Chapter Text
The Texas sun beat down like it had a personal vendetta, the kind of heat that seeped into Eddie’s bones and made the dust stick to his skin. He stood by the gas station sign, duffel bag at his feet, staring at the road where the bus had disappeared twenty minutes ago. He’d gone in to use the toilet and grab a snack and when he came back out — gone.
Of course.
“Welcome home, soldier,” Eddie muttered under his breath. He’d imagined a lot of scenarios for his first day back stateside. Getting ditched by public transportation in the middle of nowhere wasn’t one of them.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing he had it in him to laugh. Mostly, he just felt tired. Tired in the way that went deeper than his muscles, down to marrow. He’d been carrying weight for so long, it felt wrong to stand still with nothing to do.
The growl of an engine broke the silence. A Jeep — dusty, battered, but still holding onto some old shine — pulled into the station. Music drifted out from the open windows, something loud and reckless.
Behind the wheel was a blond kid, maybe twenty, hair sticking up like he’d been driving with the top down for days. He looked free in a way Eddie couldn’t remember ever feeling.
The passenger seat was occupied by a shaggy golden retriever who immediately perked up, tongue lolling happily as they rolled to a stop.
The kid leaned out the window, grinning like he’d been waiting his whole life to stumble across Eddie on this forgotten stretch of road.
He glanced at Eddie, then did a double take.
“Uh, you okay, man?” the stranger asked, pulling a water bottle from a cooler in the back of the Jeep. “You look like you’re about five minutes away from melting.”
Eddie’s throat was too dry to answer, but when the bottle was offered, he took it. “Thanks,” he muttered, unscrewing the cap.
“No problem.” The guy leaned casually against the Jeep, watching him. “You waiting for someone?”
“My bus,” Eddie said shortly. He gestured at the highway. “But it left.”
“Ouch.” The stranger winced. “Where you headed?”
“El Paso.”
The grin widened like that was the best news he’d heard all day. “Perfect. I can take you.”
Eddie frowned. “You don’t even know me.”
“Yeah, but I know my Jeep’s headed west, and I know you look like you could use a lift. What’s a few hundred miles when you’re already driving everywhere?” He tossed the cap of his water bottle in the air, caught it. “I’m Buck, by the way. And this is my co-pilot, Dash.”
The dog barked once at his name. Eddie stared at them both, weighing his options. The sun was merciless, the gas station empty. He didn’t exactly have a line of cabs waiting. With a resigned sigh, he picked up his bag.
“Eddie,” he said, giving his name as he loaded his duffel into the Jeep.
“Nice to meet you, Eddie.” Buck’s grin softened into something genuine. “Hop in. Promise I don’t bite. Dash, on the other hand—”
The dog immediately leaned over to sniff Eddie as he slid into the passenger seat. A warm head pressed into his hand, tail thumping. Eddie found himself scratching behind the retriever’s ears almost without thinking.
The Jeep roared back onto the highway, music loud, Buck’s voice louder. He talked about nothing and everything: his sister, how he’d gotten the Jeep, the best diners off I-10. Eddie gave clipped responses at first, staring out at the desert, trying not to get pulled in.
But when Buck cracked a dumb joke about how the tumbleweeds probably had unionized by now, Eddie surprised himself by letting out a low chuckle.
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in orange and pink. Buck leaned out the window, hair whipping, eyes bright with the kind of freedom Eddie couldn’t quite understand.
For the first time in a long time, Eddie let himself wonder what it would feel like not to be weighed down.
The Jeep hummed along, carrying them both forward — strangers, for now. But not for long.
The highway stretched out forever, straight and flat, heat waves rippling against the horizon. Dash’s head was hanging out the window, ears flapping in the wind, tongue lolling as the sky got darker. Buck drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to the radio. Eddie sat in the passenger seat, his duffel jammed by his feet, eyes fixed on the endless desert outside.
It was quiet long enough that Eddie almost believed he’d get through the ride without talking. Then—
“So, why’d you join the army?” Buck asked casually, like they weren’t still strangers sharing a car.
Eddie didn’t answer right away. He shifted, gaze still locked on the landscape. “It was the plan. My dad’s plan.”
