tough
So dear miss by the time you see this
It’ll be in love or it’ll be in vain
- Zach Bryan, Dear Miss
“I don’t know, Buck. I wasn’t. There.”
The words, hollow and vicious, echoed in Buck’s ears as Eddie walked away, sinking into his chest and lodging. He opened his mouth to call after Eddie, to stop him, but the words caught in his throat. Anger, pity, and guilt swirled together in a sick twisted mess in his stomach.
There was a deep, mean part of him that wanted to lash back—to let Eddie leave and lock the damn door behind him.
Since the funeral, every time he looked at Eddie he ached with something strange and undefinable and awful. He’d tried everything in his grab bag of therapy tricks to shove it away before it choked him, but it clawed its way back to the surface when Eddie pushed, when he was mean , because no one had dared to be mean to Buck lately. He was a time bomb, holding it together as people walked on eggshells around him, until the pressure built and Eddie came blazing back to Los Angeles to tear every raw wound wide open.
He had needed that, he realized. He’d needed someone to come into the mess with him and stare it down, unafraid, challenging, even, telling him I hurt too and squaring up for a fight, daring him to dodge the pain, pushing closer until he couldn’t.
Lost in the daze of his thoughts, it wasn’t until he heard the front door slam shut that Buck realized Eddie had left the house.
A sinking dread settling in his gut, he pushed himself off the counter to follow.
He’d expected Eddie to drive off, maybe hit a few curbs in the speed of his retreat, but his car was still parked, dark in the driveway.
He wasn’t on the porch, but Buck flicked the light on anyway.
“Eddie?” He called, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting the attention of the neighbors.
No answer. The cicadas buzzed back at him, though the night air still had the pleasant bite of spring in it. It made him angry, the weather being nice: that anything could be nice while his world fell apart around him.
Porch creaking under his bare feet, Buck rounded the corner of the house. “Eddie, what the hell are you—?”
He stopped in his tracks.
Eddie was swaying on his feet, facing the side of the house, silhouetted by the streetlights, staring at his bloody knuckles.
A lump rose in Buck’s throat, and he stepped forward. “ Eddie .” He didn’t mean for his voice to come out soft, like he was talking down a jumper, but it was the wrong move, because Eddie’s gaze flicked to him, wild, in the second before he swung his full weight behind a punch to the brick wall.
Buck gasped, moving forward before he realized it, hearing bones crack into stone, too late to catch the impact. He threw himself between Eddie and the wall, pushing Eddie backward, knowing he would never hit him, though a small part of him wished that he would. At least that would be something —something tactile and outside of this mess of feelings roiling inside him.
Eddie seemed to think so too, because he let out a frustrated growl and turned around to aim his next punch into the garage behind him, the siding not cutting like the brick did, but still something under his hands that he could break.
Well, he wasn’t the only one that could push.
“Eddie, stop. Stop ,” Buck demanded, striding to him and catching Eddie’s arms before he could swing again. Eddie stumbled backwards, feet catching on the uneven ground.
“Let me go , Buck,” he snarled, half turning to try to shove Buck away from him. But Buck had his arms, now pinned between them. Blood seeped into Buck’s sweater, weeping from the wounds across Eddie’s knuckles.
“You can hit me if you need to hit something, but I’m not letting you break your bones on that wall,” Buck growled, tightening his grip and pulling Eddie into him. Eddie’s next breath caught on a sob, his legs giving underneath him as Buck held him upright. Eddie’s fingers dug into Buck’s arms, almost bruising.
“I—” Eddie could barely speak, the words caught on a gasp, “I couldn’t—I…had to be strong for Chris. I couldn’t scare him like I did last time, but goddammit, Buck, I’m so angry .” He trembled with it. “I’m so fucking angry that I could scream. And I realized that Chris isn’t here, but I couldn’t—not in there, it’s your house now, and I can’t go smashing lamps or taking a baseball bat to the drywall—” Eddie laughed bitterly, his face downturned, but Buck was already shaking his head.
“No, Eddie, it’s—it’s yours too. Of course it’s yours,” Buck’s voice was rough, scraped over gravel. “And I’ve destroyed my fair share of it—” he admitted, dipping his head to catch Eddie’s gaze. “God, you must have rubbed off on me or something, because I ripped the medicine cabinet clean off its hinges the day after.” Eddie snorted, and despite himself, a grin pulled at Buck’s lips.
Far past the point of restraint, Buck reached to nudge Eddie’s face up, tapping underneath his chin with a knuckle. He was wrecked, his eyes still shining with tears. “Hey,” Buck continued, slowly, “I’m angry too. Honestly? I’m mad at him.” It was hard to admit it. He swallowed past the dryness in his throat. “I’m mad at you. I’m mad at myself. I’m mad at the whole damn world right now, and there’s nothing I can do except feel it, but I’m trying not to aim it at the people I love.” There was a touch of rebuke in his voice, and Eddie caught it, because the side of his mouth twitched.
“So you are mad at me, then,” he said, and there was a glimmer of amusement in his voice.
“Of course I’m mad at you,” Buck said, “you called me self-absorbed and punched the side of my house.” That started a brief, real laugh out of Eddie, and he straightened, pulling back. Buck grinned at him, though it was weak, and caught Eddie’s hands before he stepped away completely. “Now come back inside so I can attempt to bandage these before Ravi thinks you’re back in a fight club again.” Eddie groaned, but he did follow Buck back around the side of the house. He stopped, though, just outside the light of the porch.
“Hey, uh. I’m—I didn’t get the chance to tell you this earlier, since we were at each other’s throats, but I’m…I’m not accepting the job in El Paso. Chris is coming back here, if—” Eddie was suddenly nervous, quiet. “If you’ll still have us.”
And for the first time since the funeral, Buck gave him a real smile.