Buck nodded, like that was explanation enough. “Yeah. Plans. My sister wanted me in college. Get the degree, get the job, do the whole responsible adult thing. But…” He gestured around them, to the road, the sky, the Jeep. “I figured I’d drive first. See the world before I got chained to one thing.”
Eddie side-eyed him. “So this is you… figuring yourself out?”
Buck grinned. “This is me not knowing what the hell I’m doing. Yet.”
For a while, the hum of the tires filled the silence. Eddie caught himself almost smiling, but shut it down.
Later, when they stopped for gas, Eddie finally asked, “Why did you pick me up? I mean—I could’ve been a serial killer.”
Buck smirked, tossing him a bottle of water. “You’re in uniform. You couldn’t be that dangerous.”
Eddie huffed out a laugh despite himself.
They stopped at a roadside motel when the sun came down, the kind with flickering lights and carpet that smelled like cigarettes. Eddie sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the ugly curtains, until the words slipped out.
Eddie sat on the edge of his own bed, elbows on his knees, staring down at the faded carpet pattern. The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, and for once, Buck wasn’t talking. Just watching. Waiting.
After a long stretch, Buck leaned his head to the side, voice soft in the dim light.
“You know, for someone who says I talk too much, you don’t talk at all.”
Eddie huffed a dry laugh, rubbing his palms together. “Maybe I don’t have anything worth saying.”
“Bullshit,” Buck said easily. “You’ve got a whole story in there, I can tell. You just don’t wanna tell it.”
Eddie’s chest tightened. He should’ve brushed it off, deflected with a joke, but something about the way Buck was looking at him — not pushing, just… open — made the words slide closer to the surface.
He sat back, staring at the water stain on the ceiling, his voice low and rough.
“Her name was Shannon.”
Buck’s smile faded, replaced with quiet attention. He didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt.
“She was…” Eddie started, then stopped, searching for the right word. “She was supposed to be it. The one. I thought if I just… did everything right, gave her everything I had, it would work. But she wanted something different. Someone different. And she found it.”
The bitterness scraped his throat raw, even after all this time.
Buck shifted, sitting up now, elbows on his knees, gaze steady. “She left?”
Eddie nodded once, curt. “Yeah. Took off with some guy. Got pregnant. And Moved to who knows where”
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything Eddie wasn’t saying: the shame, the anger, the way he still carried the failure like a scar no one could see.
“You know that’s not on you, right?” Buck said finally, voice quieter than Eddie had heard it all day. “Sometimes people leave. Doesn’t mean you failed.”
Eddie didn’t respond, but the knot in his chest loosened just a little.
Buck was stretched out across his bed, one arm tossed behind his head, the other idly scratching Dash’s golden fur. The dog gave a satisfied groan, his paws twitching as Buck found the right spot.
Neither of them had said much after Eddie’s confession. The silence was heavy, but not suffocating. Eddie almost liked it — the weight of Buck’s presence, steady and unjudging.
But his chest was tight, restless. He needed air.
“I’m gonna step outside for a bit,” Eddie said, pushing himself up.
Buck looked over, brows raised. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Eddie lied. “Just… need to cool off.”
Buck nodded, easy as ever. “Don’t get lost.”
Eddie let out a small huff of air — not quite a laugh — and slipped out the door.
The night air was cooler than the stifling motel room, heavy with the smell of asphalt and faint motor oil. Eddie leaned against the metal railing, tilting his head back to watch the stars peeking faintly through the haze of the city’s glow.
He breathed deep, trying to steady the mess inside his chest. But all he could hear was his father’s voice telling him he’d never done enough, Shannon’s face turning away, Buck’s quiet words — That doesn’t mean you’re not worth sticking around for.
Eddie dragged a hand over his face, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ready to think about what any of it meant.
Behind him, a soft murmur carried through the cracked-open window.
At first, he thought Buck was on the phone — but then he heard the soft thump of Dash’s tail against the bedframe.
Buck’s voice was low, casual, like he was talking to himself. “Man, you’re easy, huh? Just one scratch and you’re mine forever.” Dash gave a quiet huff, and Buck chuckled, quiet and fond.
Then his tone shifted, softer, more thoughtful. “You know… I’ve never really been in love.”
Eddie stilled.
“I mean, I’ve had crushes, sure. Girls, guys… both, I guess.” Buck’s voice dipped, uncertain, like he was testing the words out loud for the first time. “But it never… stuck. Never felt like what people write songs about, y’know?”
Dash groaned, and Eddie heard the faint rustle of sheets as Buck shifted, probably lying back, hand still resting on the dog’s fur.
“I keep waiting for it to make sense. Waiting for someone to… I don’t know. Look at me like I’m not just some guy passing through.” His voice cracked just slightly before he added with a laugh that didn’t quite land, “But, uh, that’s a lot to dump on a dog, huh?”
Dash thumped his tail again, like he disagreed.
Buck sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. You don’t care if I’m a mess. You just care that I keep the snacks coming.”
Silence stretched after that, comfortable in a way that made Eddie’s chest ache.
He should’ve gone back inside, let Buck have this private moment. But Eddie couldn’t move. His feet felt rooted to the spot, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t call out, didn’t let Buck know he was standing there in the dark. Maybe because it felt too private, too raw — like something not meant for anyone else’s ears.
But mostly, it was because hearing it felt like a truth Eddie wasn’t ready to face. Not Buck’s truth. Not his own.
So he stayed quiet, letting the night air cool the sweat on his skin, listening to the sound of Buck’s voice through the cracked-open window, holding onto it like a secret he wasn’t supposed to keep.
The road stretched on for miles. The conversations became easier. Eddie laughed more than he had in years — at Buck’s terrible singing when he convinced Eddie to join in on the radio, at Dash stealing half a sandwich right out of Buck’s hand.
They stopped at some diner in the morning, one with burnt coffee Eddie swore was “better than it looked.” Buck learned to order it the way Eddie liked: black, two sugars on the side. The playlists, too, had shifted. Less of Buck’s chaotic mash of pop and old rock, more of Eddie’s steady country and soft Spanish ballads. Buck didn’t mind. He found himself humming along.
And somehow, it just… worked.
_____
The Jeep rumbled to a stop at the edge of a familiar road. Eddie’s stomach twisted at the sight of the old mailbox leaning against the dirt drive, his parents’ house hidden somewhere behind rows of mesquite trees. He hadn’t set foot on this road in years, but just seeing it made him feel sixteen again — angry, cornered, already halfway gone.
“Here we are,” Buck said, voice too bright for the heaviness in Eddie’s chest. He leaned back against the driver’s seat, one hand draped loose over the wheel. The dog sat up in the back, tail thumping, as if sensing something was about to end.
Eddie gripped the strap of his duffel tighter. His throat was dry. He should thank Buck, shake his hand, and walk away. Simple. Clean. But nothing about this felt simple.
Buck glanced at him, hesitation flickering in his blue eyes before he spoke again.
“You know…” he said, casual like it didn’t matter at all, “you could come with me. Just keep driving. See where it goes.”
The words hung between them, daring Eddie to grab hold.
For a second — a dangerous, reckless second — Eddie pictured it: the open road stretching out, Buck’s easy smile filling the Jeep, the dog’s head in his lap. No plan, no expectations. Just freedom.
But the picture shattered as quickly as it formed. His parents’ voices echoed in his head. Shannon’s face. The weight of all the things he owed, all the things he hadn’t managed to be.
Eddie forced out a humorless laugh. “Thanks, but I can’t.”
Buck studied him for a beat too long, like he could see the war behind Eddie’s eyes. Then he nodded, smile dimming but still there — softer now, like he understood even if he didn’t agree.
“Yeah. Okay. Had to offer, though.”
Eddie swallowed hard. He should get out. The door handle was inches from his hand, but his chest felt like lead. Finally, he opened the door and stepped out, boots crunching against gravel.
He slung the duffel over his shoulder, but when he turned back, the Jeep was still there, Buck still watching. Blue eyes bright, alive, like he carried the whole damn sun inside him.
“Take care of yourself, Eddie,” Buck said, voice low, almost serious.
“You too,” Eddie managed. His throat ached.
The Jeep pulled away, engine fading into the horizon. Eddie stood there, dust curling around his boots, watching until the taillights disappeared completely.
Something inside his chest ached sharp and hollow, like he’d just let go of something he hadn’t even known he wanted.
He turned toward the long, shadowed road home, duffel heavy on his shoulder. For the first time since he’d gotten off that bus, he wondered if maybe he’d made the wrong choice.
The screen door creaked the same way it always had.
Eddie stepped inside, the air cooler but heavy with the familiar scent of dust, fried food, and something faintly medicinal that clung to the walls. His duffel hit the floor by the entryway with a dull thud.
His mother was the first to appear from the kitchen, apron still tied around her waist. For a moment her eyes widened — surprise, relief — but then her face settled into something harder, tighter.
“Eduardo. You’re home.”
It should have been comforting. Instead, it landed like a stone in his gut.
His father followed a second later, slower, still wearing that permanent frown Eddie remembered from boyhood. The silence stretched until his mother filled it, pulling him into a stiff hug that smelled like soap and onions.
“You should’ve called. We would’ve picked you up.”
“I had a ride,” Eddie said before he could stop himself. His mind flickered to a Jeep kicking up dust, a blond head thrown back in laughter. He shoved it away.
Dinner was too quiet.
The clink of silverware against plates filled the silence, every sound sharp as glass. Eddie sat hunched slightly over his food, shoulders tense, aware of every movement, every glance across the table. His mother had set the meal like nothing had changed — chicken, beans, tortillas, the same way she always did. And yet everything felt different, heavier, like the air itself had turned thick.
His father’s voice broke through at last, blunt as always.
“Army spit you out, huh?”
Eddie’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. He set it down slowly, pressing his lips together.
Across from him, Ramon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, tone sharp and final. “Guess it’s time you figure out what you’re gonna do next.”
The words burrowed under Eddie’s skin, igniting a familiar heat in his chest. He’d been home barely a week. Barely had time to sleep in a bed that didn’t shake with the sounds of gunfire echoing in his dreams. But already—already—it was the same refrain.
“I just got back,” Eddie said, the words clipped, careful. His voice didn’t carry the weight of what he really meant: I’ve been carrying death on my shoulders, I’ve been watching my back for years, I don’t even know how to be here yet.
Ramon gave a derisive snort, unimpressed.
“This is the perfect time. You’re young. You’ve got discipline. You should be using it to make something of yourself — not sitting around waiting for the world to hand it to you.”
Eddie’s jaw clenched. He wanted to slam his fist down, to shout that he hadn’t been sitting around, that he’d given everything — blood, sweat, pieces of himself he wasn’t sure he’d ever get back. He wanted to say he wasn’t some lazy kid with no direction. But the words stuck, heavy in his throat.
“I didn’t say I was sitting around,” he muttered instead, quieter, weaker than he’d intended.
His father leaned forward, eyes hard as steel. “You didn’t say much of anything. That’s the problem. You ran off to the army instead of facing life here. You’ve always been running. Never thinking about what comes next. And look where it’s left you — back under this roof.”
The chair beneath Eddie felt too small, like he was shrinking back into the boy who used to sit here, fists clenched under the table, tongue held behind his teeth. He wanted to scream, I wasn’t running, I was surviving. I went because I didn’t know what else to do. Because this house was suffocating me. Because nothing I ever did was enough for you.
Instead, he dropped his gaze to his plate, watching the steam curl up from his untouched food. His hands curled into fists in his lap.
His mother tried to cut in, her voice soft, careful. “Please, both of you, not tonight. Eduardo just got home—”
Ramon didn’t waver. “He’s had his time away. Now it’s time to grow up. Get a job. Find a girl. Start a family. That’s what men do.”
The words slammed into Eddie like a punch. I tried that already. Shannon’s face flashed through his mind. Her laughter, sharp and hollow. The way she’d left. The emptiness she’d left behind.
But he didn’t say that either. He couldn’t.
His chest felt like it was caving in, heavy with everything unsaid. He pushed his chair back suddenly, the legs scraping loud against the tile. His father’s eyes narrowed, but Eddie didn’t meet them. Couldn’t.
“I’m done,” Eddie muttered. He wasn’t sure if he meant dinner or the whole damn conversation.
The hallway swallowed him, the shadows stretching long and familiar. His old room waited at the end, frozen in time, suffocating in its sameness. He sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned lazily overhead.
He’d survived war. He’d carried men out of burning sand. He’d held himself together under fire. But here, back in this house, he was just that boy again — small, voiceless, never enough.
Alone in his childhood room, Eddie lay on the bed staring at the ceiling fan. The walls were still lined with faded posters he’d put up as a teenager, but all he could see was the reflection of blue eyes in the dark. The sound of laughter echoing through open windows on an endless road.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if he could force the image away. But it stayed.
The Jeep was probably miles away by now, carrying its driver toward some other dusty gas station, some other stranger with a story. Buck would offer them a drink, a ride, a grin that felt like freedom.
And Eddie would still be here.
Back home. Back where nothing ever changed.
His phone sat on the nightstand, Buck’s number saved but unopened. Eddie’s hand hovered over it. He told himself not to. That Buck had just been being polite, that he had his own life, his own freedom. That Eddie would only drag him down.
But what if he meant it? whispered something inside him.
Before he could change his mind, Eddie hit call. Each ring pounded against his ribs. He nearly hung up twice before a familiar voice cut through the static.
“Hello?”
Eddie’s mouth went dry. “It’s me,” he said stiffly. “Eddie.”
There was a pause, then a warm rush of surprise. “Eddie! Hey. You okay?”
He almost lied. Almost said yeah, fine. Instead, the truth slipped out. “Not really.”
The line was quiet for a beat. Then Buck’s voice softened. “What’s going on?”
Eddie hesitated, breath catching. “You asked me if I wanted to keep driving with you. Back at the station.”
“Yeah.” Buck’s tone brightened instantly, hope obvious. “Yeah, I remember.”
Eddie’s throat felt tight, but he forced the words out. “You still got room in that Jeep?”
There was a laugh on the other end — not mocking, but relieved, like Buck had been holding his breath this whole time. “Always. For you? Always.”
Eddie’s chest loosened. He found himself smiling in the dark.
“I don’t know how good I’ll be at… at this. At being out there. Free.”
Buck huffed gently, like the words themselves were ridiculous. “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to show up. I’ll take care of the rest. You and me, Eddie — we’ll figure it out as we go.”
Eddie closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a weight pressing him down. It felt like a road stretching wide and open.
“Alright,” Eddie whispered. “I’ll come.”
“Good,” Buck said, grinning in his voice. “Because Dash has been moping since you left, and I’m not sure I can handle his sad eyes much longer.”
Eddie chuckled, the sound rusty but real. “Sure. Blame it on the dog.”
“Hey, whatever gets you back here,” Buck teased. “So… when can I pick you up?”
Eddie glanced at his duffel, still sitting packed by the door. “Tomorrow.”
_____
The tires hummed against the asphalt, steady and low, like a heartbeat. The horizon stretched out forever — open sky, open road — and Eddie sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep, the wind tugging at his hair through the open window.
He still didn’t know what the hell he was doing here.
One week back in El Paso and he’d felt like the walls were closing in. His parents’ voices in his ear, the silence of his old room pressing down on him, the weight of responsibilities he wasn’t even sure he wanted anymore. And then… Buck.
The blond had shown up like he’d just been waiting outside Eddie’s life, ready to pick him up the moment he stepped back out of it. The Jeep rolled into town yesterday afternoon, dust swirling around it, Buck leaning out the window with that same stupid grin.
“Need a ride?” he’d asked, like no time had passed at all.
And Eddie — who should’ve said no, who should’ve stayed, who should’ve done the right thing — had grabbed his bag instead.
Now, Buck’s dog was sprawled out in the back seat, paws twitching as he dreamed, and Buck was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, humming along to some old rock song blasting through the speakers.
“This is better, right?” Buck glanced over at him, sunglasses sliding down his nose. “Out here, with no one telling you what to do. Just us, the road, and the dog.”
Eddie shook his head, but there was the smallest tug at his mouth. “You talk too much.”
“Yeah, but you don’t talk enough, so it evens out,” Buck shot back, grinning.
The Jeep hit a bump and Eddie’s hand shot out to steady the dash. He caught Buck looking at him out of the corner of his eye, like he was cataloguing every move Eddie made. It should’ve been uncomfortable. Instead, it felt… grounding.
Eddie let out a slow breath and leaned back in his seat, watching the endless horizon blur past. For the first time since stepping off that bus, since walking back into a house that wasn’t a home, he felt like he could breathe.
He didn’t say it out loud — not yet — but part of him knew:
He’d made the right choice.